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SuperBowl
Sunday
SuperBowl Sunday was yesterday, although
you may not have noticed it because your teachers forgot that it was a national
holiday and gave you homework anyway.
Even
More About the SuperBowl
After the game, a man interrupted MVP
Malcom Smith's speech and told viewers to investigate 911 and that it was
perpetrated by members of the US government. Malcom Smith aptly responded,
"Uhh all riiight."
RIP
Phillip Hoffman (OpEd)
You could say that there's no reason to,
or even that it's wrong to commemorate celebrity deaths. It adds to the culture
of celeb worship. Especially when a star dies of drug overdose, people say we
shouldn't feel pity for the person's poor choices. Because they clearly chose
and wanted to die alone in an appartment siezing to death, or choking on their
own vomit or having a heart attack. Addiction is a disease, not a choice.
Feeling no empathy for these people's deaths would be like feeling no empathy
for a skin cancer victim because it was their choice to not put sunscreen on.
Considering the environment these celebrities live in, where hard drugs are
obscenely commonplace and the stress of millions of watching eyes is always
present, how much of that initial line of coke or injection of heroine was even
their choice? I agree that we shouldn't focus so much on celebrity deaths in
the news. Each person is as important as the next. We're all human. Being a
celebrity or a nobody doesn't make you any more or less or vice versa. So feel
sorry for the struggle Mr. Hoffman must have gone through. Feel for everyone around you. After all, the bell tolls for thee.
Articles
The SuperBowl From My Perspective
By Matt Kerr
(DU Staff Writer)
In the most exciting SuperBowl of all time, the
Ocean Birds and the Bulls were squaring off to see who would take home the girl
and the
big trophy. Whoever wins is crowned with great honor and will be shown in the
advertisements for next year’s SuperBowl. The heat is on. As players rushed out
to the field, somebody sang the national anthem and hit the last note for 20
straight minutes. The players saluted the flag and tears ran down their cheeks.
Whoever won would be America’s sweetheart. Then the game really kicked off (no
pun intended hahahahahahhaa). Players dashed back and forth, doing somersaults,
flailing on the turf, and whenever they did the thing and got a point, a
Macklemore song echoed loudly throughout the stadium. Caucasian sports fans
everywhere rejoiced and danced to “Can’t Hold Us,” as all of Seattle
uproariously cheered for their fur-coat wearing god.
Later in the game, as players sweat Gatorade
like in the commercials and Bruno Mars smashed his drum set into millions of
pieces, dads and sons everywhere rejoiced with each individual touchdown.
Unless you were like me and were watching the newest episode of “Girls”
in your room instead. They would yell: “THE TEAM DID THE THING!” and
passionately hug each other. Couches would screech against the floors, beer
cans would occasionally spill, and shocked wives would cower in fear as they
sheepishly brought out appetizers for their husbands and friends. “Who’s
winning?”, a wife in a soft purple sweater would ask her spouse of twenty-plus
years. Rolling his eyes, the husband would sneer: “You just don’t get sports,
honey.”
In one commercial, a really bratty kid tried to
be a smart-aleck to his hardworking mother, who had just come home from an
exhausting day at work.
“Can you help me with the groceries?”,
she pleads.
“I don’t know, can you?”, the boy spits
back. How dare you. She works endless hours at the office every single day to
give your ungrateful butt those Doritos that you never stop whining about. I’m
sure you’ll still be annoyingly correcting people’s grammar in 30 years when
you have a tattoo of a teardrop on your cheek.
In conclusion, the SuperBowl was an incredible
experience for both teams. And in the end, it wasn’t
about who won, but it was about the friends made along the way, the journey
taken. Kobe played a great game. Let’s give everybody involved a big round of
applause and a pat on the back.
Academic League (aka Nerd
Fights)
By Brian Anglin (Guest
Writer)
Imagine
an orange room. Our orange room. The room where ping pong balls and pool cues
crown champions of the one-round, winner-takes-all, passing-period games. Now
imagine five members of the Advanced Honors Physics class seated behind a
series of name cards next to the pool table. Next to them, five Francis Parker
students sit, shuffling papers. Around them, parents, friends, and classmates
squat and sit on every remotely horizontal surface in the crowded room. A man
standing at a podium politely asks for quiet, the teams check the buzzers, the
captains (Alex for Bishops and Rickey for Parker) say a few opening remarks,
and it begins.
The man at
the podium starts talking. A loud buzz stops him mid-syllable. The boy seated
in front of him acknowledges Rickey’s buzz and Rickey answers the
question. This continued for a few minutes. Back and forth, Banta,
Rickey, Connor, Rickey, Banta.
Parker
fought and fought hard but their grasp on the win slowly sipped away until
Joseph Oh ripped it out of their hands. Not more than four words in, Joseph Oh
calmly pressed the buzzer. “Theodore Roosevelt” The kick was good. The crowd
erupted in boisterous excitement. Although Joseph’s words sounded like
“Theodore Roosevelt”, Rickey heard the real message, “This is our house.”
We went on
to win by about 50 to 25. Parker barely mustered a whimper as Bishop’s swiftly
picked up a few more points, just for kicks. As my first academic league match,
I could not have asked for more. The crowd, my friends, the radiant orange rec
room, everything made for a perfect introduction the hyper-competitive world of
Academic league and I’d hate for anyone to graduate without seeing at least one
match. So get out and protect B-house!
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