Naughty Bear Confessions

Suzanne Blais can punt, pass and kick. In heels. Tackle her at [email protected]





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Ummm, so I guess it's Big Game week ... It seems rather subdued this year. Maybe it's the fact that our country is still lacking a president.

Regardless of that, every year we all become die-hard Cal fans for about six days. It's nice to see that people pretend to have tons of school spirit one week per year. Maybe its just me, but Big Game is just like any other football game. I think more people are amused by the pre-partying before the game than the actual game itself. This isn't a bad thing, and I'm guilty of it as well. Maybe it's all those years of losing ... but this year, we actually have the opportunity to win. In all honesty, we could pull off a Pac-10 sweep of all of the California schools this year and reassert our place as not only an institution of academic excellence, but a sports powerhouse as well. (Where in the hell is all this school spirit coming from? Bartender, another Golden Bear Lager!)

Perhaps if you're of the younger generation, you don't quite understand what this means. Ask any senior, however, and they'll tell you - this is their last chance to see Cal reclaim the Axe. Last year's seniors graduated having never seen a win. I'm not mentioning this because I want any of our darling players stressing over this dire need to bring the Big Game title back to Cal. Oh no. Little Nicky and Kyle B. and all their little friends shouldn't worry one itsy bit. Because I know they have it in them to chop that ridiculous Stanford Tree into kindling with their big strong - hands ... Or else we students, in typical Cal style, will just descend upon the field and knock down a goalpost or tear their mascot's foliage to shreds. Classy, guys, real nice.

Let's not let Stanford think that just because we're a public institution that we behave like inmates in a California correctional facility. Every year it amuses me how grave the warnings are from Big Bob and his cohorts over at Stanford about how they're going to be "really serious" about all us "wild and crazy kids" throwing things and rushing the field. Sorry Big Boy, but just because the game starts at 12:30 p.m. doesn't mean we won't be loaded as usual. We may in fact simply start out Saturday morning at 9 a.m. still drunk from the night before!

At least we know how to party without trying our damnedest to offend the other team By Any Means Necessary. Is the Stanford Band just trying to convince us that they could actually cut it here at Cal without getting their asses kicked by saying, "We're huge dorks. But we can be weird too. Just look! Really strange, huh?" Sorry, kids. This is the Republic of Berkeley and we've cornered the market on the bizarre. Just go back to the suburbs and your stunted little tower to play with your pocket protectors and gawk at Internet porn, because you're not going to get any here in Bear Territory. As a matter of fact, no sober girl in her right mind would ever copulate with a Cardinal.

Any girl who's been bar-hopping in the city has surely experienced the difference between the Stanford male vs. the Berkeley variety. My cute friend Dana had some Stanford I-Banker ask her, "So, what part of your resume is most impressive?" She told him it was the fact that she never dated Stanford geeks and walked away. The typical recent Cal grad who is now making bijillions in the city at some Internet startup usually opens with the line, "Weren't you in Astronomy 10?", because everyone has taken Astronomy 10 and then you have that common bond which means you can go share a pitcher and suck face in some dark corner.

But alas, I'm not in the clear myself. From the dark reaches of my soul, I am going to admit something I never have before - I once got loaded and committed the cardinal sin of going home with the worst Cardinal there is. I was seduced ... by the Tree. I know, it's terrible; I'm ashamed and it will probably cost me thousands of dollars in therapy to rid myself of the misery. God damn those Long Island Iced Teas! He seemed so charming with that oh-so-goofy grin. But really, he was the worst hookup I've ever had. His arms were like ... twigs. And he was so stiff (and not in a good way). And all he could talk about was the five weeks he spent in Berkeley back in the fall of 1998. I really think all he wanted to do was come back to Berkeley with me. But I had to tell him that although we have room for every other ex-circus freak in this town, we have no room for a tree that would be so stupid as to cheapen his entire species by calling himself a mascot - mascots are animals, not plants! I suppose my heart will always belong to Oski.

Meanwhile, back to things of real importance in the world, what's the deal with Florida - doesn't it speak volumes about the quality of public education in this country that an entire state can't count? Everything has been thrown into perspective due to this controversy, hasn't it? I mean, getting a D on a midterm you studied day and night for doesn't seem so bad when you compare yourself to the two jokers we have running for office, their entire political careers hinging upon absentee ballots in Florida, of all Godforsaken places. I mean, what is in Florida besides Disneyworld and the Tupperware museum? (Oh, okay, maybe NASA's launch site in Cape Canaveral, where we throw billions of dollars into space to see if there is intelligent life out there. I don't understand this because, as we can clearly see with the brouhaha over this election, there isn't even intelligent life here on EARTH.) Doesn't everyone just go there on spring break, get laid and leave? I thought it was like Mexico, but they were allowed to vote. Turns out real people do indeed live in Florida, not just cartoon characters, and the frightening thing is that they're deciding who gets to make sweet marital love in the White House. Fabulous.

Welcome to the Berkeley world this week, where a football game is more important than politics - boy, things sure have changed.

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