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On Why This Win Means Absolutely Nothing You Senseless Mouthbreathers

Great! A football team whose colors I like scored more points than that team I'm told I hate! BIG FUCKING WOOP!!!

I bet most of you guys don't even know that we're still at war with Ebola and Iraq, or that Iggy Azalea is still a thing. Cancer runs rampant in this country infecting our children with ideas of evolution and you SHEEPLE just sit in front of your televisions and watch SPORTS like neanderthals. The Romans never would have pulled this shit.

LOL OK, In all seriousness.... AN ANECDOTE, to attempt to sort through my feelings on this whole thing. Let's get it.

When I was 16 my parents surprised me one day with a new (very used) car. I was told I would have to put up half the money if I wanted a car; so whiffing that first rust smell from my brand new clunker was like being told I really do get that house for being the one-millionth visitor.

Now when confronted with entirely unexpected and altogether unimaginable euphoria, there are two very specific ways in which people respond.

First you have your screamers: Nintendo boy, Marlins Kid, the usual gambit of Belieber, T-Swizzle and JT fans. These are the people who live for the spectacle. To them gift giving, or more accurately gift-receiving, is not simply an act of kindness performed on them by their friends and loved ones. No, for the screamers receiving a gift is analogous to a call to arms. When the gift wrapping is torn, the ribbon thrown aimlessly to the side, their curtain has been raised. Yelling, hugging, cussing flows like Shakespeare from the mouths of these thespians. Tears, real tears mind you, are exulted from the screamers until nothing more is left but a bubbling, hollering mass of abject energy and excitement. These are the people who gift-givers enjoy surprising. Why? Because they love surprises! The bigger the surprise, the better the gift, the grander the gesture, the more the hysterical the screamers become; and the more fun their performance grows. Screamers, often anyway, know their audience. Every sob, faint, holler and curse can be pasted together to form one great, big, papier-mache ball of thank you; which can sometimes leave us sprinting out of the area, hat in hand. They are the John Maclaine or NoS of gift-receivers: exciting, destructive and entirely unpredictable.

On the other hand, you have your possums. For the possums, receiving a gift is not an extravaganza - like the screamers - but rather an incomprehensible act of pure selfless beauty. For the possums, receiving a gift, especially one as incredible as a new car, is like seeing the face of Jesus in your cereal. Rationally, they know the occurrence is not possible, or worse and illusion, but there he sits; floating aimlessly among the pots and rainbows. So given the mind-breaking, world-shattering nature of their perceived phenomena, the possums stare.

They stare, and they say nothing.

Sometimes they smile graciously towards their benevolent demi-gods; or sometimes they put their hands on their heads to assure themselves of the reality of their environment. But never do they engage in what one could call "fan-fare" or look "happy". Instead, they are content - enlightened. They stand on their mountain top, conqueror of their fore-bearers, and gaze across the vast universe into realms not yet seen by mortals. They then take a picture and politely hike back down the mountain; forever cognizant of their individual metamorphosis, but never outwardly changed or altered. They deeply appreciate the gift, but they lack the pizzazz and showmanship of the screamers.

This is me. I am a possum.

When my parents surprised me with a car I stood - shocked - for a solid 5 minutes, before driving my car around the block, silently. I then went to my room, and sat, and stared until dinner time - after which I went to sleep. I'm not sure I ever smiled.

This was me on Saturday.

As the Gators kick-spammed their way through a strange and paradoxical 3 hours of football on Saturday, I again sat and stared. The only outburst from me, usually a loud an opinionated armchair coach, came when Georgia scored their second touchdown. "Oh, God we're going to lose!" I screamed. We promptly stopped their 2 point conversion, and I returned to meditation under my orchard tree - resurrected and grown lovingly by Kelvin Taylor and Matt Jones. When the game was over I turned off my TV and went back to studying. I'm not sure I ever smiled, but I was happy. Truly happy.

So, as a possum, I just wanted to formally say THANK YOU Florida Gators. I'm still not sure if I can comprehend what happened on Saturday, and I very well never may.For those of us who are witnesses, our story will, surely, never be accepted in the public eye. It is too unlikely. Too scripted. Too fantastical to be real.Most of us will remain silent for fear of public backlash, or ridicule; and I understand the sentiment. I really do.

But I cannot keep quiet. I cannot repress the memory of my experience! My friends, I have been to the mountain top, and I have seen the face of God - he came to me in the form of a Publix employee.

P.S. Great timing for the name of this account, right? Sometimes things just click folks.

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