Well, not really.
I didn’t make the trip up to Morgantown for LSU’s butt-whippin’ of that SEC wannabe club up there. I watched Mushberger and Herb Street blab about it on TV.
But my uncle T-Claude went.
He said Morgantown’s a dump. He said the hotel he stayed in cost a fortune and it reminded him of one of those no-tell motels on Airline Highway all those preachers got caught doin’ hookers in back in the old days.
And he said there’s two groups of people you’ll meet there if you go to a West Virginia football game. There are the old folks who are just as nice as can be, who would give their left arms to have that school get into the SEC – or any decent conference, for that matter, and who absolutely would kiss the butt of any LSU fans they could find – and then there are the college kids, most of whom have a real limited vocabulary.
They do know that word that starts with F, though. And they say it over and over. Like F you, F LSU, F your mother.
Charming young people. Just charming.
He said they ain’t southern. He said the talent level is horrible there. “Those wimmin think a muffin top is a fashion statement from what it looks like,” was his direct quote. “That ain’t gonna make it in big-time college football. They need a yogalates place up there or sump’n.”
He also said he’s glad he wasn’t there when that poor guy and his pregnant wife from LSU got the crap beaten out of them. He says it was probably the young ‘uns who did it rather than the nice old people.
He said Geno Smith can play, and those little receivers they’ve got are pretty damn good. He said playin’ those people was like playin’ a team full of Lance Moores, and that if West Virginia doesn’t win that crappy league they play in it’ll be a surprise.
But he said goin’ up there was like seein’ How The Other Half Lives.
And he said he ain’t goin’ back.
Particularly not since he saw this.