BERKELEY, Calif. – The time is 11:37 am. Lecture started at 11:10. Your sweat has finally dried from sprinting to get the iClicker when the door creaks open.
Thump. Thump. Thump. What could it be? You keep your eyes on the slides ahead because your professor is clicking through them like he’s playing Papa’s Pizzeria, and you can’t afford to miss a sentence since they are not recorded.
But as you try to stay focused, your vision gets blocked by a gaggle of 6’5” burly men with camping-sized backpacks, but drippier, who ask, “Can I squeeze in there?” and make everyone stand up as they walk to the middle of the row, knocking over your water bottle and dreams of writing down that last sentence.
20 minutes later, the class ends.
When asked to explain appreciating assets, one had bravely raised his hand and said, “When I slide up on a photo of dat ass?” Surely, there must be a secret second talent that brought these brawny brothers to this top-tier institution. Right?
So, my mind turns to the field.
On that matter, a dwindling student section watches the game, looking at the roster of 100 giants off the field, making more money warming that bench than they ever will with their sad little STEM degrees.
“I braved the game to learn my classmate can pass the phone with ChatGPT Premium during the exam with such ease, yet when it comes time to pass the ball without an interception, he simply falls short”, lamented the senior, Jay Dēdfan, without a semblance of hope in her eyes.
Returning home after yet another historic loss, freshman Piff Doth reported she opened Instagram to see a highlight reel posted by a lineman titled, “So deep in my bag I found a fry”. That reportedly left her confused, for if recent weekends have taught her anything, the man spends as much time doing bag as he does on the bench.
For the next game, the Mic Men have been practicing vocal warmups in anticipation of yet another soul-crushing loss: “Go home bears on three, go home bears on me”.