At this point, I believe those living in the suite I reside in are convinced that the blood running through the various vessels of the body I possess is entirely that of a lunatic. Perhaps a great deal of those reading this would hold a belief close to that after reading this post. All I can say is that throughout the days I have resided on this earth I have been a person that loves to act as if every event in his life is a contest to be won. That could be part of the reason why I go crazier than any quantity of Carrey’s big screen characters when this week begins. It of course also could protrude itself out of the fact I was born and raised, taught in school, and learned by trade to hate everything even slightly parallelling anything to do with the university residing up North.

Excuse the weird rhetoric, but I find that I have used it a lot this week. The approach taken in the speech I enunciate is exaggerated, ignited by a deep-seeded, profound, and unquenchable hatred.

Of course there are distractions. Sunday I took part in the title contest for the flag football league I play in. We won 24-0. I was the player noted as the highest of value and as such received a very nice gray long-sleeve T-shirt. Not that big a deal, just a league of eight scholars groups, but a nice way to kick-off the week. The suite is always a-buzz with various activities, and the day after that flag football contest a group of buddies and I got out for a bit of backyard tackle football, our weekly display of insane supplies of excess testosterone we currently have in our possession.

But other than those things and a tiny chunk of schoolwork, this week is devoted to fueling the hate that brews within the physical presence I control. The bull in a china shop effect is in full swing, and it isn’t even Wednesday yet. Which goes back to the point stated earlier about the people living on this floor probably thinking I have gone insane. Just look at what I did in the hallway:

And those are just a few portrayals of letter x-ing. The hate this week is like a drug. I need to feed the addiction. Eleven Warriors has of course been a great source for that food, with the hype and the stats and the posts and the asterisks and the underscores and the pictures and the videos.

Reflecting personally, one could ask why I have such a deep-rooted disdain for all things related to the rivals up north. Since I started watching football at age four, the buckeyes own a 12-2 record in the face-off. I know of the sting of the Cooper years due to articles, posts of fellow users, and in words that certain attendees of The Ohio State University in the years 1990-1996 (the two people that created and raised one young Tank) have spoken. But no, I did not endure the heartbreak.

But it is the history I have learned of this Ohio State squad, the passion I feel every Saturday when they take feel, the incessant nagging that is a dying inability to let go of the playing days I hold in the recent past, the cocky, stupid expression on every single daggone fan of that rival school, and the fact that true to an Ohio guy the priorities go faith, relatives, football in that order that is the basis of a hatred so strong I feel like clotheslining the people that say “Go Blue” as a joke because they know I will get infuriated.

So they can say that the hate I possess is excessive. That the things I do are over the top. Perhaps they are right.

But then victory’s sweet taste is even greater Saturday. And even if I entertain the thought of us losing for a brief second, the hate train is still an incredibly fun ride.

How is the hate for everyone else?