You lifeless, loveless wench. For the past nine months you’ve tortured me. And now I’m writing to tell you that I’ve reached my breaking point. Enough is enough. We’re through.
I know it’s hard for someone like you to understand how it came to this. You’re dense after all. Of course, you’d have to be to exhibit such a total lack of disregard for college football and the joy it brings me. So, I’ll lay it all out for you. Here’s why we’re breaking up.
You see it all started in November, right around Thanksgiving. You found it necessary to move in early, despite the fact you knew we had a previously agreed upon living situation set to start after January. At that point, you were uninvited, and frankly…unwanted. Ultimately you ignored my disapproval and were allowed to stay because this man and his toupée are the ever-inconsistent land-lords.
Well in that extra month, you really decided to make yourself at home. You kicked off your shoes, fell asleep on my couch and proceeded to drool all over my pillows. This of course means you allowed an 8-5 Wisconsin team to represent the B1G in the Rose Bowl.
As if that wasn’t enough you then decided to clip your toenails on my bed by allowing Alabama to win their third National Championship in four years. Talk about kicking a guy while he’s down. In doing so you allowed the SEC to continue their seven-year reign of terror, and ultimately green-lighted this guy for a spot in the upper-echelon of college football greatness.
After that we didn’t speak much. I went to work, you did…whatever it is you do. That went on for about a month or so before we had a brief make-up in February. Moments like this, this and this really made me think we had a chance. But alas, that feeling was fleeting and before I knew it we were back to our old ways: me wanting the season to start and you caring more about the Cavaliers' 2-12 March than my needs.
before I knew it we were back to our old ways: me wanting the season to start, and you caring more about the Cavaliers' 2-12 March than my needs.
March is also around the time you attempted to force me to care about this meat-cube “You both like football” you’d say. “He’s someone I think you would really connect with", you’d proclaim. But that was all for naught. We had nothing in common other than our ability to slam a 12-pack the night before game-day. I tried to tune out your monotone Manziel rhetoric with a brief April affair, but I couldn’t go on living in sin, so I went back to you…regrettably.
I could let the constant Manziel talk go. Deep-down I’m an understanding individual who tries to find the best in everyone…even you. But, despite my best efforts you continued to exercise just how stupid you really are.
First it started with this news and the resulting spurious connections you began to make. It’s no secret you are are incredibly dull. With nothing to talk about, you’re forced to gossip to fill the void. I’m the unquestioned loser in this equation. Suddenly I’m supposed to care about some fabricated story stripped of any semblance of fact.
The gossip was bad, but then it got worse. In your TMZ obsessed world, the moment something ACTUALLY happened you speculated, you embellished and you ultimately ignored the facts. This specific instance drove me crazy, and it marked the moment in our relationship when I moved one foot out the door.
The other foot was soon to follow just a few short weeks later when you suspiciously changed your stance on Manziel. Suddenly I wasn’t supposed to care about the guy you spent the majority of our relationship talking about. “Leave him alone, he’s just a kid”, you’d say. “The NCAA’s antiquated rules are to blame”, you’d proclaim. Of course I wasn’t really listening to you, but it seemed like a real flip-flop from your adamant stance just two years ago.
Ultimately that was the last straw, offseason.
You've tortured me enough and it's time to put this relationship to bed. We gave it a good run, but it turns out your personality is kind of the worst. I wish you the best, and I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for.
Oh, and don’t worry about me, I’ve already got a new fling. Our first date is scheduled for this Saturday.