Holla’, ya' yellow-belly 'mos.  I’m back, defending Spartan pride here in Wolverine-cyber territory.  Why?  Because Spartans win, brah, no matter the field of battle: Spartan Stadium, cyberspace, or my workstation in copy services at Smith, Miller & Gossett, LLP.  Wherever we are, we stand up and say: this is Sparta!  Just like in 300!  Which was awesome! 

(A brief side-note: why can’t we do things the way the Spartans used to?  Those dudes had it figured out.  The guys all go to a permanent summer camp where the chicks aren’t allowed and bond.  Really bond.  Man, I wish I had that sort of brah-hood with my brah Jason.  Standing side by side, ready for battle, wearing a loincloth and nothing else, his well-oiled pecs glistening in the hot sun...yeah.  That’s how it should be.  Brahs forever.)    

I notice that in my previous post some of the commenters seemed to think I’m “satire” or some shit like that.  First off, I ain’t a little goat-dude, so fuck off.  (That’s right – I sprung for book on Greek mythology after I saw 300.  Which rules!)  Second, if I was a little goat-dude, I’d be a big goat-dude.  Third, if I was a big goat-dude, I’d be a Coach Dantonio-esque goat-dude.  Y’know, a goat-dude with a massive cock attached to it.  Big.  Veiny.  Real veiny.  And purplish.  Yeah.  That’s nice.  Real nice.

...    

Anyways, as promised, I’m bringing you the top ten moments in Spartan sports history. 

10.  I know scUM fans call it the “clock game,” but I call it the “cock game,” ‘cuz my brah Jason was getting his sway bar worked over hard that night!  I mean, it was amazing how the bitches were giving it up!  Nothing like a well-earned victory over your hated rival to get the ladies’ panties sliding to the floor.  At the little meet-n’-greet at my house that night, at least four dudes asked if they could use my room for a little hook-up action.  Fine by me, brahs – I was on the couch watching Jason mack all over some bitch, who I still maintain was absolutely sober and conscious.  (See #3.)  Spartan Bob, Spartan Nation salutes thee! 

9.  Appalachian State.

8.  Apparently, we’ve won a buncha hockey games and shit.  So I’m putting them here.

7.  Apparently, we’ve won a buncha basketball games and shit.  So I’m putting them here.

6.  Bo Schembechler finally dying.  Awesome!

5.  Each and every time scUM loses to The Ohio State University!  Which proves that Michigan State rules!

4.  Appalachian State.

3.  The rape charges getting dropped against my brah Jason.  I know what you’re thinking – how is this sports-related?  Simple.  Fucking bitches -is- a sport, brah!  Just like football, you can be a big time playa’, like my brah Jason, or just a spectator, like me watching my brah Jason.  And just like football, it’s all about getting that “W” any which way you can – running, passing, or a “broken chain of custody of evidence” that has the victim – excuse me, “victim” – and her family crying in the courtroom while me and Jason are high-fiving and getting ready for dollar pitchers at Trippers!  We win, you lose, and that’s just so sad, isn’t it?  LOSER!  This is Sparta, bitches, and Jason’s gonna get all Iowa on whoever he wants!  Even if it’s me, brah!  Seriously.  Me, brah . . . no, I’m joking!  Ha!  Ha!  Ha!

2.  Each and every time the students of Michigan State take the field against the East Lansing Police Department.  It don’t matter if it’s one overturned police cruiser or one hundred burning couches; a good time will be had by all.  Seriously, if you haven’t been tased or pepper-sprayed by the EL po-po, you should have spent your six years getting a diploma from another school.  A school whose name on your resume doesn’t make the person doing the hiring crack that weird smile/grimace combo.  A school where you’ll never have to get bailed out of jail by your crying mother and a dad who hasn’t looked you in the eye since 1993.  A school where you might have to learn to talk in one of those faggy foreign languages that Mr. Smith at work uses to chat with some of his clients.  A school whose diploma can’t double as a placemat at the local Fuddruckers.  Y’know – a loser school.   As for me: Sparty On!

1.  Appalachian State.  There was just something special about that day.  The air smelled a little sweeter.  My Pabst Blue Ribbon was even tastier.  A girl smiled at me on Grand River Avenue, at least until I raised my hand to my face and started mimicking a blowjob.  My jock didn't itch nearly as much as usual.  It was . . . perfect.   

Taste the golden spray, bitches!  I’ll be back soon, ‘cuz this is Coach Dantonio’s house now! 

SPARTAN NATION