33 items found for your search. If no results were found please broaden your search.
For the final edition of WOE, I've enlisted the help of Dartmouth's finest minds: scholars like Kyle "Awareness" Owusu '07, Tanner "99th Percentile" Glass '07, Dr. Grant Lewis, Ph.D. '07, JT Wyman '08, Mike Devine '08 and Matt "Nonner" McKeon '08. I'm not really sure where this is going to go right now, but our meeting is based on airing out whatever grievances these six minds have come across in their Dartmouth experience. In keeping with the tenets of affirmative action, Kyle Owusu '07 gets to start things off:
Clinton Portis made an interesting observation recently. He said he had no qualms with Michael Vick for allowing illegal dogfights in the back of Vick's Virginia home. Portis said to WAVY-TV in Virginia, "I don't know if he was fighting dogs or not, but it's his property, it's his dog. If that's what he wants to do, do it. I think people should mind their business." Some of the reporters had the audacity to inform Portis that dog fighting is, in fact, a felony in the state of Virginia. The quick-witted Portis, not about to be one-upped by a mere reporter, replied, "It can't be too bad of a crime." WOE questioned such a rash statement from a media icon, and engaged in some "Outside the Lines"-style reporting this past week to see if dog fighting really is such a terrible crime.
You might think in light of Phil Mickelson's PGA Player's Championship victory this past weekend at TPC Sawgrass in Jacksonville, Fla., that WOE would begin this week with an apology to Phil and perhaps even congratulations for winning golf's "fifth" major. But sadly, you'd be wrong. There will be no such congratulatory remarks for Phil until he decides to start wearing some sort of chest support on the course. It must be really uncomfortable with those things flopping around every time he swings. Instead, WOE would like to nominate Sean O'Hair for an award. O'Hair, who fell from first place to a tie for 11th overall after a final-round 76, finished at -5 for the tournament. What the leaderboard won't tell you, however, is that Sean O'Hair may in fact have the biggest set of cojones on the PGA Tour. Standing on the tee box of the infamous 17th hole with the island green 135 yards away and still just two shots back of Mickelson, O'Hair took dead aim at the far right pin location and went for the birdie -- but found the water. Twice. O'Hair went on to make quadruple bogie. Congratulations Sean O'Hair -- you play to win, not for second place. At the young age of 24, you actually understand what sports are all about, and gave up nearly $750,000 in prize money for a chance to win the Players. Sean O'Hair, you are WOE's first-ever Badass of the Weekend.
I drove over 2,000 miles in the last six days. I spent nearly eight hours stumbling through 170,000 mint julep-ed Derbygoers and managed to complete a circuit around the entire infield at Churchill Downs. I saw the Queen of England. I won cash money betting on Street Sense to win. I played pong outdoors and not once did I have to explain myself to an S&S officer. I witnessed 55-year old women sucking face with 22-year old Dartmouth students. I saw the most beautiful girl in Kentucky.
After making waves in the equestrian community last week (I bought one of those sweet "Ride This" t-shirts outside Food Court, for all who were wondering), it seems only fitting that as you read this column, I will be making my way 15 hours southwest to Louisville, Ky., for the 133rd running of the Kentucky Derby. I kid you not. WOE would like to remind its readers to watch and bet on the Derby on Saturday, May 5, and see if you can spot me doing my best Hunter S. Thompson impression with two-fifths of Old Crow in one hand and a pen and notepad in the other. I'll be wandering somewhere in the midst of the tens of thousands of drunkards and social miscreants packed into the infield, so good luck. But remember, the only reason I'm going is for the good of WOE -- I plan to be the first Dartmouth journalist to bring exclusive on-site coverage of the Kentucky Derby. And if that doesn't work out, at least I'll have some good stories.
Special thanks to Dartmouth equestrian team captain Daisy Freund '08 for supplying WOE with this week's title: "Inside Jokes for Jocks." For all of you who haven't arrived at the realization Ms. Freund came to this past weekend, this column is simply a bunch of inside jokes for jocks. However, there is a silver lining to this rather grim assessment of WOE. Despite the fact that I have been living the "nonner" life for the past year, I take solace in the fact that I am still able to keep my finger on the pulse of many of the inside jock jokes and count that as one of WOE's greatest triumphs. It's not easy listening in to the football team's post-lift conversations at the Hop, and it's no cakewalk trying to eavesdrop on the hockey team's intense arguments over just how good the mid-'90s Atlanta Braves really were. WOE takes pride in bringing the Dartmouth jock community the very best in inside jokes.
Seriously, before I start this week, I just want whoever took my white jacket at the Kappa Fire Drill this past Sunday night to give it back. It was Irish linen for God's sake, and I know whoever you are, you probably don't wear a 46 long, so just give it back, jerk.
I'm guessing many of you faithful WOE readers are probably sitting down with a fresh plate of eggs and toast dished out by my main man Lerrone of the Hop staff and have immediately turned The D to the back page for this very column. Well, take your time with your breakfast, sit back and relax because it's senior skip day. That's what Grant Lewis '07 told me anyway, and as questioning the knowledge of Grant "Too Good with Commas" Lewis is far beyond the fledging capabilities of this column, I leave it up to you to decide whether to participate in senior skip day. Personally, I'm all for it, mostly because skipping class is the only thing I can do to guarantee that I won't run into error-prone, mascot-obsessed sports writer Dave Glovsky '08.
You guys have no idea how lucky you are. This week's column was dangerously close to never being written. There I was, barely a week into my senior spring, and I was already battling a severe case of senioritis. Making it to class was out of the question. Simply getting out of bed was a chore. My fingers hardly had the strength to hold the Xbox 360 controller as I cut down lambent wretches with my chainsaw, splattering blood and goo onto my Gears of War screen. And just as I was dialing EBA's at two in the afternoon to order lunch because I was too lazy to walk to the Hop, I was blitzed by one of the four Dartmouth students who actually read Dave Glovsky '08's weekly column in The D, "The Glove."
So it's finally senior spring, and what better way to celebrate the Class of 2007's last term at Dartmouth than with an NCAA tournament completely bereft of major upsets and a final four with two one-seeds and two two-seeds. Boring. For all of you faithful WOE readers out there wondering, I had UNC beating Florida for the championship, so if you haven't guessed already, my interest in the tournament is lackluster at best now that I am officially out of my pools.
First, let me apologize to all faithful WOE readers for my column's absence in last Wednesday's issue of The D. If you're still bitter, I'm sure you'll be happy to know that I almost got fired.
To be honest, I missed a lot of the sporting events that happened this weekend. I was told there was this big race in Florida with fast cars, bright stickers and explosions, but every time I tune in for events like this, I have to force myself to change the channel after the fourth John Mellencamp "Our Country" Chevy Silverado commercial. Needless to say, I didn't watch much past lap 12, but I heard it was a real humdinger of a finish.
This week, instead of beginning WOE with a few sentences of shameless self-promotion and off-color commentary about the weekend's happenings in the sports world, I've decided to just jump right to the awards. Between the post-Super Bowl XLI drama, the beginning of the NFL off-season, the start to baseball training camp and the Beanpot, there's just too much going on for me to waste words on petty drivel a la Dana Walker '07 and Ned Hillenbrand '07. Besides, my faithful readers already know enough to expect nothing but the highest quality and the utmost journalistic integrity out of each and every one of my columns.
Congratulations and welcome. You've managed to flip The D over and find one of the best sports columns in New England, printed and tailored especially for the Dartmouth community at large.
Before I begin, I would like to thank Kyle Owusu '07 for lending his nickname to this week's title of WOE. Not only is it applicable for this week's ridiculous Super Bowl media frenzy, in which awareness is sinking to an all-time low, but it also serves as a reminder to all underclassmen that grades don't mean everything, and that you can still graduate from an Ivy League institution like Dartmouth with the awareness of a doorknob.
Just to satisfy all the Bears fans out there, I'll admit that I was wrong last week. The Bears are Super Bowl contenders. Congratulations. But the Bears can only play "Please Rex, don't lose this game for us" football for so long, and as much as it pains me to say it, Peyton Manning and the Colts will win a Super Bowl in two weeks. In-depth Super Bowl analysis to come in next week's edition of WOE, but right now let's review the weekend in sports.
Welcome to yet another WOE, where the going gets tough and the tough sometimes turn into brain-dead zombies. Take, for example, the Seattle Seahawks, circa Sunday, January 14, 2007. I will remember that date for a long time, or at least until I win my money back, as the date that the Seattle Seahawks stole hard-bet money from me and millions of other brilliant sports bettors around the country. After winning the coin toss in overtime, the reigning Super Bowl runners- up managed to drive just 18 yards and not even reach midfield before Ryan Plackemeier's 18-yard punt, kicking the ball and any hope of victory pitifully out of bounds. Despite going 2-2 this weekend, I will offer my picks for the coming week's games in hopes much like Dartmouth's basketball team of hurdling over the .500 barrier.
Apparently I wasn't the only one last week still caught up on the recent campus events, since every page of last Friday's Dartmouth had a mascot-related article. Over the past few days, I have had the opportunity to talk with students about many issues, and I am very much looking forward to discussing those issues with none other than Josie Harper in the coming week. My only hope is that my column engenders the type of intelligent discourse I expect from the Dartmouth community, not the mindless regurgitation of conservative/liberal dogma that most arguments of this nature usually boil down to.
My Christmas present came early this year and from a very unexpected source: Dartmouth Athletic Director Josie Harper. I would personally like to extend my gratitude to Harper for providing me with enough material to write three columns a week, but sadly I have only the time and clearance to write once weekly, so I will have to do my best to stick to my New Year's resolution of including at least one Josie Harper joke in every column this term. If anyone is disturbed by this, please send all grievances to Robert.Esposito@dartmouth.edu with "Most Embarrassing Athletic Director in America" in the subject line, so I know which blitzes to delete immediately without opening.
Well, this is it. The final WOE of the term. I know, it's not an easy pill to swallow, but rest assured that I will spend countless hours over winter break analyzing sports, and will triumphantly return with at least two or three funny jokes for winter term.