And just like that, we’ve reached the final stop of a long and arduous journey: the last edition of NMW.
Over the past two months you have witnessed an incredible narrative play out before your very eyes. You’ve seen my GPA slowly descend along with my sanity and the intelligibility of this column. You’ve seen your favorite columnist put up the good fight against the blatant censorship by the fascist superiors of The Dartmouth. Heck, you’ve even seen my notorious inability to adhere to deadlines, as this column is once again three hours past its due time. But what you don’t see is the action that goes on behind the scenes.
If only you could break the fourth wall and look at he who writes this column, a haunting sight awaits you. A mighty titan who was once a paragon of excellence and success has lost the fire in his eyes. A shell of his former self, even his once renowned hair has started to thin and recede, adding new meaning to The Great Recession. Your beloved columnist has hit rock bottom, where the only consistency in my life is that I can’t get any lower from here. But it doesn’t matter how many times I’m knocked down, but rather how many times I get up. And from the ashes I will rise, for I very clearly see the light at the end of the tunnel: this column.
I started this column because I was tired of the dystopian censorship in the newspaper. Whenever I added in the smallest inkling of humor, I was bound to have my wrist slapped by the nefarious editors. Apparently it’s “unprofessional” to make innuendos about lacrosse sticks when covering sports. Ridiculous. I didn’t believe these flagrant lies for even a second. They just couldn’t handle me because I shone too bright.
So I took a stand for all the voices oppressed by “professional” and “common etiquette,” whatever these contrived social constructs even mean. I created NARP Meets World and embarked on an epic adventure of vigilante justice and freedom of speech, knowing fully that I would be inciting a war against the establishment.
And just like that I had done the impossible: I had created a sports column about anything but sports, and the response has been tremendous. Each day I am constantly encouraged by the kind words of my fans. “Your column makes no sense,” “You’re literally a tool,” “Keep up the good work of being an idiot!” Music to my ears, my friends. But I remember in particular the defining moment of this column’s journey.
“For three years I have not read a single thing from The D,” Daniel Jung ’18 said. “But I tell you, I have read all your articles and I love them.”
I had to bite my tongue to hold back the tears welling up in my eyes.
It’s really no surprise why my column has become such a hit in such a short amount of time. There is something intrinsically seductive about the rebellious nature of this very column. Writing a column in the sports section that has nothing to do about sports is the quintessential manifestation of sticking it to the man, and the taste of rebellion is intoxicating.
But as we rally behind the stirring message of this column, we have undoubtedly encountered fervent resistance from the establishment. As I mentioned in my last column, the editors at The Dartmouth have been fighting tooth and nail to make me include sports in this column. But worry not, my friends, for I have not forgotten the very purpose for which this column was created. In the face of adversity, I have kept to my roots and continued to write nonsensical columns each week.
And as week 10 looms around the corner, I must admit that I have exhausted all the spirit to fight within me. I no longer have it within me to put up the fight against the administration and the Man. And as I slowly crumble down to a pile of ashes, encumbered by the rigorous demands of Hanlon’s paradise, I can fade away with a smile on my face knowing that we have won the good fight. My friends, we have won the battle, for the entire hierarchy of The Dartmouth has been replaced by the perfect team of lackadaisical clowns and Kourtney Kawano ’18, who I know will publish almost everything I write.
If you think this column has been egregious so far, get ready for next term because NARP Meets World is NOT ending and it’s going to be wild.
Lest the old traditions fall, my friends.