The Six Athletes NU Students Hate Most

Number 6: Dan Persa’s Achilles

Despite giving us a truly wonderful twitter account to occasionally chuckle at, Dan Persa’s Achilles was public enemy number one for much of last year’s football season. It seemed completely determined to rob a defeated fanbase of happiness/the best player any of us had ever seen, and catching a glimpse of Persa walking around campus in a boot was reason enough to ruin any student’s day before fainting because holy shit you just saw Dan Persa.

A Northwestern Student’s Guide to the University of Michigan

It’s great! To be! Anything that isn’t a Michigan Wolverine!

I have a terrible confession to make.

With our newly-ranked (again) Wildcats about to take on the Wolverines of the University of Michigan this coming Saturday, I need to tell the world something, lest I regret my silence.

I am a native of Ann, Arbor, Michigan, the hometown of our upcoming opponent.

Shocking, I know.  Disgraceful.  It is enough to make a man vomit; hell, I’m vomiting right now.  But living in Ann Arbor for 18 long years has given me interesting insight into Ann Arbor, and by relation, UMich (or as Ann Arborites call it, U of M).  Therefore, let me try and prime you with all the information about “The Harvard of Southeast Michigan’s Central Part” you need to know and that other “news” sources won’t tell “you”.  In no real order:

1. As previously mentioned, the University of Michigan’s most well-known and populated campus is located in Ann Arbor, Michigan.  Because of its academic nature, its heavy sense of culture and its relatively low unemployment rate (5.3%, compared with Michigan’s 9.3%), Ann Arbor is often considered Michigan’s “best” city.  This is equivalent to being the meth addict with the “best” set of teeth, or the guy who is the “best” at making sculptures out of horse shit.  To Ann Arbor, the state of Michigan is like that one guy you know who buys alcohol for you (if you are underaged (by the way you shouldn’t drink if you’re underage.  It’s illegal you know.)):  he’s overweight, he never buys enough, and when he does, its Skol, but you need him because at least he supplies something, and he’s fun to be around for the first few drinks, before he breaks your lamp and says he can’t replace it because he’s out of money.  Also he has no qualms with banging your girlfriend while you solemnly drink a vodka-coke and cry tears of defeat. 
2. 

   Gerald Ford, a notable Michigan alum and probably the worst president of the 20th century.

   Ann Arbor residents know they’re better than everyone at everything ever.  Whether it’s using their $50,000 art degrees to make lattès at one of Ann Arbor’s 74 disheveled, hipster coffee houses/vegan restaurants; acting like they know a lot about politics/the plight of the working class because they grew up in the “bad” part of Ann Arbor (their parents were only general physicians, not surgeons); or shoving their heads up their own asses; Ann Arborites excel at every venture they try.  Especially writing humorous articles for college-based news parody websites.

3. This strong feeling of culture and diversity oozes in to Ann Arbor’s most visible possession, U of M.  The school’s colors are blue and yellow – oh wait, I’m sorry, I meant “maize and blue,” as the U of M faithful call it.  Good choice, guys.  Nothing strikes fear into the hearts of your opponent like a freshly picked ear of maize, or corn, as normal people call it.  You probably should’ve gone further and made your colors maize and blueberry.  Not only are you pretending to be vegetarians (another Ann Arbor pastime), but you’re also high in fiber and vitamin C.  We should adopt the same ideals at Northwestern, really; I’d be totally down to say that my school’s colors are white and eggplant.
4. Michigan’s school mascot is the wolverine, a smallish, bear-like animal that is commonly seen around the Ann Arbor area.  Actually, wait, scratch that – the closest wolverines are fucking 500 miles away in the Upper Peninsula!  (They also apparently live in Alaska and Siberia; in other words, natural selection is just begging for us to let them die.)  Even if Michigan’s over-vexed founders knew basic geography, it still doesn’t excuse them from choosing such an underwhelming mascot.  I mean, look at them.  They look like slightly-less pathetic weasels.  Also, have you seen X-Men Origins: Wolverine?  I rest my case.  They should’ve been the Michigan Cyclopses instead…although I guess that’s equally as pathetic.

I hope this has helped you understand why Ann Arbor is such a miserable place.  However, if you still need more, convincing, I’ll just leave this here and let you watch the typical U-M student’s vilely sloppy nature.  Could we possibly out-class them anymore?  Actually, yes.  We probably could.  It wouldn’t be that hard.   (Hashtag) Get Fucked, Michigan.

-Prince Giblets

Shurned Out: Riding the Bubble at Northwestern

Apparently he didn’t appreciate the five-foot pictures of his face in the crowd.

Last Saturday, John Shurna broke Northwestern’s career scoring record, surpassing Billy McKinny‘s 1,900 career points with a three-pointer against Minnesota. Last weekend I set a career personal high score of 18,310 points in BrickBreaker, but nobody made much of a fuss about it.* Or even a t-shirt.

As Northwestern basketball fans are starting to realize, life on the bubble of the NCAA tournament is a lot like what I’m assuming drunk sex with your pledge wife would be like: you hold your breath and hope that everything magically falls into place to bring about a wondrous sensation you’ve never felt before, but you’re really just waiting for something to go horribly awry and inevitably ruin everything you hold dear. There will probably be a lot of crying in the end no matter what.

Badasses in History: Hannibal Barca

One of my least favorite things about real life is that it totally doesn’t work like video games. Unlike Call of Duty or Halo—where I can beat the shit out of like a billion elites by just going all kamizake and then respawning—in real life it fucking sucks to be outnumbered. What it comes down to, in the real world, would be some guy in armor (Master Chief) getting beat to death by like 30 really pissed-off midgets (Grunts).

That’s the mathy explanation anyway. Today’s historical badass, however, not only shat all over my “normal” difficulty setting, cranking it all the way up to “Deicide”, but he did so against other people, not some dumbass AI.

His name was Hannibal Barca.

No. Not that Hannibal. The other one. The real one. The one that isn’t fucking Anthony Hopkins (who was, incidentally, totally as awesome as Hannibal Lector).

Anyway, this Hannibal was like Samuel L. Jackson if Samuel L. Jackson could go back in time and utterly bring the Roman Empire to its knees.

This Hannibal did something no other person in history was even remotely capable of. It’s like if Kobe played basketball against a team made up of genetically half-bred squirrel dolphins… the other side just doesn’t stand a chance.

To understand why Hannibal was such a BAMF, we have to go back to the third century BC to the civilization of Carthage.

His beard is rumored to be the inspiration for Morty's

Hannibal was born in 247 BC, son of Carthaginian leader Hamilcar Barca. Incidentally, “Barca” means “thunderbolt.” So yeah, Hannibal Thunderbolt. His motherfucking last name was THUNDERBOLT.

Sorry, I get carried away sometimes.

As I was saying, Carthage at the time was kind of like modern-day Detroit in that both had totally gotten fucked over and no one really gave a shit. To fix this, Hannibal’s dad, Hamilcar—being awesome (but not as awesome as Hannibal)—decided he’d get back at Rome for defeating Carthage in the First Punic War. Needless to say, they got owned by Rome’s far superior numbers and equipment, kind of like how in Lord of the Rings: Return of the King the good guys are FUCKED until the ghost army comes… except Hamilcar didn’t have a ghost army.

Or Gandalf. Gandalf would have totally helped.

Still, I feel like I’m forgetting something.

Oh, right, 8-year-old Hannibal went with his dad’s army.

Before you ask, this wasn’t his father’s order or anything; little Hannibal fucking asked to go. TO WAR. TO KILL PEOPLE.

Needless to say, no 8-year-old has ever been so ball-crushingly awesome.

Hamilcar, either the world’s best or worst father—I don’t think they make mugs for that—agreed to let Hannibal come if he did one tiny thing: swear an undying oath of vengeance to burn Rome to ashes and slaughter every Roman he could.

…………

Family issues a couple thousand years ago really make you think about the shit you complain about today.

Anyway, Hannibal, being the badass he was even at age eight, responded, “I swear so soon as age will permit…I will use fire and steel to arrest the destiny of Rome.” I think he also added, “time to PWN some fucking NOOBS!”

Battles in those days were a lot like off-campus parties: nowhere to move, and no idea who's assaulting you

Regardless of little Hannibal’s presence, things didn’t go well, which is surprising since I would have thought an 8-year-old on a battlefield would have been a highly effective throwing weapon: you throw the kid and then hit the enemy in the face or something… maybe Lunchables are involved. Whatever.

Basically, the big thing was that Hamilcar died in battle after conquering much of what is Spain and its surrounding nations today. Hannibal, after getting down on his knees amidst thunder, lightning and rain, and screaming NOOOOOOOOOOOOO! to the heavens, decided that he would keep his promise and pull an American History X-style curbstomp on Rome.

So for the next twenty years Hannibal engaged in what can only be assumed to be history’s longest training montage, fighting off lions, killing soldiers, and generally fucking shit up. Then, in 221 BC, his brother Hasdrubal was assassinated, and as Hasdrubal was Carthage’s main general, this meant Hannibal suddenly had a rather powerful new job title.

Because of the assassination’s success, the Roman’s acted a bit like everyone did at the end of the every Disney movie ever. They chilled out and celebrated even though there were dozens of unanswered questions and unsolved problems.

Hannibal, not being a complete idiot, took advantage of this in every way possible by gathering an army and repeating his brother’s plan.

That takes mad balls.

And, funnily enough, the Romans were still taken by surprise. Seriously Rome? Too many pot brownies probably.

Putting the Dos Equis man to shame

Anyway, in the spring of 218 BC, Hannibal marched with his army to Gaul (now France and other countries) on the way to the Swiss Alps.

Which he proposed to cross. With about 50,000 men. And also 37 war elephants. Dude, how badass are war elephants? Like, at least as badass as 300.

This was totally not going to be easy. I mean, the Swiss Alps are 15,000 foot high mountains, and Hannibal had thousands of soldiers AND FUCKING ELEPHANTS to feed. It was probably the equivalent of trying to ride a skidoo in the middle of the Arizona desert. Under normal circumstances, it just shouldn’t be possible, like Dane Cook saying something funny.

But Hannibal did it. He lost about 25,000 of his men, and all but two of the elephants, but he fucking did it. From there, he went on to win every single battle he fought with Rome for the next decade—being outnumbered virtually every time, with no way to easily get continued supplies—including the Battle of Cannae, which to this day is still studied by military historians who sit and read about it and say, “How the fuck did he pull this off?” With about 15,000 men, Hannibal defeated a Roman army of 50,000-70,000. That’s easily a ratio of 4:1. Among the dead were about 80 Roman senators (25-30% of the entire Roman government).

Fuck yeah, Hannibal Barca.

Hey Rome, remember that one time I almost single-handedly brought your empire to its knees?

Sadly, however, the years kept weakening Hannibal’s army—but not Hannibal, the dude beat up Wolverines for his morning exercise. This eventually forced Hannibal to make a retreat with his remaining forces back to Carthage. He did manage to sack several cities during the retreat—kind of like a last second money shot at Rome—but on the whole he had won every battle but lost the war.

Eventually, Hannibal would go into voluntary exile from Carthage when Rome threatened it again while Hannibal was without troops, but even then he worked as a mercenary general, winning almost every battle he fought. In one victory, a naval one incidentally, his weapon of choice was a barrel of poisonous snakes, which he would toss onto enemy ships.

This caused Rome so many problems, even when Hannibal was just a mercenary, that they demanded his allies surrender him or be annihilated. His “allies” being whiny douchebags, they agreed.

But, Hannibal was too badass to let himself be killed by Romans, so he took poison and wrote a final “fuck-you” letter to the Romans to be found next to his body.

It said:

Let us relieve the Romans from the anxiety they have so long experienced, since they think it tries their patience too much to wait for an old man’s death.

Even beyond the grave, the dude managed to flip-off Rome.

Righteous.

–Josh Kopel