Club Trillion

Goodbye…For Now

2011-10-27T13:37:00.002-04:00

I’m guessing that most of you reading this are already well aware, but I thought I’d write a blog post to inform those members of the Trillion Man March who don’t know that I’ve accepted a job writing full-time for Bill Simmons’s relatively new site, Grantland, which explains why I haven’t blogged on here in awhile and why I probably won’t blog on here any time soon. I was thinking about making this next sentence something sentimental about how we had a good run and it was a lot of fun and I appreciate all the fan support, but I’m a man with two healthy, fully-grown testicles so I’m not going to write any sappy crap like that, especially since we can still continue our relationship over at Grantland. Anyway, because I make exactly no money from writing this blog, it has been obvious for awhile now that moving onto bigger and better things was always and inevitability. Still, I’m anxiously awaiting the onslaught of emails, tweets, etc. calling me a sellout, mostly because I completely deserve every one of them. The truth is that I am a sellout. But you know what? Thanks to a terrible ticketing system that screws deserving students out of season tickets, there’s a good chance I’ll be the only Ohio State basketball sellout this year. And that’s something to be proud of.

Many of you have been asking me for details about my book Don’t Put Me In, Coach, so I figured before I let you go I should tell you what I know. First and foremost, I’ve been told that the book is going to be released March 6th (and might actually be released a week or two earlier than that), but you can actually already preorder it here. There isn’t a single reason in the world why you shouldn’t do exactly that right now, so go make it happen. I’ll wait.

Back? Ok, good. Since you just bought the book, I feel obligated to mention that, as far as the content is concerned, it’s basically just a chronological rundown of my basketball career at Ohio State, starting with a little background story of how I ended up at OSU and ending with my final game my senior year. It’s technically probably considered a memoir, but “memoir” sounds like such a classy word and seeing as how I make dick jokes throughout the book, I wouldn’t exactly describe it as classy. Still, 90% of the content is basically just ridiculous stories about my teammates, coaches, fans and myself from my four years at Ohio State, so memoir is probably the best way to classify it.

Speaking of dick jokes, many of you have asked me how vulgar the book is going to be, presumably because you are kindergarten teachers and you want to know if the book is appropriate enough to recommend to your students. Short answer: Yes. Long answer: I wrote this book solely with 18-34 year old males in mind, so if you don’t fit in that demographic you might find it crude in some places, but I wouldn’t exactly describe it as vulgar. It’s obviously written with the same juvenile tone I’ve used for years on this blog (please note that “juvenile” isn’t capitalized – I don’t want you to think I wrote things like “girl you working with some ass, yeah, you bad, yeah” throughout the book), so if you’re a fan of what I’ve written on Club Trillion, you shouldn’t have any problems with the book. There are a some four letter words sprinkled throughout the book, but I can say with absolute certainty that I have never been the type of guy to use curse words just for the sake of using curse words, because that shit just isn’t cool. So yes, there are some words you probably shouldn’t teach your 5-year-old kids (like “poopdick”, for example), but I promise you that unless you’re the type of person whose face melts off or something when you hear/see bad words, you’re not going to be overwhelmed with the language in the book.

If you have any other questions about the book or just want to keep in touch with me for whatever reason, the best way to do so would be to either follow me (@clubtrillion) on Twitter or email me at clubtrillion@gmail.com. It’s pretty much a certainty that I won’t respond to anything you send me, but just know that it’s not because I don’t love you – it’s because I’m either too lazy or I couldn’t think of anything clever or witty to say back to you, so I instead decided to act like I didn’t see your email/tweet instead of acknowledging that you’re more creative than me (ok, fine – it’s always the latter).

Well, I guess that just about does it. Don’t forget that when you get a tingle in your naughty places in the future because you miss me so much, you’ll be able to find me over at Grantland. Also, if nothing else, you can always re-watch Mr. Rainmaker a thousand more times. There’s a pretty obvious Easter egg in there that I’m completely shocked nobody has found yet, so if you’re bored you should try to find it. There might even be a special prize for whoever finds it first (read: there absolutely is not a special prize).

Proud To Be An American But Even Prouder To Be A Buckeye,

Mark Titus

Club Trillion Founder

What Do I Call My Mailbag? The Cage? I Forget

2011-08-19T17:15:00.001-04:00

Friday is finally here and with that Nut Up or Shut Up Week is in its final leg. I gotta be honest and say that I’m relieved that it’s finally over and I really didn’t think I had it in me (funny story: at least 8 different women said the exact same thing to me during my four years of college). But alas, here we are. To celebrate, let’s take a look at some emails sent in from the Trillion Man March. Like I say every time we do this sort of thing – all of these are real emails sent in by real members of the Trillion Man March, except for the ones that aren’t. Now, in the words of the chick from Cake Farts, let’s get this done.

Since there are no large bodies of water near tOSU, where did the boosters hold their Yacht sex parties?

-Mike

I wish I knew. I never got invited to them :(

So, who do you hate more: the NCAA or The Villain?

-Ben

The only logical way to answer this is to first make a list of pros and cons, so here it goes.

The NCAA

Pros

Provides an opportunity for thousands of people to get a free education while playing a sport they love at a highly competitive level

March Madness

Headquarters located in Indianapolis, Indiana, one of the finest cities in America

Cons

Has a budget that exceeds $5.5 billion and exists solely because of 18-23 year old athletes, but won’t let the 18-23 year old athletes see hardly any of that money in the form of cash

Makes players sit out a full season after transferring, while the coaches making millions of dollars off the athletes who do the exact same thing face no punishment whatsoever (in fact, the coaches typically get raises since it can be assumed that they’re leaving for a higher-paying and better job)

Has no interest in even remotely exploring serious reform, despite the increasing uproar from the media and general public about how archaic and unfair their rules are

Supports communist principles

Evan “The Villain” Turner

Pros

Provided me with seemingly unlimited entertainment for three years in the form of killing fools on the basketball court

Provided me with seemingly unlimited entertainment for three years in the form of losing his mind over something petty on a daily basis

Wore a CLUB TRIL shirt during pregame warm-ups on my senior night at OSU

Indirectly contributed to the success of this blog

Once called my blog “amazing”

Passed the ball to me one time in practice

Cons

Would frequently reach into his pants and furiously scratch his butthole during film sessions and team meetings and consequently make everyone in the room uncomfortable

Tried to fight me no less than 3 times during our tenure as teammates

Gave my fiancée a bear hug that he held for five seconds when he first met her, which in turn caused her to tell me later in the night that it was weird and creeped her out

Never called me by my name when we were teammates but instead referred to me as “walk-on”, “bum”, “couch potato”, or “mooch.”

Borrowed $5 for a haircut from Keller and never paid him back

Apparently gets $5 haircuts

I really think this might be too close to call. Evan probably is more of an annoyance to me personally than the NCAA is, but the NCAA is more detrimental to society as a whole so I think I’ll go the unselfish route and say I hate them more. Plus, somewhere under Evan’s rough exterior is a momma’s boy who doesn’t want any trouble and just wants to cuddle with his teddy bear. Meanwhile, I’m pretty sure that underneath the NCAA’s rough exterior there is nothing but a gigantic pit of molten lava that they throw puppies into after they mouthrape them.

What is the over/under on the number of times Deshaun Thomas will get the "the only type of shot he doesn't like is when he is at the Doctor's office" comment from TV announcers this year? 2500 ?

There has to be some sort of drinking game created with Deshaun Thomas. Something like.... every time he passes, you must chug a 40 oz of Olde English and punch a leprechaun.

-Scott

I love this idea. I know I’ve said this many times before, but I really don’t think I can say it enough – Deshaun Thomas is my favorite Ohio State athlete of all-time (primarily because he doesn’t pass and has no problem acknowledging that he doesn’t pass) and he hasn’t even started his sophomore season yet. He might not be a popular guy among Buckeye fans, but I absolutely love the guy and actually yelled “Everybody shut the hell up, Deshaun’s checking into the game!” on a few occasions last year while watching OSU basketball games with friends (who obviously don’t appreciate him as much as I do). The guy is like the Manny Ramirez of college basketball - you don’t know for sure what’s going to happen, but you do know that when he’s in the game he’s going to have some sort of effect (good or bad) and is going to at least provide some form of entertainment (in that regard, he’s like the exact opposite of me).

Anyway, how about this for a Deshaun Thomas drinking game – match Deshaun shot for shot. Every time he takes a shot, you do too. I even came up with a name for it: “suicide by alcohol poisoning.”

What is the most embarrassing thing you have ever done in front of a member of the opposite sex?

-Kevin

I once dated a girl from Indiana who went to a college other than Ohio State and hadn’t grown up as an OSU fan. Because of this, she didn’t have any OSU clothes, so when she visited me in Columbus one time I told her I’d take her shopping and get her some Ohio State clothes. That way she could be decked out when she came to our games once the basketball season rolled around. Anyway, we went to Buckeye Corner or something and she picked out a bunch of stuff she wanted, but she felt bad because she thought she was making me spend too much money. I told her not to worry about it and just get what she wanted because I was still on a basketball scholarship and was basically being given free money from Ohio State.

Just to be polite, she asked if I was sure that she could get everything and I promised her it was cool. But I couldn’t just say, “Seriously it’s cool” and leave it at that. No, I had to somehow make myself seem more awesome than I really am. So instead of just saying “yeah it’s cool” or whatever, I decided to jump at the opportunity to flaunt my money a little bit. Since most college kids are dirt poor, I figured her privates would get moist over my scholarship money, so I decided to explain to her how rich I was. I said something like, “Yeah it’s really not a big deal. I get paid so much money by Ohio State that I really don’t think I could spend it all even if I wanted to.” And just like that, I knew I had her hooked…

…until my debit card got declined because I apparently only had $17 left in my bank account.

Because she didn’t bring any money with her since I told her I was going to buy her stuff, she couldn’t get anything she had picked out and had to go put everything back. A couple of weeks later, she dumped me. Whoops.

Help settle an argument that has been raging since the onset of puberty amongst 2 of my friends and myself. Friend A is convinced that given an opportunity he could score one point on any NBA player in a game of one on one. Not win mind you, but simply put the ball in the hoop. One time. Versus a highly motivated pro, putting forth his best effort in a game to 11 by ones and twos. Friend B and myself think friend A is an idiot and have told him so many times. Friend A (5'9, 165lb), friend B and myself have been playing ball all our lives and while none of us are awful we could not play varsity basketball at a moderately large high school. Those are the facts. We are in our 30s now and need an answer. Or possibly you could shut him out for us and end this 20 year debate. Either way Judge Titus your help/ruling would be much appreciated.

-Travis

I’m going to make this response short because there really isn’t even an argument here and I’m kind of annoyed that this is wasting my time. Here’s your answer: your friend is out of his mind if he thinks he could score on an NBA player in a game to 11. He’d have to be completely delusional to think otherwise, especially if he’s 5’9” 165 pounds. In fact, I don’t think I could even score on an NBA player (cue the “that’s why you were a benchwarmer scrub” jokes). If he had infinite chances to score on the NBA guy, then yeah, I’m sure at some point he’d be able to throw up some garbage and get lucky. But in a single game to 11 against an NBA player playing as hard as he possibly can? He’ll be lucky to even get a shot off.

I could give a detailed and realistic explanation of what would happen if he played any NBA player, but I think it would take far less effort for me to just play him one-on-one and shut him out myself than it would to explain how everything would go down. And make no mistake about it – based on what you’ve told me about the guy, I don’t think I’ve ever been more confident about anything in the world as I am in thinking that even I could shut him out.

So there is a hypothetical fight between 2 identical twins. They both are equal in all physical attributes (size, strength, speed) and they both train for one week with a fighting master. However one gets a pool stick and the other gets a hunting knife. Who wins in a cage match to the death?

-Brian

The bell rings to start the match.

Guy with pool stick swings at guy with knife. Guy with knife ducks, forcing guy with pool stick to miss. As guy with knife stands back up, he violently thrusts his knife into the torso of guy with pool stick. Guy with pool stick stumbles backwards as he reaches for the knife that is protruding from his torso. After he falls to the ground, he pulls the knife out. He immediately realizes that this was a bad idea because blood furiously pours out. With blood rapidly flowing out of his body, his only option is to take his pool stick and jam it into the wound to stop the bleeding. He chooses this option. After he plugs the wound, he stands up to continue the fight. As he stands up, he reaches for the knife in the same spot that he had dropped it when he removed it from his torso.

But it’s not there.

As guy with pool stick turns his head to continue his search for the knife, guy with knife sneaks up from behind him and slits his throat, instantly killing him.

Game over. Guy with knife wins.

I was in a corporate video twirling the baton while wearing my Fundamentals Montage shirt. Don’t you think that’s awesome?

-Ann

Yes. Yes I do.

Speaking of that shirt…

Even whilst living in the depths of the globe here in Australia I have managed to procure myself a (somewhat striking) 'Fundamentals Montage' tee. I would argue that the tee contains the single most obscure reference of any other t-shirt in existence. So my question is - has there ever been anything less prominent than a 3 second screengrab from a basketball-based Youtube video that has justified it's existence on a t-shirt available for public consumption?

-Berko

Let me first say that this is one of the finest backhanded compliments I’ve ever received, even though it shouldn’t count for anything because it’s from an Aussie. And I truly mean that.

Secondly, to answer your question, I’m not sure there possibly could be one. I mean, Mr. Rainmaker wasn’t exactly a viral video and really only reached cult-like status at best, so right off the bat there’s a very limited market for the shirt right there. Then, like you said, the Fundamentals Montage only makes up a small part of the video, so really we’re only talking about a few seconds of a mildly popular video. I really don’t see how there could be a shirt with a more obscure reference that is lost on virtually everyone but the wearer than the Fundamentals Montage shirt. I’m guessing this is why Homage discontinued it.

Since we’re apparently on the topic of Club Trillion shirts, here are two more relevant emails…

A few months ago my house was robbed. I still live with my parents so there was actually some stuff of value to take. They mostly took electronics like tvs and computers, but after about a week I realized they took something else. They took my Club Tril shirt. No one else had any clothes taken and all my other clothes were still there except for that shirt. I know I didn't lose it somewhere else because I'm a badass and had recently had my mom wash it. What kind of monster would do this? This also makes me question the types of people you draw to your blog.

-Zane

Can whoever took Zane’s shirt please get it back to him? This is why we can’t have nice things. I’m sure he’ll let you keep the electronics, but please don’t make him suffer anymore by making him live in this world without his CLUB TRIL shirt.

Now that we got that out of the way, I gotta say that I can’t help but feel a little flattered about this. I mean, it sucks for you and your family and everything, but a part of me is honored that someone places such a high value on one of my shirts.

Also, I think I might have an idea of who did this. A couple of months ago someone showed me this mug shot that was taken in Naperville, Illinois. I’m pretty sure it’s the first and only time someone was wearing a CLUB TRIL shirt in an official police mug shot, which is pretty awesome. Anyway, my theory is that this kid had to change out of his shirt and put on an orange jumpsuit after he was arrested and when he was released the cops “accidentally” lost his shirt. But he knew the truth – one of the cops liked the shirt and wanted to keep it for himself. So when this kid got released, he went from town to town on a rampage looking for the cop that took his shirt. After two months of breaking into the all sorts of houses, he finally broke into yours, saw your shirt laying there, and just assumed that your dad was the cop that took his shirt. And to really get back at him, he took a bunch of electronics too.

Yeah, that’s gotta be what happened. That’s your guy for sure.

What is more effective when attempting to court a female, throwing up the shark or wearing the club tril shirt? This of course is assuming that it is impossible to do them both at the same time.

As you can see from the picture provided, doing them in unison has such an enormous power over the female nether regions, that it would even turn a guy like Justin Timberlake into a jealous doucher. (In case you can't see me because I am drowning amongst a litany of marginally attractive college coeds, I am the one throwing up the shark, rocking a club tril shirt, while also wearing a daytona 500 hat)

-Sam

First of all, I’m pretty sure the bitches swoon over the CLUB TRIL shirt more than the shark fin. From what I can tell, the shark fin is more of a thing for the fellas. But I’ve been wrong before, so what do I know?

Secondly, I’m saying that there’s about a 98% chance that you were photobombing this picture and weren’t in the preliminary stages of a orgy like you are trying to make it seem. But I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt here and say that this particular instance is included in that 2%, and all these girls huddled around you for this picture, immediately ripped their clothes off right after it was taken, and then all jumped on board the Sam Tram for an express trip to Pound Town.

I recently turned 29 years old and in about a month I'm going to (hopefully) celebrate my second wedding anniversary. Most of my friends are in a similar place that I am, either in the trying to have a kid or two phase or already have 1-3 kids. I love kids but I have a small problem with them. See I love college football and I love the Buckeyes. So on Saturday afternoons in the fall I want to drag myself out of bed just in time for College Gameday then watch games all day long until I can hear Herbie telling Mussburger to shut his Michigan loving trapper. For some reason all parents (and when I say parents I mean wives) want to do is throw their kid's birthday party on Saturday afternoon. Like people don't have anything else to do. I mean come on your kid is 2 years old, do they really care what day of the week their party is on? No but some of us adults would like a say in the matter. If 75% of all Buckeye games are on at 12:00 on a Saturday and 75% of all birthday parties are scheduled at 1:00 someone didn't do their planning. Throw the kid a party on Tuesday night. Heck I will even leave work early just to be there on time.

This is why with my wife I have proposed a dry season. No babies shall be born within the period of September 1st and early December as to not cause any confusion with birthday party planning. So as soon as the Rose Bowl ends until the end of March Madness we go into protection mode. I am very happy to say I made it through my very 1st dry season and my wife and I recently found out we are in line to have our first child with a due date of March 31, 2012.

The dry season can be implemented for any season. I don't know where you plan on living once you get married but if you are planning to stay in Ohio I propose we get this trend started as soon as possible.

-James

You’re doing the Lord’s work, James.

I have a older gentlemen neighbor who apparently has an odd sense of dressing in the warm summer months. He often feels that it is so hot out that he can't wear a shirt, but cool enough to still be wearing jeans. Do you have any experience with this phenomena? Please help rationalize his logic.

-Chris

He has prosthetic legs and gets embarrassed when people find out. He fought in Vietnam for your freedom and at one point during the war, he stepped on a landmine and it completely mutilated both of his legs. He should’ve died and the doctors said he was never supposed to walk again, even with prosthetics. But the doctors never accounted for his resolve. He wasn’t going to just give up. Not after all those years of fighting.

So he worked his ass off for years just so maybe he could one day walk again. Day in and day out he did hours of strenuous physical therapy, unsure of whether or not it would ever really pay off. Like anything else, there were good days and bad days, but through it all he kept pushing. He kept thinking about his goal – one day walking down his driveway and getting his paper without any help. It wasn’t a very glamorous goal, sure. But he was a high school dropout from the south side of Chicago who had served five years fighting a war with no end in sight in the unimaginable hell that was the Vietnam jungles. Nothing about his life was glamorous.

Every now and then, he’d think back on that fateful day and ask God why He would let such a terrible thing happen to him. Why God didn’t just let him die right then and there. Why God made him suffer through all this pain. It was impossible not to think that way. After all those years of wondering whether he’d ever walk again, he felt like he had every right to feel sorry for himself every once in a while. Can’t say I fault the guy.

Eventually all the physical therapy took its toll on him. He couldn’t take it anymore. He was ready to tell the doctors that he had finally given up. That he had accepted that he was going to be bound to a wheelchair for the rest of his life. That that landmine had finally gotten the better of him. But he thought he’d do one last therapy session before he threw in the towel. For old time’s sake. He owed himself that much.

The physical therapist walked into his room like she had all those days before, always optimistic that that particular day was going to be the one that they’d have their breakthrough. She’d never been right, of course, but he appreciated her optimism nonetheless. It was something that he himself couldn’t even muster these days.

She strapped him into the harness and set up the guide bars like she had done every other day for the past few years. She would never admit it to him, but while she was optimistic for some sign of progress on the outside, on the inside she was just as jaded as he was. She knew that nothing significant was going to happen that day. But she was wrong.

She gave him the same routine commands she always had and he mumbled under his breath while she talked just like he always had. When she finished instructing him, he rolled his eyes and said, “Here goes nothing” as he attempted to take a step. He expected the same results as before, but this time something happened. This time the prosthetic moved. It was the breakthrough they had been waiting for all these years. He couldn’t believe it.

That moment breathed new life into him. He was back. No more feeling sorry for himself. He was going to walk again. No excuses. Over the course of the next couple of months, he made steady progress. Nothing too crazy, but it was progress dammit. Nobody could take that sense of accomplishment away from him.

Not any more than a year after that initial breakthrough, his physical therapy was complete. He could walk again. Not very well, mind you, but it was a start. He had the rest of his life to figure out his new legs. For the time being, he was going to celebrate his victory by simply walking out of the hospital on his own power. That was all he ever wanted.

These days he keeps to himself for the most part. He’s a simple man with a simple life but he’ll tell you he wouldn’t change a thing about it. He’ll tell you that he’s lived more life than most people. He’ll tell you that he’s proud to have fought in the war and served his country. He’ll tell you that he’s got all he ever wanted out of life. But he’ll also tell you that the prosthetics embarrass him. He can’t help but feel guilty that he didn’t give enough. So many of his brothers perished and all he gave were his two legs. The more he thought back on everything, the more surviving became a burden.

But he’s learning to cope with it. He’s finally finding peace with himself and what happened on that day that forever changed his life. But he still doesn’t like revealing his prosthetics to people just because there is too much baggage that comes with people knowing. He doesn’t want to have to tell the stories and relive the horrors. Most importantly, he doesn’t want to deal with the judgment. He knows he’ll be looked at as either a freak or as a hero. He thinks both labels are unfair. He’s just an old man trying to live out whatever years he has left to the best of his abilities.

So he always wears jeans to cover his fake legs and his very real memories. He’s not sure how much time he has left on this Earth and when he’s going to be reunited with his fallen brothers, but what he is sure of is that he’s going to spend most of that time with his family and loved ones. And any free time in between he’s going to spend tending to his garden and wondering why the dipshit kid next door always gives him weird looks when he walks around with his shirt off.

Either that or he’s just a crazy old man who really loves his jeans.

Proud To Be An American But Even Prouder To Be A Buckeye,

Mark Titus

Club Trillion Founder

The Miami Mess

2011-08-18T19:50:00.001-04:00

When I first heard about the Yahoo! Sports report that a Miami booster provided cash, cars, jewelry, use of mansions and a yacht, prostitutes, bounties for taking out the opposition, and an abortion for Miami football players, I had three immediate thoughts: 1) Holy balls, Miami knows how to party, 2) This wouldn’t even be that big of a deal if the NCAA weren’t an unprecedented and corrupt cockblock that gets away with a multibillion dollar scam year after year, and 3) Having said that, the rules are the rules and – if the allegations are true – I’m not sure there has ever been such a flagrant breaking of NCAA rules in the history of both the NCAA and their explicit rules against soliciting prostitution and boosters paying for abortions.

Let’s start with what’s really important – the partying. Now, thanks to depictions of Miami in all sorts of TV shows and movies (and at least one music video), I’ve always thought that I had a relatively good idea of just how much the city likes to party. I mean, anyone who has seen Will Smith rocking a wifebeater while hollering at hoochies, Tony Montana burying his face in a heaping mound of blow, Ace Ventura talking out of his butthole, Horatio Caine smoothly putting on his sunglasses after pausing midsentence, and Dexter Morgan saran wrapping criminals to a table and driving a knife through their chest before dismembering their bodies, putting the remains in a bunch of garbage bags, and dumping the bags in the Atlantic Ocean should fully understand that the city of Miami is all about having a good time. But even with all of these depictions of Miami being a zoo fully packed with party animals, I was still pretty surprised when the Yahoo! report came out and revealed that the average Miami football player apparently breaks the BYU Honor Code 14 times before they even eat breakfast.

What made the report so surprising to me is that even though the fact that this all took place in Miami shouldn’t make it all that shocking, we’re still talking about 18-22 year old kids here. Sure it seems like “18-22 year old kids” and “partying” are synonymous, but if you really think back on your days in college, I’m guessing “partying” just meant drinking a bunch of cheap beer, listening to music that was turned up way too loudly only because whoever was hosting the party wanted to show off their sound system, crossing your fingers that the girls you were hitting on were too drunk to notice how ugly you were, and drawing penises on the foreheads of your friends who passed out before you did. Every now and then maybe there were people passing around a joint or two, but for the most part that is what a typical college party entails.

Nowhere in that description did I mention yachts, mansions, cash, jewelry, or – most importantly – prostitutes, which is why the Miami allegations are shockingly awesome to me. According to US census data taken in 2010, less than 1% of American citizens have ever partied on a yacht or with prostitutes, so for a bunch of Miami football players to allegedly have done both before they were even old enough to legally rent a car is truly a remarkable thing and is something I won’t hesitate to admit makes me jealous (hell, I’m sure a lot of them went to these parties before they were even old enough to legally drink). Then again, I guess all of this shouldn’t have been much of a surprise considering the ESPN 30 for 30 documentary about Miami emphasized how wild the Hurricanes were back in the 80s and 90s, and the 7th Floor Crew song in 2004 (very NSFW language) revealed that dorm room gangbangs are apparently as much of a current Miami football tradition as pissing and moaning about a pass interference call from almost a decade ago.

Anyway, now that we got the important and fun part out of the way, let’s discuss what is rapidly becoming the bane of my existence – the NCAA’s steadfast refusal to let athletes profit from their own abilities even though those same athletes’ abilities are the reason the NCAA and the schools the athletes represent rake in billions every year. As a guy who had to wear the NCAA handcuffs for four straight years (although, let’s be honest, since I was a walk-on my handcuffs weren’t that tight) and couldn’t even accept a free sandwich if I was offered one, I think it’s nothing short of ridiculous that the NCAA continues to cockblock their athletes.

As far as I’m concerned, the Miami football players getting cash, jewelry, cars, access to yachts, etc. shouldn’t even be an issue, just like the Ohio State football scandal should have never been an issue, because there’s no logical argument as to why the athletes shouldn’t be entitled to all those things (the OSU scandal especially shouldn’t have been a big deal since I’m of the opinion that the players technically earned the things they sold). Now, the prostitutes and the bounties that were allegedly paid to Miami players to take out opposing players are obviously a big deal, but I’m focusing on the free cash and gifts right now. As shady and corrupt as college sports may seem, at the end of the day the superstar athletes that generate millions for their schools have every right to accept all the cash and gifts they want because they aren’t anywhere close to being as fully compensated as they deserve to be. That’s right, I said it – it’s criminally unfair that college athletes (read: football and men’s basketball players) aren’t paid.

The prevalent argument against paying players is that the players are already getting paid in the form of a free education and a monthly stipend, but I have two issues with this argument. First, from experience I can tell you that the stipend is basically just enough money to survive on and typically isn’t a large enough sum of money to result in very much discretionary income for the players, so really it isn’t even worth mentioning (as I’m sure you all remember me infamously discussing in a certain earlier blog post). In all honesty, when you think about all the hours the players put into their respective sports, the stipend is probably just a little bit higher than minimum wage. Obviously there are many people in America who are living off of minimum wage (or in this economy, no income at all), but these people also aren’t bringing in millions upon millions of dollars for their schools and conferences like the star athletes are, so it’s not exactly fair to just say “if other people can make it work, college athletes should be able to also.”

Secondly, while you and I might place a high value on a college education, many superstar athletes are in college solely because they want to prepare for the pros, so a free education doesn’t really mean much to them. I mean, if you really think about it, the fundamental purpose of college is to gather all the knowledge and skills needed to enter the workforce in your desired field. Keeping that in mind, for a lot of these guys the sport they play is essentially their major and taking classes and graduating is really just their form of an extracurricular activity. Much like how you wanted to be an accountant so you went to college and majored in accounting, these guys want to be NFL linebackers so they go to college to major in breaking spines and ripping the heads off of timid receivers coming across the middle.

This notion is obviously a stereotype and doesn’t apply to everyone who is a shoo-in to make it to the NBA or NFL, but for the most part the All-American college athletes really only care about their education to a certain extent. At the end of the day, their primary focus is making it to the big leagues, so while a free education would mean a great deal to people like you and me, for the superstar athletes who are likely going to leave college early anyway, a scholarship is the equivalent of being a paraplegic and being given a brand new motorcycle.

People who are against paying college athletes and have a hard-on for protecting the concept of amateurism also often cite the fact that NCAA athletes know what they’re getting into because they sign all sorts of forms that explain how the system works, so they have no right to complain about anything. But having gone through this form-signing process four times, I can assure you that it’s not nearly as simple as signing a contract with, say, a cable or gas company might be.

When I was at OSU, we would have compliance meetings at the start of every academic year where we would be given a stack of papers to sign. I specifically remember a handful of times when our compliance person would explain what the form we were about to sign meant and I would consequently think, “This is BS. I don’t want to sign this.” On one occasion, I actually said this out loud to the compliance person and his response was, “Well, then you’ll be ineligible.” So really, my hands were tied because my choices were to either sign the forms or essentially quit the team and miss out on the plethora of poon that comes with being an Ohio State athlete. Negotiating was not an option so I had no choice but to sign the forms as they were.

Now, I wasn’t really all that worked up and was mostly just trying to be a pain in the ass with the compliance people to screw with them a little bit because I knew that giving Ohio State and the NCAA the right to use my image and whatnot wasn’t really that big of a deal since, well, frankly I knew that they would never actually use my image to promote anything. But at the same time I couldn’t help but think how pissed I’d be if I were someone who was a big time Ohio State athlete like, say, Terrelle Pryor. Pryor was essentially forced to sign the same forms I had to, only when he was signing them, he was signing away thousands if not millions of dollars in potential earnings.

So for someone like him, the choices are either to not play or to let the school and NCAA profit boatloads of money off him while he gets essentially nothing in return. In other words, for all intents and purposes, all college athletes are pretty much forced to sign these papers, especially since the fact that the NBA and NFL both require draft entrants to be a certain age leaves these guys with no viable alternative to playing in the NCAA (football in particular since high school kids can at least play professional basketball overseas instead of going to college while foreign football leagues versus big time college football is as laughable of a comparison as Qdoba versus Chipotle). So the “they have no right to complain because they know what they’re getting into” argument holds no water from my perspective.

I guess we could argue about whether or not college athletes should be paid until we’re blue in the face, but in the end it won’t really mean much because the NCAA isn’t going to change their ways anytime soon. The fact of the matter is that the only real way to get the rules changed seems to be for the players to essentially just go on strike and cause a lockout. But this will never happen because the players simply aren’t around long enough to make it happen.

It can be assumed that the upperclassmen and the superstar freshmen and sophomores are the ones who are missing out on the most money (simply from the fact that they’re the ones who put butts in the seats at the games and would likely be the ones getting endorsements and whatnot), but by the time they realize that they’re getting screwed and they actually get upset enough to take action to stop the exploitation, they are already gone to the pros or have graduated and moved on to more important things in their lives. After those guys leave, the carousel continues to spin as a new crop of college athletes comes in and goes through the same cycle of sitting on the bench for a couple of years, finally playing toward the tail end of their careers, and not realizing that they’re getting exploited until it’s too late and they’ve got other things to worry about (and most importantly no longer have any motivation to see that college athletes are justly compensated).

Because the athletes can never get enough traction to seriously challenge the NCAA, nothing gets changed and the exploitation continues. The NCAA knows that they will always have this advantage over the players, which is why I’m fairly certain they all sit in their offices and just cackle, rub their hands together with malevolent glee, and twirl their mustaches all day. I can’t decide if I think everyone involved with such a corrupt organization should be thrown in prison for eternity or if they should be congratulated and given some sort of award for successfully pulling off a multibillion dollar scam on unsuspecting kids year after year (the real irony here is that the NCAA – an organization that profits from screwing people out of money – is most likely going to punish the Miami kids for hanging out with a guy who screwed people out of money).

But I digress. The bottom line is that, if the allegations are true (it’s more fun to just assume they are, isn’t it?), the Miami players knew exactly what they were doing and knew that what they were doing was a blatant violation of NCAA rules, so it’s impossible to feel all that bad for them (especially if the stuff about the hookers and bounties is true – that really is indefensible). Sure the rules are archaic and unjust, but ultimately they’re the rules and until they change, it’s probably best to just abide by them and not choose to break them in the most ridiculous and flagrant ways imaginable. In the meantime, until the rules change, all us fans can really do is just sit back and hope that someday we can all look back on this era of college sports like we now look back on Prohibition (and will most likely look back on the illegality of marijuana ~~and the concept of age of consent~~) and wonder, “What the hell were the people in charge thinking?”

The world is a better place when yacht parties featuring hookers are plentiful and that is a fact. The sooner the NCAA realizes this, the better off we’ll all be.

It’s inevitable that at least one of you will think my hatred for the NCAA stems from the fact that I was forced to donate all the money from my shirt sales to charity when I was playing at Ohio State, so I thought I’d address that real quick. First of all, let me say that the money went to a remarkable charity and was no doubt put to great use and I couldn’t be happier to have been somewhat responsible for that (I know it’s cliché to say that and you probably don’t believe me, but screw it – it’s the God honest truth). At the same time, though, of course the selfish side of me would have loved to have had that $50,000 to spend on whatever I wanted. You’re lying to yourself if you think for one second that some part of you wouldn’t feel the same way. Who in their right mind wouldn’t want $50,ooo just handed to them while they were in college?

But the reason I wasn’t all that upset that I couldn’t get that money and the reason I’m not necessarily pissed at the NCAA for that is because I knew that I wasn’t being exploited since I was a walk-on benchwarmer. It’s not like Ohio State or the NCAA was making tons of money off of me, so I really didn’t have that big of a problem with me not being able to make money off of me either (I still thought it was dumb, but I wouldn’t say I was ever “pissed” about it).

No, my hatred for the NCAA comes from the fact that they use their athletes to gain a profit (which is completely understandable and fine) but won’t allow the athletes to use themselves to gain a profit (which is complete horseshit). It sucks that I couldn’t make money from selling my shirts, sure, but the idea that Jared Sullinger won’t be paid a single dime for singlehandedly selling a bunch of tickets and jerseys this upcoming season is pretty disgusting to me. I know this kind of thing goes on with corporations all over the world, but since I played college basketball and was around the NCAA’s exploitation on a daily basis, this particular instance is the one that I really get fired up over. Pair my anger with the breaking story about Miami and the fact that I really don’t have anything better to do with my time and it explains my motivation behind this blog post.

This is your last reminder that I’m writing a mailbag post on Friday, so don’t be a doucher and send me an email.

Also, we’ve got a few more additions to my list of things that make people lame if they aren’t good but complete badass if they are good. Here are a few more of my favorites that the Trillion Man March sent in:

Drinking Beer

From Laine:

“Shotgunning a beer – if you've never done it before or if you're bad at it, it can squirt all over you (that's what she said) and make you soggy and smell like beer all night. If you're a pro, you take it down in one gulp and game over (again, that's what she said.)”

From Evan:

How is drinking in college not the gold standard for novices sucking and experts being amazing? Everyone wants to be like Frank the Tank and hammer that beer bong all night at the party. Depending on the size of your wood, you may or may not want to go streaking through the quad, but that's only a problem for those who can survive a night long of heavy chugging first anyway. But the kid who just got to the party, shotgunned 2 cold ones, and is already passed out puking in the bathroom? He's the biggest loser douche at the party and is going to wake up to shame and a lot of Sharpie dicks drawn all over his body.

A related subject, beer pong. The guy at the party who always lets his partner shoot first because he never misses and will hit any cup is pretty awesome and can definitely keep that hot streak going all night right into some hot mama's bed. But the guy who can't hit a cup and then is running around the house naked showing off his tiny schlong because his team got shut out? Not so cool to be him.”

Criminals (specifically thieves)

From Trevor:

“In real life, its fairly common to hear about people who try to rob a convenience store and end up getting held at gunpoint by the guy at the counter while the cops come. This is lame, even I could do better than that. On the other hand, real (ok, mostly fictional) hard core criminals are incredibly badass. Kaiser Soze? His nickname is the devil, pretty hardcore. Then there are all the other bankrobbing movies, The Oceans (11 through 13) Inside Job, etc. Then in real life you used to have Jesse James and all the wild west types. There just aren't cool robberies anymore really, its almost a pity.”

I also thought about this one when I heard about the Miami football story and Nevin Shapiro’s Ponzi scheme and couldn’t help but think, “Even though that guy screwed a bunch of people out of a ton of money and should no doubt be locked up for a very long time, a small part of me is kind of impressed.” I feel the same way about guys like Pablo Escobar, D.B. Cooper, Al Capone, etc.

Cops

Also from Trevor:

“Now on the other side of the spectrum, we have cops. There's the stereotypical cop, drinking coffee and eating donuts, kinda pathetic. Then you have supercops, like in the movies. I assume that the CIA and FBI are pretty intense in real life too, but I don't really know what they actually do.”

Proud to Be An American But Even Prouder To Be A Buckeye,

Mark Titus

Club Trillion Founder

An Essay From A Guest

2011-08-17T13:42:00.001-04:00

I gotta be honest with you and admit upfront that something unexpected came up today so I won’t be able to write as long of a blog post as I would have liked to. Obviously, “something came up” can be interpreted as either writer’s block, me going back to my lazy ways, me getting an opportunity to play free golf and taking it, etc. Regardless of what I tell you the real reason is, I know that you will all most likely think the truth is one of those aforementioned excuses, so I might as well not even try to explain myself and just move on (also, I’m not saying the real reason isn’t one of the aforementioned excuses).

Having said that, Nut Up or Shut Up Week is still rolling on. Since I promised you five blog posts in five days and since I never go back on my promises (except for the times that I do), I’ve got no choice but to deliver a blog post today come hell or high water.

(By the way, hell and high water seem like two drastically different things. Don’t get me wrong – floods can be devastating, but the phrase “high water” doesn’t necessarily mean a flood. All “high water” really means is that a couple of roads are closed throughout the town and that bag of Doritos you left in your basement might be a little soggy now cause some water is leaking in. It sucks, sure, but really it only marginally sucks when compared to eternal damnation, so maybe the phrase should be changed to “come hell or apocalypse”, “come hell or the plague”, “come hell or famine”, or any of the other countless alternatives that are better than “come hell or high water.”)

Anyway, because I guaranteed a blog post today and because I can’t really carve a huge block of time out of my day today like I typically do when I write these things, I’m going to turn today’s post over to a guest blogger. And by “guest blogger”, I mean that I’m going to copy and paste an essay that was written by Kosta Koufos using my computer when he and I were teammates at Ohio State and that I’ve had saved on my computer for all these years.

Kosta, you might remember, was at Ohio State for one year before he went to the NBA and bounced around a few teams until landing with the Denver Nuggets (who he now plays for). During his one year at OSU (my sophomore year), he was asked to write an essay that compared Johnny Cash’s version of “Hurt” to the original version by Nine Inch Nails for one of his classes, and for whatever reason he used my computer to do so. After he finished writing the essay, I obviously saved it and planned on using it in my book somehow, but in the end there wasn’t any real purpose for it or natural place to put it so I left it out of the book (plus it’s not terrible enough to be really all that funny or entertaining).

Since I’ve saved it for so long and have never done anything with it (and since I never got to make fun of Kosta on the blog because he left for the NBA before I started my blog), I figured I’d finally publish it. So if you have ever found yourself wondering what a McDonald’s All-American has to say about the two most popular versions of “Hurt”, today is your lucky day. I should mention that I opened the document, hit CTRL + A to copy every last word he wrote, and then opened this blog post and hit CTRL + V to paste it all, so please don’t accuse me of cutting stuff out or changing words around or anything like that. Also, I swear that every bit of this was really written by Kosta when he was a freshman at OSU. I had nothing to do with it other than copying it onto this blog (you’ll soon see that I couldn’t have written it because it’s not bad enough – had I written it as Kosta, I admittedly would have gone over the top and tried to make him look really stupid). Anyway, here it is:

Kosta Koufos

11/9/07

Music Comparison

After Listening to the song Hurt from both artists Johnny Cash, and the group Nine Inch Nails, it caught my attention in an awkward way. Both songs had the same lyrics, but sung in a different type of tone. I felt that the songs had more differences than similarities which made it very easy for me to make many judgments about the music pieces. The music had a common message and was very moving in a negative way. After listening and thinking about both music pieces, I came to realization that even though the song had the same lyrics, there was a distinct difference between the two.

The first artist I listened too was Johnny Cash. As the song first starts out, you hear a guitar that seems to have a mellow dramatic sound. Then after the guitar plays, Johnny Cashes voice comes in with a very quite but strong passionate voice. As I listened to this song, it became very evident to me that it was about pain and sorrow in life. The main reason why I said the song was about pain and sorrow in life, was the fact that there were many statements used that used the word “death” in it. If I were to summarize this song I would say that it was about having everything in life, and all of a sudden you have nothing, but still you have to stay strong.

When the song leaded to the chorus the beat became faster, and Johnny Cash’s voice still maintained his mellow voice throughout the whole song. As I listened to this, I kept thinking of wars and destruction, and the death that came with a price from the wars. I also had a religious image with Jesus being persecuted, and the life struggled he faced to get his message around about God. From listening to Johnny Cash’s version of Hurt I concluded that Nine Inch Nail’s version was much different.

Even though both songs were very slow and very dramatic, the beginning of both songs was different. Johnny Cash’s version had more of an up tempo beat, while NIN version was extremely depressing. The first ten seconds of the song, all you heard was wind. As I was listening to this I had goose bumps, because it was a very chilling and eerie noise. The NIN version had the same attributes as the other version, for instance there was a guitar played, it had a very slow rhythm and depressing tone, and had a strong transition chorus.

The main difference between the two songs is that with NIN, the singer was over powered by the background. It was very hard to depict what the singer was saying, which made the song more depressing than Johnny Cash’s version. If I had to choose between the two songs, I would have to lean more towards Johnny Cash. The reason for this is that his voice was more demanding and very easy to understand. With NIN, I had to listen to the song several times.

Don’t forget I’m planning on doing a mailbag post on Friday and the length of the post depends exclusively on how many emails I get. While I’d really appreciate it if nobody sent me an email for the mailbag so that I wouldn’t have to write anything, I think it would be better for everyone involved if the exact opposite of this happened, so get to it.

Also, after asking for some more examples of activities/hobbies/things that make people look like douches if they aren’t very good at them but conversely make them look like grade A badasses if they are good at them, the Trillion Man March stepped to the plate. Here are a handful of my favorite additions to the list that you all sent in:

Astronauts (From Shelby)

“A kid at space camp is ripe for a beating. But an astronaut - well - he's on the moon. (Or at least he was before Obama defunded NASA.)”

Farmers (Also from Shelby)

“My aunt has a veggie garden in the back of her house. She likes to grow zucchinis. Her tomatoes are actually pretty good; but when she starts going off about how her veggie garden is doing - well....

On the other hand, we all depend on real farmers.”

Facial Hair (From Chris)

“If you aren't very manly and can't grow a real beard then keep your facial hair clean shaven and stop looking like such a dirt ball, unless of course you are a dirt ball and that's just how you roll. People trying to grow a beard who clearly cannot just look like a 9th grade guy trying to impress the new slut in school because he got pubes on his face before anyone else. On the contrary, having an impressive beard can be one of the most badass additions to a man's look.”

Wrapping a Chipotle Burrito (From Griffith)

“I had a very poorly wrapped burrito today at Chiptole. All my chicken, rice, and corn proceeded to fall out almost immediately after I picked up the burrito. On the contrary, when I receive a well-wrapped burrito, it's the greatest thing of all time. That's where my connection to your post comes in, when someone wraps the burrito (not trying to be racist but it's usually somebody white) and it's done poorly, the whole Chipotle experience is almost ruined. On the other hand, when someone (again not trying to be racist but it's usually one of the Mexican employees) wraps the burrito really well, that's what makes Chipotle so awesome and I have the utmost respect for that employee. The 2.7 second super-wrap. Few things rival it.”

Personally, I think a sloppy Chipotle burrito still beats the hell out of most anything else so it’s not exactly terrible to me and probably doesn’t qualify for my list, but I included Griffith’s submission on here because I wanted to reward thinking outside the box (plus, obviously not everyone is exactly like me and some of you might have your day ruined when you get a poorly wrapped burrito, so it might qualify for your list).

Also, I loved Griffith’s disclaimer that he’s not trying to be racist, as though anybody in their right mind would think he’s racist for suggesting that Mexicans are better at wrapping burritos than whites. Remember, Griffith – 1) it’s impossible to be racist against whites (regardless of your own race), and 2) it’s not racist if it’s a compliment.

Proud To Be An American But Even Prouder To Be A Buckeye,

Mark Titus

Club Trillion Founder

Another Misguided Concept

2011-08-16T17:17:00.001-04:00

Admit it – you don’t think I can pull it off, do you? Well, it’s Day 2 of what I’m now referring to as Nut Up or Shut Up Week at Club Trillion and here I am. In case you were wondering, I am actually writing all of these blogs posts the same day that I publish them, so don’t think that I wrote a bunch of these and stockpiled them just so I could just sit back and make it seem like I’m working diligently (I really am working diligently, dammit!). Also, even though it may seem like this week is all about me giving back to the Trillion Man March or something, the truth is that I’m much more selfish than that. The sole purpose of this week is to get me to stop being so lazy and to give myself the kick in the pants that I kinda need right now, which is ironic since had I not issued this challenge to myself in the first place there’s a solid chance I wouldn’t have even put pants on at all this entire week (another irony: this last sentence discussed both pants and irony and sometimes I iron my pants before I put them on!!!).

Anyway, for Day 2 I’ve decided to write about something I’ve been giving some thought to for a little while and was just reminded of this past weekend when I went back to Indiana and stayed in my hometown for a few days. Now, I’ve mentioned Brownsburg a time or two on this blog before, but in case you missed it or don’t remember what the town is like, just imagine your stereotypical suburban town and that’s pretty much it. There’s really nothing all that special about the place (save the Little League World Series appearances in 1999 and 2001 and the fact that Gordon Hayward of the Utah Jazz, Drew Storen of the Washington Nationals, and Lance Lynn of the St. Louis Cardinals all graduated from BHS within a few years of each other), but there is at least one thing about Brownsburg that I’ve yet to see duplicated anywhere else, and that one thing is the unprecedented amount of adolescent loitering. Yes, loitering (loitering…and smoking the reefer).

Forgive me for sounding like a grumpy old geezer, but every time I go back to my hometown, there always seems to be a ridiculous amount of 12-15 year old dudes just hanging out everywhere throughout the town. They never have any sort of agenda and seem like they’re just really bored and want to get out of their houses cause their moms are strung out on drugs and their dads are alcoholics who beat them or something. No matter the day of the week or the time of day, it always seems like there are kids hanging out at the grocery stores, the bowling alley, the Wal-Mart, the movie theater, both of the McDonald’s (don’t want to brag or anything but yeah, Brownsburg’s got two), and even the liquor stores. It’s like a gay pedophile’s paradise seeing as how the entire town is crawling with 12-15 year old boys.

Now, using my own adolescence as a template, I originally thought that these kids were at the grocery stores to MILF hunt, were at the bowling alley to hit on girls their own age, were at the Wal-Mart to commit petty theft, were at the movie theater to sneak into some terrible (probably Tyler Perry) movie and get a handy in the back row, were at the Mickey D’s to get free food from their friends who work there, and were at the liquor stores to try to get someone who is 21 to score some booze for them. But I’ve observed these kids enough to know that they aren’t doing any of that (um, I swear I observed them for research purposes for this blog post and not some other reason).

Instead, they’re just hanging out by the entrances of all these places and are talking amongst themselves, presumably about how big of a bitch their English teacher is or how badly they want to see that Kelly chick’s boobs. More often than not, they never actually go into the establishment that they’re hanging out by and instead just get in everyone’s way since they’re sitting right by the entrance, which is why these kids annoy me so much. Also, without fail there is always at least one kid in the group who has a skateboard with him. And that’s what got me thinking.

Because of the kid in the group with a skateboard, I’ve noticed that I’ve developed a bit of a disdain for all kids who skateboard, primarily because I’m a stereotyping ass. Having said that, though, I don’t have a blanket hatred for all skateboarders, as I actually think pro skateboarders are pretty badass and enjoy watching them do their thing during the X Games every summer. I’m a big fan of Tony Hawk, Rob Dyrdek, and Jason Ellis in particular, and anyone who knows anything about me knows that just thinking about Rune Glifberg doing a Christ Air on Tony Hawk Pro Skater makes my nipples rock hard. I really do enjoy skateboarding, but thanks to these kids who loiter with their skateboards at popular places in my hometown and annoy me to no end, I only like pro skateboarding and kinda think that all non-pro skateboarders are crusty tampons.

After giving it some thought, I realized that skateboarding isn’t the only thing that I feel this way about. There seem to be a handful of skills/activities that I think to myself, “That guy’s a douche” if I see someone doing the activity recreationally or as just a hobby or something, but also think, “That guy’s a total badass” when I see an expert doing the exact same thing. Obviously this is somewhat hypocritical thinking since it’s impossible for someone to become an expert at something without being a novice first, so it’s stupid to rag on young skateboarders because Tony Hawk was once a novice too.

With that in mind, this is more of an observation of my own flawed thought process than anything else. So if you do any of the activities that I’m going to mention in a little bit as a hobby, please don’t take this the wrong way and think that I think you’re an idiot for what you choose to do with your free time. I’m not trying to tell you how to live your life. I’m instead just basically pointing out how messed up my logic is (although, my guess is that a lot of you feel the same way about a few of these things so really it’s more of me pointing out how messed up everyone’s logic is).

Now that we got that disclaimer out of the way, let’s take a look at my list of the nine things other than skateboarding for which I think novices are losers but experts are badasses. Before we do, though, I should address the fact that you might be thinking that this criteria applies to all activities. You might be saying to yourself, “But of course you think novices suck and experts are awesome. That’s because novices are novices and experts are experts. That’s how everything works.” My response to this is well, not necessarily. Here’s a chart that provides some examples and shows the difference between a few separate activities.

If you play pick-up basketball but aren’t that good, nobody is going to look down on you or judge you or anything (I mean that they won’t judge you for the decision to play basketball – if they make fun of you, it’s because you are atrocious and can’t even hit the rim and not because of what you choose to do as a hobby). Meanwhile, video games are something that are almost better to not be that good at. It’s cool to play video games with your friends every now and then, but when you become an expert at a particular game, people think you’re a complete loser who never leaves your house (this explains the genesis of Nut Up or Shut Up Week). And poor Magic: The Gathering players – no matter how good or bad you might be, the mere fact that you’re playing it at all kinda makes you a loser.

So now that you see the difference, keep in mind that we’re concerned with just that fourth case on the chart. I’ll provide my list, but part of the reason I wrote about this is because I want some input from the Trillion Man March. I know that there are some things I didn’t think of, which is why I’m hoping some of you will email me with examples you come up with. Anyway, here’s my list:

Martial Arts

I guess MMA guys could also kinda be grouped in with this, but here I really mean guys who do karate or judo or taekwondo or whatever else they teach at your local dojo. Just think for a second how you’d react if you found out your friend goes to karate class every Thursday night versus how you’d react if you found out your friend was a black belt in karate. I don’t know about you, but I’m equal parts jealous and terrified of anyone who has a black belt in any of the martial arts, which might explain why I make fun of people who take martial arts classes and aren’t yet black belts. Maybe I’m just getting in my licks while I feel like I still can since once they get black belts they’d be able to mutilate me without even breaking a sweat (yes, I’m aware that even non-black belts could still have their way with me).

Ventriloquism

I know some people probably think ventriloquists fall into that Magic: The Gathering group in that no matter how good or bad they are, they’re still kind of weird for doing it at all. But there’s something about good ventriloquism that I appreciate. I really shouldn’t have to defend myself, but I offer this example as one bit of evidence why I am sometimes jealous of and thoroughly entertained by ventriloquists.

Parkour

It’s been brought to my attention that some people don’t know what Parkour is, so if you’re included in this group, watch this video and get up to speed. I might be alone in this, but the first time I watched that, my jaw would have dropped all the way to the ground had my fully erect penis not stopped it first. Some of the stuff on there completely blows my mind and makes me wonder exactly how someone practices that stuff….

…which brings me to the homeless man I saw in downtown Los Angeles a couple of months ago who was apparently trying to run up walls. Now, there’s a good chance this guy was just high on LSD, but I’m going to give him the benefit of the doubt and assume that he was actually just trying to practice some Parkour, because he also jumped over a few benches and twirled himself around a street sign. Up until that point, I had always assumed that all Parkour was sweet, but then I saw this homeless man faceplant after he tried to jump over a bike rack and I realized that for as cool as the Parkour experts are, the Parkour novices are exactly that uncool.

Freestyle Rapping

There’s this guy and then there’s Tom Green and Xzibit. I think those two videos prove my point for me.

(If you didn’t click the links, I should mention that the video that I linked to as the good example probably isn’t the one that you thought was going to be the good one.)

Cooking

Obviously there’s nothing wrong with being able to make a good meal for yourself, so don’t think I’m picking on you if you regularly cook. I’m more concerned with the guys like Randy Marsh from the “Crème Fraiche” episode of South Park. You know, guys who own all sorts of utensils (and probably don’t know what most of them do), obsess over cooking shows, are always on the hunt for good recipes, and think they’re gourmet chefs just because they can make a casserole.

Actual gourmet chefs, on the other hand, are doing the Lord’s work. I fully respect people who can make elaborate and delicious meals, to the point that the rare times I eat at a nice restaurant, I typically don’t enjoy the meal as much as I should because I’m too busy envying the chef and hating myself for not knowing how to make anything more than a ham sandwich.

Magic

This is pretty self-explanatory. I hate to be the one to tell you this, but your cheesy uncle who thought he was awesome when he would pretend to pull his thumb off or find a quarter behind your ear whenever he saw you at family reunions was actually a complete loser. Conversely, this is kind of badass.

Doing Drugs

This one is a little different than all the others in that I personally never get jealous of someone because they do drugs (just say no, kids). But I still thought I should include it because there are enough examples of people who I think are pure badass primarily because of the boatloads of drugs they did or still do. Plus, I think the juxtaposition of a looking down on the stereotypical meth head high school dropout and idolizing the stereotypical rock star who shoots up in his trailer before and/or after playing to a packed house is interesting.

Sure there are exceptions and not everyone who does a ton of drugs is awesome (Lindsay Lohan), but guys like Hunter S. Thompson, Charlie Sheen (I know he’s become a cliché at this point and has kind of run his course, but less than six months ago the guy was on fire), and handfuls of pro wrestlers leave me no choice but to tip my hat to them simply because their ability to consume enough drugs to take down even the huskiest of Michigan cheerleaders is pretty impressive to me in some strange way.

Graffiti

The kids who spray paint random lines on alleyways and the sides of trains are undoubtedly complete twats, but after watching Exit Through the Gift Shop, I can’t help but think that guys like Banksy and Shepard Fairey rule (if Exit Through the Gift Shop was a hoax, that only makes me respect Banksy that much more since he was able to dupe so many people).

Guitar

Anybody who has spent any time on a college campus has seen the guy who knows two or three chords and sits in a grassy area on campus (usually with his shirt off), strums his guitar, and throws lyrics to a popular song over top of some guitar playing that in no way matches the actual song. This is the novice I’m talking about, not people like me who tried to teach themselves how to play guitar (but failed miserably) in the privacy of their own homes (of course I’m not talking about me – I have to find a way to save face, after all). And really, you don’t even have to be an expert at guitar for me to think you’re awesome. So long as you can actually play the thing and aren’t just trying to give the impression that you know how to play, you’re cool in my book. It’s the dude with his shirt peeled who is desperate for attention and bought a guitar just because he thought chicks would like him more that needs a swift kick to the taint.

I think I might make my blog post for Friday a mailbag post, but that depends mostly on whether or not I get any good emails between now and then, so if you have anything to ask or tell me, send it to me in the form of an email and I’ll respond to it for all the world to see. I know Simmons is in the midst of his “Summer of Mailbag” over at Grantland, so after you’re done complaining about how I’m copying him and after you’re done sulking over the fact that he didn’t include your email in his mailbag column from last week, send your rejected email my way and I’ll take care of you.

And don’t forget to do your homework tonight and send me any ideas you came up with for what I discussed with this post. If I get some good ones, I’ll post them at the end of the blog entries throughout the week and give you a shoutout, which will in turn surely result in at least 2 or 3 Facebook friend requests you wouldn’t have otherwise received.

As always, if your ideas suck please keep them to yourselves.

Proud To Be An American But Even Prouder To Be A Buckeye,

Mark Titus

Club Trillion Founder

Catching Up With Some Old Friends

2011-08-15T18:10:00.004-04:00

I’m going to do it. This week, I’m going to try to achieve what I’ve always assumed was impossible. No, I’m not going to watch an entire WNBA game or try to rapidly drink a gallon of milk. And no, I’m not going to become a vegan or try to teach Deshaun Thomas (who – by the way – might already be my favorite Ohio State athlete ever) how to pass a basketball. And I’m certainly not going to try to memorize all of the lyrics to “Informer” or try to physically lift Evan “The Villain” Turner’s girlfriend off the ground without the help of a forklift or some sort of advanced machinery. No, what I’m going to attempt is much more difficult than any of these things. That’s because I’m going to try to write five blog posts in five days. I’ll say it again in case you didn’t catch that and for whatever reason have some weird personal philosophy that prevents you from rereading things: I’m going to try to write five blog posts in five days. Yes, I know I’m crazy for attempting to multiply my output by almost infinity and yes I’m fully aware of how dangerous this could ultimately be, which is why I took all the necessary precautions and have paramedics standing by should the unthinkable happen.

For this first blog post, I figured I’d write about my journey to Indiana this past weekend because there literally isn’t a single thing that any one of you can do to stop me. I initially went back to Indiana to play in the Travis Smith Memorial Golf Classic in Terre Haute but ultimately ended up staying at my parents’ house in my hometown for a few days after the event just because my mom kept making me free meals. I’ve discussed my mom’s limited cooking abilities on this blog before, so intuition would tell you that staying for a free meal cooked by her would be like getting domed up by a great white shark – while the “what” seems pretty awesome, perhaps a little more attention should be paid to the “who.”

But despite her culinary shortcomings, the fact of the matter is that she’s really not that bad of a cook and she can certainly cook much better than I can. And most importantly, her meals are free, which is a huge deal because there’s no denying that the best things in life are free, even if they also happen to be slightly burnt and could probably use a little more seasoning. Anyway, after constantly stuffing my face for a few days and putting on at least five pounds, I had no choice but to flee my parents’ house and come back home to Ohio lest I develop type 2 diabetes and what would have surely been a nice set of man tits.

By the way, I’d be remiss if I didn’t also mention that while I know this is fairly obvious and pretty much goes without saying, it’s impossible to adequately describe how glorious that first poop you take after a long weekend of gorging at your parents’ house is. Every time I question why I visit my parents and subject myself to the self-loathing that comes with quadrupling my daily caloric intake, that post-visiting the parents poop is always there to remind me and is what ultimately makes me return time and time again.

But back to the golf outing. Most of you probably don’t know this, but Greg Oden’s best friend since childhood, Travis Smith, died in a car accident in January of 2007, when we were in the midst of our freshman season at OSU. Ever since then, a golf outing has been held in Travis’ hometown of Terre Haute, Indiana to honor Travis and benefit the local Boys & Girls Club. This year, Greg financed his own personal team and asked me to be on it, most likely because I told him that I was a scratch golfer (to be fair, I thought “scratch golfer” meant that you typically get so frustrated during a round of golf that you stop keeping score and just scratch out the remainder of the scorecard).

Since he hosts the event and can therefore do whatever he damn well pleases, Greg made sure that Team Oden had one more player than all the other teams, which was significant because we were playing a best ball scramble so our team had one more opportunity to hit a good shot than the other teams did. I was obviously the anchor of the team but other Team Oden members included Mike Conley, Josh McRoberts, a former AAU teammate of all of ours named Reece who played pro baseball for a few years and is now going to play basketball at UIndy, and my roommate from my freshman year at OSU who played high school basketball with Mike and Greg. Had this been a Gus Macker, we would have no doubt mushroom stamped the competition, won the thing with ease, and most likely had a celebration party at a local strip club where we would’ve let the strippers drink Hennessy out of our trophy as we did lines of coke off their breasts. Sadly, though, this was a golf outing and not a basketball tournament, and the golfing ability of the guys on our team ranged from “atrocious” to “somewhat decent.”

The best player on our team was definitely Mike, who goes golfing pretty much every day and typically shoots somewhere in the low to mid 80s, but I found out when I got to the course that Mike would have to leave after 9 holes because he had a flight to Arkansas to catch. This meant that I was going to be our team’s best player for the back nine. As you can imagine, this was less than good news for our team. I’m not exactly a terrible golfer (typically shoot high 80s/low 90s) simply because I go so often (I would go every day if I could afford it. In fact, my life plan looks like this: “Step 1 – Get rich. Step 2 – Golf.”), but as a general rule of thumb, it’s probably not a good thing if I’m the best on the team, regardless of what sport we’re talking about. This particular instance was no exception.

Since we sucked so badly after Mike left (and honestly weren’t really doing that well even when Mike was with us), we decided to do something about it and fix our problems, which is to say we decided to honor one of the great historic traditions in golf and cheat like crazy so people wouldn’t mock us for being horrible golfers. Throughout the last nine holes, each of us took multiple tee shots on each hole, we interpreted “club length relief” as “put the ball back on the fairway and cut a stroke off your score”, we treated any ball that was within 20 feet of the hole as a gimmie, and we even just blatantly wrote down a score that was in no way anywhere close to what we actually got a few times.

After most of the holes on the back nine, Josh and I contemplated what to write down on the scorecard, because we wanted to obviously get a good score but still wanted to make sure we didn’t go overboard and end up accidentally winning the thing since it would’ve been obvious that we cheated. In the end, our final reported score was a 9-under 62, which we thought was pretty good and would’ve been enough for a top 5 finish that would’ve got the ladies all hot and bothered. But as it turned out, even with our blatant disregarding of the rules, we still finished something like third to last and were probably made fun of by everyone.

But not all was lost, though, because during the round Josh (who plays for the Indiana Pacers) confirmed what I had always thought was true when he essentially told me that Larry Bird (who is the Pacers’ President of Basketball Operations) is a total badass who drinks and smokes whenever he feels like it, says exactly what’s on his mind without a care in the world about who he might offend, and pretty much does whatever the f**k he wants because he’s Larry F’ing Bird. Learning this information and realizing that my idol is exactly as awesome as I hoped he would be is unquestionably a win for me, no matter where the final standings said our team finished for the day.

After the golf outing, we all decided to reject reality and have a pool party at Greg’s new house in Indy to celebrate our big win. I showed up an hour after I was told the party was supposed to start because in my experience I’ve found that an hour is usually how long it takes for all the butt-naked hos to arrive and really get the party started. You can call it fashionably late if you want to, but I prefer to call it “trying to time it up perfectly so I’m not stuck at a party that has a serious deficiency of butt-naked hos.”

Anyway, when I walked into Greg’s house, three things immediately stood out to me: 1) It was just Greg’s summer house that he plans on giving to his grandma because it’s not nice/big enough, and it was still nicer and bigger than any house I’ll ever own in my life, 2) A life-size sculpture of his penis was resting on the mantle above his fireplace, with the base of the shaft actually resting on the fireplace and the flaccid replica of his penis hanging down from the mantle so the tip of the penis was just a few inches from the fireplace, and 3) There wasn’t a single butt-naked ho in sight (I made up one of those three observations. I’ll let you figure out which one). My first course of action was to bring this third observation up to Greg, as I said to him, “Greg, I’ve seen Entourage. I know how you big shots party. Where are the heaps of cocaine that are supposed to be randomly placed throughout the house? Where are the people having casual sex in plain sight despite the fact that nobody at the party has any idea who they are? Why are there not topless chicks walking around in the shallow end of your pool and kissing each other just because some horny dude at the party dared them to? You call this a party?” He responded by saying, “Shut up, asshole. Do you want a beer or not?” and hitting me in the balls before he walked to the kitchen. Touché.

Apparently this “party” was actually just a laid back get-together with less than 10 people, which was a serious buzzkill for me but probably was for the better considering that I’m scheduled to get married in less than a year. Anyway, since the party kinda sucked by my standards, the only real reason I even bring it up is to discuss Greg’s house. Now, the house wasn’t exactly a multimillion dollar estate with an Olympic sized pool and a guest house or anything wild like that, but it was still pretty sweet considering that it had a pool with a slide in the backyard, an upstairs and a basement, nice new furniture throughout the house (including a brand new piano and a pool table), flat screen TVs everywhere, a sound system that could be controlled throughout the entire house, and a theater room with a huge projector screen and a couple rows of seats (and let’s not forget that this was just his summer house that he plans on giving away because it’s not cool enough).

As we were all sitting in the theater room, Reece asked Greg if he had any video game systems hooked up to the projector, to which Greg replied, “I have them all.” Reece then decided he wanted to play Madden on Xbox 360 and I said I’d play against him, so Greg took a few minutes to get everything set up and then handed Reece and me some controllers. But the controllers didn’t work because they were fresh out of the box and had never even been charged before, let alone used. Reece and I quickly figured this out, so we walked to the closet where the video game systems were stored and we looked for the stuff we needed to charge the controllers.

As we were looking, I noticed that all the game systems looked brand new and all the games and DVDs he had on a shelf right next to everything looked new too. That’s when it hit me – Greg has so much f’ing money that he just thought to himself, “What does this room need? Hmm, maybe some video games”, went out and bought at least three video game systems and a bunch of games to go with, probably paid someone to hook everything up for him, and then just let them sit in this closet where he most likely had never touched any of them (as evidenced by the fact that there were still stickers on the controllers and they hadn’t been charged yet).

When Greg walked back into the room, Reece and I had turned the TV back to Sportscenter or something. Greg started to ask Reece why we weren’t playing Xbox, but I interrupted him because I just couldn’t help but address what was on my mind. I said, “Greg, do you ever just sit in this chair in your theater room of your summer house, push this button that makes your electric powered leather chair recline without you having to exert any effort whatsoever, watch TV on your gigantic projector screen, and think to yourself, ‘Holy shit I’m rich’?” He stopped talking to Reece midsentence, turned his head toward me, looked me in the eye with a straight face for a few beats of silence like I was the world’s biggest dumbass, and emphatically said, “No” before he turned back and again asked Reece why we weren’t playing Xbox. That told me everything I needed to know – this guy has more money than he can even comprehend.

Now, I know some of you are probably thinking “Congratulations, dude. You know somebody rich. Aren’t you f**king special? Too bad you’re still a poor douche who won’t amount to anything with your own life.” And to that I say, you’re probably right albeit kind of impolite. The point of me telling you about Greg’s house wasn’t because I was somehow vicariously bragging through Greg or because I think I’m awesome for knowing a millionaire. The point of that story is that Greg has more money than I could ever even spend and it kind of blows my mind to think about it and actually see it in person (since he went to the NBA, I’ve probably only seen Greg maybe 5 times a year and most of those times are at OSU’s gym or when we go out to a bar or something. I’ve never actually been to any of his houses that he’s bought with his NBA riches until this past weekend).

More importantly, the point of that story is that I’m now kind of beating myself up over the fact that I didn’t forge a stronger relationship with Greg when we were teammates and therefore missed out on a great opportunity to secure a spot in his entourage as one of his primary moochers.

There’s no telling how many butt-naked hos I could’ve partied with by now.

Proud To Be An American But Even Prouder To Be A Buckeye,

Mark Titus

Club Trillion Founder

How I Feel About The Brickyard 400

2011-08-03T14:21:00.001-04:00

Being a native of Indiana and one of the few NASCAR fans who can form an articulate sentence and can say with absolute certainty that I have never kissed my cousin, the last week of July is typically a week that I spend doing a lot of explaining to people. That’s because the last week of July is when the Brickyard 400 is held at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway, and is therefore the time of year that all sorts of people over here in Ohio ask me if I’m going back home for the race and then look at me like I just pulled my testicles out of my pants and rested them on their forehead when I tell them “absolutely not.”

Part of their disbelief comes from the fact that it’s no secret that I think the Indy 500 is the single most sacred event (sporting event or otherwise) in the world and that I’ve actually ended relationships with my friends and girlfriends when they didn’t want to accompany me to the race because they claimed that it didn’t appeal to them. I’ve made it well-known that the Indy 500 is a really big f’ing deal to me, so people assume that because I actually prefer NASCAR to the IndyCar series, I must really be pitching a tent towards the end of July because I get to watch my favorite drivers race on my favorite track just a few miles from my hometown. After all, the Brickyard 400 is essentially just the Indy 500 for NASCAR, right?

The answer is of course not, stupid. Much like Disney’s Doug and a deep fried hand job, the Brickyard 400 is a perfect example of how it’s entirely possible to put two otherwise great things together and create something far worse than the individual parts.

Let me first say that my disdain for the Brickyard 400 doesn’t come from me being some sort of traditionalist who hates the fact that the 500 isn’t the only race run on the sacred IMS track anymore, which is how some people in Indy felt when the Brickyard first started in 1994. I’m perfectly fine with the idea of there being another race at IMS. Hell, I’d be fine with there being a race every weekend at IMS so long as they all featured quality racing and a crazy party. But that’s where the Brickyard 400 falls short and is really why I have such an issue with it – the racing sucks and the party is even worse. On the surface, it seems like the Brickyard 400 has all the necessary elements to make for an awesome experience, but it only takes one trip to the Indy 500 and one trip to the Brickyard 400 to notice the vast difference and get the overwhelming feeling that, like a dry college campus or a prude supermodel, there are serious problems that completely outweigh any and all positives.

First let’s tackle the racing. Now, I don’t pretend to be a racing expert and even though I’ve been watching NASCAR for as long as I can remember, I admittedly have no idea what the hell the commentators are talking about most of the time because my knowledge of the terminology is pretty limited. Truth be told, I probably know more about elephants than I do racing strategy or the anatomy of cars in general (here’s proof: elephants have up to six sets of teeth in their lifetime and once their sixth set falls out, they die from starvation because they can no longer eat. Also, did you know that if you just went to your local zoo and picked out any elephant at random, removed all of its organs including its trunk, and laid them all end-to-end on the ground, you would certainly get arrested and would probably spend a significant amount of time in prison?).

But despite my shortcomings in car knowledge, I am able to tell if what I am watching is boring or not. Of course, some would argue that all racing is boring because it’s nothing more than a bunch of left turns. And yet others would argue that this is all a moot point anyway because when I go to the IMS, I typically sit in the infield and don’t watch any of the race at all because I’m too busy slamming back a case of Bud heavies while trying to get trashy chicks to show me their goods. But I’ve been to enough of these races to know how to pay attention to both the race and the Tweety Bird tattoo on the breast of some chain smoking lady in a tube top, so really that’s an invalid argument. Besides, I went to a bunch of races before I turned 10 and started drinking and trying to get girls to flash me, and even back then I could tell that the Brickyard 400 just wasn’t getting the job done.

The fatal flaw with the Brickyard 400 is that the track simply wasn’t built for NASCAR cars. Again, I don’t know much about car engineering or the science behind racetracks and whatnot, but even a Michigan fan could figure out pretty quickly that IMS has relatively no banking. This lack of banking means that most of the entertainment at IMS comes from watching cars fight physics and try to make a turn going 200+ mph without much help from the track itself, which might be boring to watch on TV but I assure you is pretty nuts to see in person for the first time (and really every time). This fighting of physics is exactly what the founders of the IMS wanted, seeing as how they built the track in 1909 primarily as a way to test the limits of high performance cars (fun fact: the guy who was in charge of building the track thought that cars wouldn’t be able to go any faster than 120 mph around IMS, so the fact that the modern day cars run at almost double that speed during the Indy 500 is pretty remarkable).

Anyway, my point is that the Indianapolis Motor Speedway was built and exists for one reason – to see how fast cars can go around it. It was a track built to test speed and the Indy 500 does just that, which is why that particular race is so entertaining. The cars are literally going as fast as the physics will allow them and if the drivers make even a fraction of a mistake, it could cost them a win (JR Hildebrand on the final turn this year) or in some cases – God forbid – even their lives.

The Brickyard 400, on the other hand, doesn’t provide that balls to the wall speed that the 500 does because NASCAR cars are built entirely differently. NASCAR races, relatively speaking, are often predicated more on physicality than speed (at Indy, NASCAR cars average about 50 mph less than the open wheel cars do), so when they race on a track like IMS that was built solely to test speed, they go relatively slowly through the turns and the race turns out to essentially just be a parade of what appear to be elaborately painted refrigerators. Plus, throw in the fact that NASCAR guys like to bump each other and IMS is most certainly not a track for bumping, and it makes things even worse because all that bumping results in a lot of crashes and caution flags (when people say they like crashes, what they really mean is they like seeing fiery crashes where the car rolls a few times and looks completely decimated when it’s all said and done. Most crashes, though, are entirely unexciting and just drag out the race and make it even more boring). Throw all of these factors together and what you’ve got is a race that can’t even sniff the jock of the Indy 500.

Of course, this is just my theory that I’ve established solely through years of observation. I don’t have stats to back me up and I certainly don’t have any real knowledge of racing whatsoever, so there’s a good chance my explanation is way off. Either way, the fact of the matter is that the racing at the Brickyard 400 just isn’t that exciting. Regardless of why, there’s no denying that it’s pretty boring when compared to the 500.

Now that we’ve got that out of the way, let’s move on to the real issue – the partying (or more accurately, the lack thereof). There are really only four words needed to explain why the Indy 500 party scene makes the Brickyard 400 party scene look like a Sunday morning trip to church with your grandparents – general admission infield tickets. I’ve written about this before, but the infield at the Indy 500 is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced in my life (and yes, I’ve been to the Kentucky Derby), primarily because I’ve seen just about anything you can imagine short of rape and murder. I’ve seen people having sex (I’ve even seen what appeared to be a 3-way), I’ve seen people doing hardcore drugs, and I’ve seen a woman try to piss in a busy men’s restroom by removing her jean shorts, propping her foot up to get a better angle, and pointing her vajeen toward the community urinal tub (admit it – you’re jealous). It might be a typical Tuesday afternoon for Charlie Sheen, but for average people like you and me the infield at the 500 is mind-blowingly wild.

Why is the Indy 500 infield so rowdy, you ask? It’s simple – because it’s stupidly cheap and you can damn near bring anything into the track that you can carry. This is really what separates it from the Kentucky Derby infield in my mind (not to mention the fact that horse racing can lick auto racing’s chode), since Derby infield tickets are more expensive and you can’t bring in outside food or drinks. You can get a ticket for the Indy 500 infield for $30 and bring in a huge cooler full of food and beer (or if you’re like The Villain, stuff to make Cosmos). Hell, for the 2010 race, I brought two kegs into the infield and tapped those bitches about 100 yards away from the track (it’s the only major sporting event I can think of that you can legally bring your own personal kegs to). It’s essentially just a BYOB party with a $30 cover charge that 150,000 people are invited to and literally lasts all day, so there’s really no excuse for it not to be the most bitchingest party in America each and every year.

The Brickyard 400, though, doesn’t have these coveted general admission infield tickets. I’ll say it again, this time using bold text to help emphasize what I’m saying: the Brickyard 400 does not have general admission infield tickets. If that confuses the hell out of you and makes you think whoever is in charge of this decision should be immediately fired, you now have something in common with every 18-34 year old (white) male in the greater Indianapolis area.

Now, it should be noted that you can buy a regular ticket with an actual seat assigned to it for the Brickyard 400 and walk into the infield and watch the race from there, but that completely defeats the purpose of the infield ticket. Regular tickets aren’t as cheap as the infield tickets would be, so the poor white trash people that can afford to come party at the Indy 500 (and are typically the rowdiest people at the track) don’t show up for the 400. As a result, the infield for the Brickyard basically just consists of legitimate race fans who have no interest in partying and just want to sit closer to the track to enhance their experience, college kids who think they’re cool because they’re drinking beer at a race at IMS and don’t know that the Brickyard is the JV race, and middle class people who don’t completely hate their lives like the poor people do and therefore don’t turn to drugs and alcohol as a way of coping with their failures. So yeah, the party kinda sucks.

Basically, here’s the ultimate problem: In my opinion, the only way to make the Brickyard 400 as awesome as it should be and to make it a must-attend event is to sell the infield tickets. But they won’t start selling infield tickets any time soon because they don’t even come close to selling all the normal tickets, so they’re obviously going to focus more on trying to figure out a way to get more people to buy the relatively expensive seat-assigned tickets because those tickets bring in more money for them than the infield tickets do. But they’re never going to sell out of the normal tickets until the quality of racing improves. But the quality of racing won’t improve because the track simply isn’t a good fit for those cars. So really, the way I see it, the only way to improve the overall event is to completely change the type of cars NASCAR uses. Obviously this can’t happen, which is why the Brickyard 400 seems like it’s on track (pun absolutely intended) to be a perpetual letdown.

And let’s not kid ourselves. Even though I said earlier that I wouldn’t mind there being a race at IMS every weekend, that doesn’t mean that all of the races there should be treated equally. Regardless of the quality of racing or the party scene, the Indy 500 is in a class on its own just because of the history associated with it, and there’s legitimately no way in hell the Brickyard could ever come close to being as big of a deal to the people of Indianapolis (the Brickyard is like the NIT final four – just because it’s being held at a historic venue doesn’t make it a big deal). That in and of itself is enough for some to think that it’s sacrilege to go to IMS for a race at any time other than Memorial Day weekend because the experience is borderline laughable and it makes the Indy 500 feel less special (another reason why the Indy 500 rules – Memorial Day is a built in recovery day for the day after the race).

For as long as I can remember, I haven’t been included in that group, but with each passing year it seems like I’m getting closer and closer to feeling the exact same way.

It goes without saying that you should feel free to call me out on anything I screwed up. As I said earlier, everything I just wrote is based on nothing more than my own personal experience, which typically means I’m embarrassingly wrong. So if I was way off with my reasoning for why the Brickyard just isn’t what it seems like it could be, by all means send me an email and put me in my place. If your email has enough vitriol in it, we might even become pen pals.

Proud To Be An American But Even Prouder To Be A Buckeye,

Mark Titus

Club Trillion Founder

My New Hero

2011-07-26T11:11:00.001-04:00

After taking a couple of months off from blogging, let me first say that it’s good to be back and that I promise I thought about you every single second I was gone. Some of you have speculated that I suddenly stopped blogging because I was overwhelmed with the masses of people calling for my head for something I didn’t think was that big of a deal, but the truth is that I actually was a little bit behind schedule with my book and had to stop blogging so I could get my ass in gear and finish the thing (which, I’m proud to say, I eventually did finish one day earlier than was expected of me).

But even if finishing the book wasn’t the real reason why I stopped blogging, I don’t want to live in the past and revisit the outrage that I caused. What’s done is done and talking about it now won’t change anything. Besides, I’ve made it perfectly clear dozens of times: she told me she was 19 and even had an ID to prove it (it looked pretty real to me). How could I have possibly known she was actually 15? I never would have touched her had I known her real age and that’s the honest-to-God truth, so everyone just please move on.

Speaking of sex, am I the only one who hears someone say “I’ll try anything once” as they dive into the appetizer sampler platter or go to take a sip of a new beer, and immediately get grossed out over the thought of what “I’ll try anything once” insinuates about their sex lives? I am? Ok, cool. Good to know.

Even though this has nothing to do with anything I’ve previously written and this terrible transition is probably doing more to widen and less to bridge the gap between the two vastly different topics, I’ve recently come to the conclusion that Michael McCary is a new personal hero of mine and very well could be the biggest badass this world has ever seen. Who is Michael McCary, you ask? Well, the fellas probably just know him as the guy in Boyz II Men with the deep voice, but the females no doubt remember him as the guy who gave your vagina a boner every time he chimed in on a Boyz II Men song. But even though he’s got an undeniably sexy voice that I’m not ashamed to admit once made my private parts tingle (although, to be fair, this happened at a dance when I was in 7th grade, so there’s a good chance my wiener moved more because I had two fistfuls of babe butt in my hands and less because Michael McCary was lubing my ears with his baritone), his voice isn’t what makes him a personal hero of mine. No, it’s so much more than that.

The first and most obvious admirable trait about Michael McCary is that he was a member of the greatest boy band ever. Now, some of you might point to the Backstreet Boys or ‘N Sync or the New Kids as better boy bands, but that’s only because you’re either a woman (who was once a stupid and malleable little girl) or a racist white dude who can’t appreciate awesome black boy bands like Boyz II Men, Jagged Edge, and 112 (personally, LFO was always my favorite white boy band anyway). The fact of the matter is that despite what the sales numbers say, Boyz II Men have more #1 songs than the New Kids, Backstreet Boys, and ‘N Sync combined, which is evidence that they made far better music. Plus, pretty much every music video they ever made is a complete and flawless representation of just how awesome the 90s were, and should therefore be displayed in some sort of museum somewhere.

But being in Boyz II Men on its own isn’t enough to be a hero of mine, or else all the guys in the group would be on the list. What sets McCary apart is that not only was in Boyz II Men, but he was the benchwarmer of the group and has a long history of putting up trillions in their songs. Allow me to explain.

Michael McCary was consistently the only guy in Boyz II Men to not have a solo singing part in their songs and would instead usually just pop in every now and then and either drop a quick line or provide some bass backup by echoing whatever one of the other dudes just said (like in “One Sweet Day”, “Motown Philly”, and “4 Seasons of Loneliness”). Not only that, but there were also the rare occasions such as in “On Bended Knee” and “End of The Road” when he’d tell singing to suck it and just start talking towards the end of the songs, and would use his smooth deep voice to persuade the chick that was the inspiration for the song to essentially just shut up and take off her panties because all the time spent arguing was boning time going to waste.

In those last two songs especially, I like to think that the other three guys in the group spent the entire song effectively getting their point across to whichever beautiful baby they were singing to (fun fact: one of the dudes was singing to Lisa Turtle in “On Bended Knee.” Fun fact #2: real life Lisa Turtle dated real life Zack Morris and was once engaged to Martin Lawrence), and McCary came in at the end to essentially be the icing on the cake and human victory cigar, not entirely unlike the walk-on benchwarmer at the end of games. He’s unquestionably the least heralded and least appreciated guy in the group, but even though there have been tons of guys that have also fit this description in other bands, nobody did it as smoothly as Michael McCary.

Put it this way: I like to think that guys like Chris Kirkpatrick and Howie Dorough represent the douchey walk-ons who lose their minds cheering on the bench after routine plays and run out onto the court when timeouts are called so they can chest bump the real players. These are the kinds of guys who desperately want to fit in with the team and want to be more involved, so they bust their asses in practice and follow their teammates everywhere off the court in hopes that they’ll eventually be accepted. And then there’s Michael McCary, who I like to think is more like me. He’s perfectly fine with his limited action and doesn’t give a Michigan whether or not he fits in with the rest of the team or whether or not he’s fully appreciated because he knows he’s got game and he doesn’t feel obligated to prove it to anybody. So he just kicks back and relaxes until he gets called upon to contribute, at which point he steps in and makes it rain with his soothing baritone voice that, much like my silky smooth J, could charm the pants off even the most prudish of women.

But if all that still isn’t enough for you to appreciate why he’s my new personal hero, consider this picture taken from the “End of The Road” video:

In case you can’t tell what’s going on here, Michael McCary is rocking a hi-top fade, sitting on a rock as waves splash around him, holding onto a cane for no apparent reason, and resting his foot on the rock so his legs spread and the ladies can get a decent look at his man meat. If it weren’t for the fact that he’s 16 years older than me and some would argue doesn’t really look like me, I’d be fully convinced that he and I were twins who were separated at birth. I trust you now understand why I look up to the guy so much.

Now that I’ve finished my book, the next step is to obviously figure out how I can give out as many free copies to the Trillion Man March as possible. I still have to iron out some details with my publisher (apparently they have financial motive to sell as many books as possible at the highest possible price?!?), but my idea right now is to hold what I’m tentatively calling “Context Contests.” The idea behind these contests is that I would post on the blog a single sentence taken directly from my book, give the TMM no context whatsoever, and then have you write a short story (no more than a few hundred words) either explaining how I arrived at that sentence or figure out a way to include the sentence in the story. From there, I would give out free books to whoever provided the best/funniest/most ridiculous submissions.

If I do, in fact, get the ok to give out free books, I will obviously sign all the ones I give out. But I’ll take it even one step further and also get some of my former teammates to sign on the page of the book in which I wrote a story about them. Like I said, I still have to iron everything out with the publisher, but in the meantime stay tuned. At the very least, I’ll definitely give out a few free books out of my own pocket and some CLUB TRIL shirts and CLUB TRIL mesh shorts too. I’ll keep you posted.

One last thing: A lot of you have asked, but as of right now I don’t know the exact date the book is going to be released. I was told we’re going to most likely shoot for February or March, but it could be sooner than that. I’ll let you know when I find out for sure.

Proud To Be An American But Even Prouder To Be A Buckeye,

Mark Titus

Club Trillion Founder

My Rebuttal

2011-05-24T14:46:00.001-04:00

It’s ridiculous that I even have to write this and defend myself, but the sad reality is that there are way too many people who take sports just a tad too seriously and are calling for my head, so I feel like this is the only way to get everyone to put down their pitchforks and torches. It would be comical if it weren’t so sickening and pathetic.

Here’s what happened:

I’ve been planning for months to write a blog entry about my experience at the Indy 500 because it’s my favorite sporting event in the world and is something I look forward to every year. After I wrote something about my mom on the day after Mother’s Day, I figured I’d just wait until after the race to post my next blog entry. But then I realized that if I waited until after the race, there would be a three and a half week gap between each of my posts, which would have lead to complaints from the people who regularly read the blog. See, that’s what we do here – I try to see how long I can go without writing something and then the people who regularly read the blog playfully give me crap for being lazy. It’s kind of the ongoing theme of this blog, really. And it’s made for a great relationship for the past two and a half years.

So as a way to keep my regular readers from getting on me for not writing something in a long time, I figured I’d throw them a bone and write a quick blog post before the race. I sat down at my computer and racked my brain trying to think of what to write about, before it hit me that I had gotten a handful of emails and tweets from people asking me about the Tressel/OSU football stuff. Since I had nothing better to write about and was basically just writing a filler post anyway (I explicitly said it was a filler post in the first sentence), I figured “ah, what the hell” and decided I’d just give my take on that issue.

This notion that I wrote it so I could get attention or more hits on my blog couldn’t be further from the truth. I have no advertising on the blog, I barely take the thing seriously (which is why the design of the site sucks and I haven’t ever considered changing it), and I infrequently post new entries. Before yesterday, it had been over a year since the last time I even checked to see what kind of traffic the blog had been getting. Hell, I’ve been writing about the significance of pooping in front of your girlfriend/wife, Spaghetti O’s, and my mom for the past month and a half. Why would I write about stuff that has exactly no mass appeal if I cared even the slightest bit about blog hits? And since I have no advertising, how could I possibly benefit from getting more blog hits anyway, especially when the increased traffic I did get came from maniacal Ohio State fans who would be perfectly fine if I ceased to exist (it’s not like these people are going to buy t-shirts or my book or anything)? Plus, if I really was trying to start a sh*tstorm, I would have said more than just “the football players always seemed to have nice cars when I went to OSU” and instead would have made up much more scandalous stuff like I saw Terrelle Pryor being handed an envelope full of cash or something.

Truth be told, I don’t want more blog hits and I don’t really care if my blog gets more attention. I’m perfectly fine with my audience of a few thousand who, like me, don’t take things too seriously and enjoy a cheap laugh or two. We were all doing just fine before the masses of crazed OSU fans from message boards and forums all over the internet flocked here and called for my head.

Now that we got that settled, a few of you rational people might still be wondering what there was to gain by writing it anyway. Well, my only intention was to give my thoughts to the people who had asked me about it. Believe it or not, there are people who read this thing and aren’t from Ohio, and a few of them wanted to hear about what’s going on in Columbus from a guy who has been relatively close to it for the past few years. So I basically just said that while it might seem like I would know a lot about the situation, the truth was that I was just a bystander to everything that went on in the football program and only knew what had been written about in the press. But having said all of that, any OSU student in the past five years could tell you that a lot of the football players drive nice cars (since most of the people who asked me about the scandal weren’t ever OSU students, I figured that this would be something they would like to know). You’d have to be blind to not notice it. I didn’t exactly say anything that tens of thousands of people on that campus haven’t already noticed themselves. And besides, it’s not like the NCAA was going to throw the case out until they read my blog. Nothing I wrote will have any impact whatsoever on the impending investigation, so from that standpoint it’s ridiculous that this is being made a much bigger deal than it really is.

My intent is all a moot point anyway. So many of you are calling me out for throwing my alma mater under the bus, while I see it the exact opposite way – I’m holding my alma mater accountable. No, scratch that. I’m holding my alma mater’s football team accountable (it might be hard to believe, but OSU has plenty more to offer than just a football team – like this for example). Instead of brushing things under the rug and trying to justify and defend everything that the football team is being accused of, I’m of the opinion that acknowledging flaws is not only the right thing to do, it’s the healthy thing to do as well. I know how important the football team is to the school and I know that to many people around the country, the football team is really the only thing they think about when someone says “Ohio State.” Because of this, I want the football program to be an honorable one (like we thought it was), so people around the country associate Ohio State with integrity and class instead of whatever it is they associate OSU with now. Pretending that something isn’t going on when all the evidence points to the contrary is incredibly irresponsible and is how we got into this whole mess in the first place (Tressel didn’t speak up when something was amiss). Call me crazy, but I’d much rather lose every single game with integrity than win a slew of national championships by cheating.

So all of you “real” Buckeye fans who want to disown me as a Buckeye for pointing out an obvious observation after I was prompted to do so, by all means go ahead. I’m hopeful that for every one of you irrational people there are two other Buckeye fans who feel the same way I do and will welcome me with open arms to Buckeye Nation. It doesn’t make you any more of a fan than us because you blindly support your team without acknowledging the fact that there is a lot of shady stuff going on (and let’s make that perfectly clear – there is shady stuff going on. Just how much shady stuff still remains to be seen). We care just as much about the Buckeyes as you do, which is why we acknowledge flaws and want our football team (as well as every other team and all other aspects of the school) to be held accountable to fix those flaws.

In conclusion, I hope nobody took this the wrong way. In no way was this meant to be an apology for what I wrote yesterday. I stand by everything I said, because frankly, nothing I said should ever have been made a big deal in the first place. Some of you got your panties in a bunch because I didn’t have the facts, but I think you misinterpreted what I said. I do have facts. It’s a fact that I’ve seen football players driving what every other student on campus would consider to be nice cars. It’s a fact that when I was on a basketball scholarship for two years (which I’m eternally grateful for, by the way, and if you think for one second that I’m not, you can suck my oversized balls), I could not afford to buy the cars that the football players had. Those are the facts. The facts I don’t have are how the football players got the cars. I, like all Ohio State fans, hope that they got them by following NCAA rules. Sadly, though, if it walks like a duck, quacks like a duck, and looks like a duck, it must mean that these guys are either getting serious discounts on their cars or they’re getting them for free. Stop being so naïve.

One last point: The bit I wrote about how I would never let protecting the basketball team get in the way of a good story wasn’t meant to be taken seriously (neither is about 95% of what I write). While I do want the basketball program to be held accountable and I do think they should be called out when they screw up, the fact of the matter is that while I played at OSU, I never once saw anything that seemed to be shady from any of the players or coaches. The only reason I wrote that yesterday is because I’ve been taunting the basketball coaching staff for over a year now about how I could trash the program in my book if I wanted. I would never do such a thing, but it’s fun to tease them about it and make them sweat over the possibility of me saying unflattering things about their program. For the first time in five years, I have some sort of power in the basketball program, which is why I like playfully using it whenever I can. It’s basically just my way of pranking the coaching staff, so it really shouldn’t be interpreted as anything other than that.

(I know I probably just pissed off a lot of you who had been defending me, since writing this makes me look like a bitter douche who is stooping to the irrational people’s level. And for that I’m sorry. I probably should have just let it blow over instead of looking like a whiny bitch, but after about the 1,000th time of being personally attacked and accused of stuff that is the exact opposite of the truth, I had to speak up. I swear that this is the last time I’ll acknowledge this ordeal at all, but I had to get all of this off my chest before I moved on. So now that I’m done, I swear I’m done for good. I’ve got more important things to worry about now. The Indy 500 is only five days away.)

Proud To Be An American But Even Prouder To Be A Buckeye,

Mark Titus

Club Trillion Founder

Less Than A Week Away

2011-05-23T12:22:00.001-04:00

I gotta be perfectly honest with you and admit up front that this blog post is basically just a filler one, primarily because it’s late May, which is another way of saying that the Indy 500 is right around the corner and I’m so excited for it that just about every body part I have is fully erect (including – but not limited to – my penis) and I can’t even think straight. Every year at about this time, I mentally zone out and focus solely on the race and everything that comes with it. What will I wear this year? What hairstyle am I going to go with? What is going to be my strategy to get a white trash chick to flash her boobs to my group of friends? When she inevitably does flash, will I even want to look? And when I inevitably do look, how will I explain to my fiancée that I was completely justified because getting a trashy chick to show her nips is an Indy 500 tradition as old as the race itself? Ah yes, it’s late May in the Midwest alright. And I couldn’t be more excited about it.

(By the way, the best example of me zoning out in May came almost exactly one year ago, when I flew out to LA and met Jimmy Kimmel, Bill Simmons, and Adam Carolla. While we were all at dinner, Simmons asked me what my favorite network comedy was for whatever reason and I froze and told him How I Met Your Mother because all my favorite comedies are on cable and it was the only one that I watch and could think of on the spot, which was an answer that prompted Carolla to playfully make fun of my terrible taste in TV for the rest of the night. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think How I Met Your Mother is an awful show necessarily, but it certainly isn’t even in my top five favorite network comedies, so for me to claim that it was #1 and then fail to even provide a #2 was a monumental brain fart for me and sent a message to everyone at the table that I never intended to be sent. There aren’t many moments in my life that I wish I could do over, but my answer at that dinner was certainly something I will always regret.

Also, while I have you, the second best example of me mentally checking out in May is the fact that I just inexcusably told an irrelevant story with the sole purpose of name dropping, which is something that will surely lead to many of you calling me out for being a doucher. But I’m too distracted to care, so I’m just going to leave it. Besides, Zach Efron and Vanessa Hudgens were also at the same restaurant on that night, but you don’t see me dropping their names do you? Exactly.)

Since I’m focusing all my energy towards the race at this point and I’m therefore too lazy to think of anything to write about, I figured I’d just tackle an issue that I’ve gotten a few emails and tweets about. A handful of you have been asking about my take on the whole Jim Tressel/OSU football saga, either because you value my opinion or, more likely, because you want to know if I have any inside information. While I know this story seems to be yesterday’s news, it’s far from being settled so I figured I’d address it real quick. As always, if you don’t like it, you can firmly press your tongue to my buttcrack.

First of all, I don’t have any “inside information”, mostly because I didn’t play football and therefore have no idea how their program is run. I’ve never been to any of their practices, I never once hung out with any of the players, I went to completely different tattoo parlors and car dealerships when I was at OSU than they did, and the envelopes full of cash I received always came from a different booster than their cash came from (I had a class with Ross Homan one quarter, and we worked on group projects together and usually sat by each other, but I wouldn’t exactly say we “hung out” really). Also, I’ve only ever talked to Jim Tressel twice in my life, with the first of these occasions being when he came to one of our practices during my sophomore year, and before he started the speech he had prepared for our team, he asked, “Where is #34? He can really shoot.” (I replied, “That’s nothing. You should see me punt a football. Most scouts had me as the 7th ranked punter in all of Brownsburg High during my senior year.” He had no response to this, which leads me to believe that hearing about my punting prowess left him speechless.) The second time I talked to him was during the spring football game a couple years later, when he shook hands with all the basketball players who were standing on the sideline for the game and said to me, “You must be the benchwarming blogger.” So yeah, I don’t really have much perspective considering I didn’t really know any of the players and I’ve only talked to the head coach for a grand total of 30 seconds (strangely enough, in those 30 seconds he managed to pinpoint my entire identity on the basketball team – “the benchwarming blogger who can shoot well”).

Having said all of that, I frequently crossed paths with a bunch of the football guys for a variety of reasons (stayed in the same dorm as some of them during my freshman year, went to same place for our training table meals, had a bunch of mandatory athlete meetings with them, some of them hung out with my teammates, etc.). And in crossing paths with them so frequently, I can offer this analysis: While I don’t really know anything about the whole tattoo ordeal, I’m almost certain that there was something shady going on with the car dealer. In fact, as the news of the free tattoos and sold merchandise or whatever came out, I kept telling my family how funny it was that they were getting busted for tattoos and gold pants when I was pretty sure they had been getting serious discounts on cars for years. Again, I have no “inside information” and really only know what the general public knows. But it doesn’t exactly take top notch detective skills to figure this one out. Anyone who spent any time on Ohio State’s campus while I was there could tell you that there were an unusually high volume of brand new Dodge Chargers driving around on campus, and just about all of them had tinted windows and rims on the outside with Ohio State football players behind the wheel on the inside.

Now, I understand that there’s a chance these guys all paid the same price for their cars that normal citizens like you and I would pay, and I honestly hope that they did. But my intuition has told me for years that something is off. I’m not sure how much the monthly scholarship checks the football team got were for, but when I was on my basketball scholarship for my first two years at Ohio State, I was only given $1,100 a month. That might sound like a lot of money at first thought, but you have to realize that these checks had to cover the monthly cost of rent, utilities, food, gas, entertainment, tattoos, trips to the strip club, bottles off the top shelf, weed, hookers, blow, and – on top of all of that – child support. I wouldn’t necessarily say I struggled to pay all my monthly bills, but as you can imagine, I sure as hell never had enough of a cushion to afford a $400 monthly car payment either.

The fact of the matter is that I’m sure there are ways for football players to buy new cars and still obey NCAA rules. From what I can remember, there are all sorts of other forms of financial aid other than just the scholarship checks that the players could be eligible for, so there’s a good chance they got more than the $1,100 a month that I got. But even so, I seriously doubt that the extra aid was enough for them to take on a hefty car payment on top of all their other expenses. Especially when you consider that most of these guys lived lavish lifestyles when compared to your average college student. Sure they theoretically could have probably afforded a new car if they would have lived modestly in an average sized apartment with a few roommates, didn’t go out much, and didn’t spend a lot of money on things like phones, TVs, iPods, etc. But does anyone seriously believe that these guys lived modestly? If you were to play a word association game and were given the phrase “big time college athlete”, the word “modest” wouldn’t even be on the list of the first 100,000 words that come to mind.

In the end, I’m too lazy to formulate a legitimate argument as to why I think guys on the football team got discounted and/or free cars. That would involve way too much research on how the system works, way too much investigating on what actually transpired in the last few years, and – most importantly – way too much effort on my part. And I really don’t care that much. So please don’t take this the wrong way. I’m not trying to say that I know certain things and I’m certainly not trying to play the role of insider informant. The truth is that I have no facts, and God knows that if I’m entirely wrong it would be far from the first time (hell, I hope I am wrong). I’m just saying that I was always under the impression that the scholarships the football guys got were close to (if not exactly) the same as the basketball guys, yet in my four years of playing basketball at Ohio State, my 1999 Jeep Grand Cherokee was consistently one of nicest cars on the team because none of us could afford anything better. Meanwhile, it seemed like everyone on the football team had either a new Charger or a new Chrysler 300. From this, I am deducing that either the football guys were paid a considerably larger stipend than we were (in all honesty, that could be the case – I really don’t know), were excellent at managing their money, came from financially well off families, or received discounted and/or free cars. I really can’t see how any of them could’ve had the cars they did without at least one of those four things applying.

So to recap, I have no facts, I don’t know what I’m talking about, and in no way should I be taken seriously. All I’m saying is that I won’t be surprised in the slightest if the NCAA digs up some serious dirt on the Ohio State football team (especially the stuff surrounding the discounted and/or free cars) because it’s something I’ve been scratching my head over for years. So if you’re an OSU football fan, I’d suggest not getting your hopes up. There’s a solid chance that this won’t end well.

As for the allegations that Will Buford was included in the same group of guys who got free/discounted tattoos and cars, and the news that Jon Diebler’s parents bought a car from the same guy who sold cars to all the football players, well, I honestly don’t know what to say. As hard as it may be to believe, I never talk to any of those guys about any stuff like that, mostly because I’m of the opinion that ignorance is bliss (I’ve watched way too many mob movies where the guy who knows too much information gets bin Laden’d). What I can tell you is that when I was teammates with him, Will only had a couple of tattoos and didn’t even own a car, so if anything did go down, it had to have happened after I left. In fact, I had to give Will rides to and from practice all the time, so I’ll be pissed if I find out that all that time he not only had a car, but his car was much better than mine and he got it for free. I know it might seem like I’m withholding information to protect the basketball program, but you’re just going to have to trust me when I say that I really don’t know anything about those guys (it will be easier to trust me on this when my book comes out next year and you realize that I’m of the opinion that protecting the basketball program should never get in the way of a good story).

So that’s my take on the whole issue. I’m essentially in the same boat as all of you in that I don’t exactly have inside information or anything and I’m just anxiously waiting to see how everything unfolds. I’ll be shocked if the NCAA doesn’t find anything when they look into this car scandal, but again I feel like I need to stress that I’m only basing this viewpoint off of information that every OSU student from 2006-2010 should have (after all, the football players weren’t exactly discreet with their cars). In other words, to summarize this entire blog post, I don’t really know what happened and I don’t really have any idea what’s going to happen from here. Glad I could help.

I apologize for this blog post to all the non-OSU people who I’m sure are sick of hearing about Tressel and/or just Ohio State in general. But I’m not that sorry because I told you in the first sentence that this was just a filler post, so it’s your fault for reading the whole thing. Nonetheless, to make it up to you, I plan on doing a retroactive running diary of my experience at the Indy 500 this upcoming weekend for my next blog post, which has the potential to be my favorite piece of writing ever. Get excited.

By the way, I feel like I should use this last paragraph to try to convince you to go to the Indy 500 if you live within driving distance of the track. It is not only my single favorite sporting event in the world, but it’s my single favorite anything in the world, and travel expenses aside, it’s actually pretty cheap (you can get an infield ticket for $20 and bring your own cooler full of food and drinks into the track). So if you live in the Midwest and have never been to the race, do yourself a favor and make the trip. If you do end up making it over to Indy, find me in the turn 3 infield and I’ll spot you a beer or two and try to get a trashy chick to show her goods so you can get the complete Indy 500 experience. It’s the least I could do.

Proud To Be An American But Even Prouder To Be A Buckeye,

Mark Titus

Club Trillion Founder

My Mom Could Beat Up Your Mom

2011-05-09T16:59:00.003-04:00

The first time I ever played my mom in a 1-on-1 game of basketball was when I was 12-years-old. Ever since the day I started walking, she and I would shoot around in our driveway all the time, but I never had the courage to play her 1-on-1 because she was much taller than me (she’s 5’9”) and I was almost certain she would beat me, which I thought would’ve been the single most embarrassing thing to ever happen in my life. Once I hit a growth spurt and stood 6 feet tall as a 12-year-old, though, I had complete confidence that I could destroy her. After all, she was a woman, and the last time I checked, our driveway wasn’t in the kitchen, so I figured she’d be completely out of her element. Plus, I had seen her shoot a basketball for years and her jumpshot consisted of her pushing the ball with two hands from behind her head. Sure she could make them when we were just casually shooting around, but there was no way that that garbage was going in with defense on her. And so, with my terrible rationale giving me all sorts of false confidence, I decided to challenge her to a game of 1-on-1. This still ranks as one of the most regretful decisions of my life.

Perhaps the most important thing I failed to consider when I dared my mom to play me 1-0n-1 was that she was good as sh*t. Like really, really good. Not only that, but she was extremely physical and her style of play was perfectly suited for a driveway pick-up game. I tried driving to the basket on my first possession, but ultimately failed miserably because my mom slid over after I took my first dribble, stuck her chest out, and didn’t budge an inch as I bounced off of her and crumpled to the ground like those skeleton-looking turtles from Bowser’s castle in Super Mario World. At that moment I realized that I was in over my head, but there was no way that she was going to let me quit now, so I had to just suck it up and figure out a different way to beat her. I tried resorting to jumpshots, but when I jumped to shoot the ball on my second possession, she whipped her ass around to block me out and gave me the biggest charley horse I had ever gotten in my life. So to recap, my first two offensive possessions both resulted in zero points and loads of physical pain. This game wasn’t exactly off to a blazing start for me.

Meanwhile, when she was offense, she just backed me down into the post and either threw an elbow to my face as she went up for the layup or she shot a fade away jumper as she turned to the baseline. Remember when I said that I didn’t think she’d be able to make her ugly jumpshot against defense? Well, as it turned out, her ugly shot was actually unblockable because she shot it from so far behind her head (when she faded away it was even harder to guard). And she was lethal with it. Truth be told, her jumper was actually better against defense than it was when she was open. I had no way of guarding it and, making matters worse, I had no answer for it because she was shutting me down on defense. Back and forth this pattern of her physically abusing me on defense and raining jumpshots over my head on offense continued, and when it was all said and done, she had both literally and figuratively beat the snot out of me. I was so battered and bruised that if my dad would’ve come outside and started whipping me with his leather belt, it probably would’ve felt like a massage at that point. In that moment, as I laid on the ground licking my wounds, I remember thinking to myself “Just who in the hell is this lady I call ‘mom’?”

And yes, I was so cool when I was 12 that I casually used the word “hell.”

Over the course of the next few weeks, I researched my mom (which basically just consisted of asking my dad about her and how she was capable of making me look foolish on the basketball court) and discovered that there shouldn’t have been any shame in losing to her (but there still was, because how many guys lose to their mom in basketball?). That’s because I learned that she grew up two hours north of Indianapolis in a town called Rochester, and even though her small town basically consisted of a couple of stop lights and one kickass old-fashioned soda shop, she led her high school basketball team to back-to-back undefeated regular seasons and back-to-back trips to the Final Four of the Indiana state tournament (this was back when all the schools played in one tournament, so she was playing schools much bigger than hers). If that’s not impressive enough, consider this: she was also a cheerleader for the boys’ basketball team (and played softball and ran track too) and would sometimes cheer for them in the afternoon and play in her games at night, or vice versa. In fact, in the state tournament one year, she played one of her games in the morning, took a bus to where the boys were playing and cheered that game in the afternoon, then took the bus back to where her second game was being played and went out and led her team to the regional championship that night. This will be the one and only time I use this word to describe a women’s basketball player, but on that particular day my mom was a complete badass (although, let’s be honest – she’s a badass every day).

Following an incredible high school career, my mom was named to the 1977 Indiana All-Star team and was awarded a basketball scholarship to Purdue, where she was twice named team MVP and graduated as both the career scoring leader and the best player in the program’s history. After learning all of this, everything suddenly made so much more sense to me. Throughout my childhood, I often wondered why all my friends’ moms made elaborate meals for dinner and constantly kept their houses clean while my mom would play catch or shoot around with me in the driveway. But now I knew why – my mom was the epitome of a tomboy and while she couldn’t make a casserole to save her life, she had the nastiest fade away I’ve ever seen. And I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

The reason I bring all this up is not only because Mother’s Day was yesterday, but also because last weekend my mom joined the likes of Larry Bird, Oscar Robertson, and John Wooden as she was inducted into the Indiana Basketball Hall of Fame, and I couldn’t be happier about it. Part of my happiness comes from the fact that I’m so proud of her, but a majority of it is derived from the fact that I can now say I lost a game of 1-on-1 to a Hall of Famer instead of saying I lost to my mom. I know most of you would rather have the Navy SEALs break into your house and put a bullet through your eye (USA! USA! USA!) than have to watch women’s basketball, and the truth is that I’m right there with you. But my mom getting inducted into the Hall of Fame is so much more meaningful than just a nice award to commemorate her career as a women’s basketball player. To a lesser extent, it also kind of validates how she raised me. I’m a picky eater because my mom cared more about taking me to Little League practice and taking me to school on the basketball court than she cared about learning how to make food other than grilled meats with mashed potatoes. Conversely, she’s a big reason why I got into basketball and why I became relatively successful at it, which doesn’t sound like much until I think about how many opportunities and experiences the game of basketball has brought to my life. Simply put, I wouldn’t be who I am today if my mom wasn’t as good as she was at basketball, so my hope is that getting inducted into the Hall of Fame can help her understand that even though she doesn’t think she’s a “traditional” mom, I’m proud of her and I wouldn’t have wanted her to raise me any other way. She was a damn good basketball player and she’s a damn good mom. The two don’t have to be mutually exclusive.

After our initial game ended with me physically and emotionally in tatters, I never again asked my mom to play me 1-on-1. We did end up playing a few rematches throughout the years, but that was only because she approached me and I reluctantly agreed (if memory serves, she only ever beat me one more time). Anyway, as I look back on how good my mom was at basketball and how mediocre I ended up being, I can’t help but think that I too would’ve been a Hall of Famer if not for the fact that I made the terrible decision of inheriting just as many genes from my dad as I inherited from my mom. Nonetheless, I’ve got my fingers crossed that someday I will also get immortalized and get my name in the Hall of Fame alongside my mom (which will probably only happen if I get filthy rich and donate a bunch of money to the place or if my NBA career survives the rocky start it’s currently off to and eventually pans out). After her ceremony was over last Saturday, I brought up the possibility of this happening. I jokingly said, “Mom, how cool would it be if I made the Hall of Fame too? I bet we’d be the first mother-son duo.”

She responded: “Well, they put writers in there, so if you get into sports writing, I think you definitely would have a good shot at making it.”

No, she’s not a typical mom. But that’s why I love her so much.

Proud To Be An American But Even Prouder To Be Laura Titus’ Son,

Mark Titus

Club Trillion Founder

We’ll Put A Boot In Your Ass, It’s The American Way

2011-05-02T22:19:00.001-04:00

It’s no secret that I’m a patriotic person who gets so aroused at the thought of freedom that I may or may not have tried to look up the Statue of Liberty’s robe to see her labia of liberty when I visited New York City for the first time (more like Snatch-ue of Liberty, am I right?). In fact, I’m so patriotic that “I love America” was one of only three things I included in the online dating profile I made a few years ago that lead to exactly 239 dates (if you must know, the other two things were “I am terrified of every kind of mustard” and “My penis is somewhere in between 4 and 17 inches long”). I’m well aware that my patriotism could sometimes be interpreted as if I’m playing some sort of character and only pretend to care about America to be funny or something, but the truth is that I really do have a strong passion for my country. While foreigners (and even a majority of Americans) scoff at how ridiculous it is that the cast of Jersey Shore are all millionaires, that singular fact epitomizes why I love the US of A so much (even though I also agree that it’s ridiculous that they’re rich) – it’s the only country in the world where literally anyone and everyone has a chance to make a name for themselves, even alcoholic douchers from New Jersey (like you, Barrale). Simply put, this is the land of opportunity, where anyone can be anything they want to be. Sure it helps to be born into a wealthy family or to be given freak athletic genes if you want to make it to the big leagues, but at the end of the day, every American is born with a blank slate and a world of opportunity ahead of them. It’s on us to make the most of these chances.

(One more thing and I’m done with this part of my rant: I was watching coverage of the royal wedding last week – but only because [insert acceptable excuse here]!!! – and I saw something about how Kate Middleton’s mom was chastised by the British media a few years ago for chewing gum in the Queen’s presence. Now, I respect British traditions and actually do find the history of the royal family to be fascinating stuff, but I think I speak for all Americans when I say that I’m thankful I live in a country where I can not only chew gum in front of the president, but I can also tell him to lick my chode without any real repercussions if my heart desires. I know Kate Middleton’s mom didn’t actually break any laws and wasn’t arrested or anything, but still. The fact that she got chastised in the media was bad enough. By comparison, disrespecting and disagreeing with the president is actually some Americans’ favorite pastime, not to mention a great way to get your own show on Fox News. So yeah, just another reason why America rules.)

With all of that being said, because I’ve made it clear in the past how patriotic I am, I seem to be the guy that the Trillion Man March turns to whenever something happens that could warrant a USA chant. No matter the time of year, I get all sorts of emails, tweets, Facebook messages/posts, etc. from the TMM whenever you all see a patriotic YouTube video, a news story that triggers national pride, or a badass picture of Teddy Roosevelt shooting bigfoot while smoking a cigar. For many of you, I’m apparently your patriotic correspondent who you turn to when America is kicking ass and taking names. So when the news broke that Osama bin Laden had been killed in Pakistan, I knew I’d get bombarded by the TMM, which was ultimately exactly what happened. And so, because of this reaction, I feel obligated to address bin Laden’s death, since I’m sure it would be a huge letdown for some of you if I ignored it altogether and didn’t at least offer my thoughts. It still baffles me why anyone would care about my opinion on anything that could even remotely be considered a serious topic, but nonetheless some of you apparently do, so here’s how I feel about it.

On the morning of September 11, 2001, a librarian from my school came into the classroom I was in and whispered something to my 8th grade US history teacher that left him visibly shaken. Once the librarian left the room, my teacher somberly relayed the news to us: someone had flown a plane into the World Trade Center. Being an ignorant 14-year-old, I had no idea what the World Trade Center was and therefore thought something along the lines of, “It’s sad and all, but plane crashes happen all the time. Why did our librarian interrupt class to tell us about a random plane crash?” This was the prevalent thought in our classroom, as pretty much nobody other than our teacher had the slightest clue what the World Trade Center was. As it turned out, though, it didn’t really matter that I didn’t know what the WTC was, because even when I did ultimately learn that planes crashed into the tallest buildings in NYC, I still didn’t give much thought to it all due to the fact that I wasn’t mature enough comprehend the magnitude of death in general, let alone the deaths of thousands of people at once (regretfully, I remember being more concerned about whether or not we would play our football game the next day than anything else). But now, almost ten years later, I can comprehend death, which is why the death of Osama bin Laden is such a big deal to me. I can now comprehend the magnitude of all the deaths he caused, and in turn can comprehend the magnitude of his own death.

The fact of the matter is that because 9/11 happened when I was just 14-years-old, Osama bin Laden has been the most wanted man in the world for almost half of my life. That is truly incredible for me to think about. What’s even crazier to think about is that there are very few things I remember before 9/11, which means that it’s difficult for me to remember a world in which bin Laden wasn’t the most dangerous man on the planet and didn’t have his sights set on bringing total destruction to the country I live in. So nevermind the fact that he was supposedly just a figurehead at this point and didn’t have all that much power with Al Qaeda. Nevermind the fact that killing him doesn’t mean the war against terrorism is over. And nevermind the fact that the terrorists will most likely try to retaliate. At the end of the day, the most evil person to walk the face of the earth in my lifetime – a man singlehandedly responsible for thousands of innocent civilian lives and public enemy #1 for the American people – is dead. That in and of itself is a very big deal and is reason to celebrate.

There are a lot of self-righteous people who are trying to say it’s a disgrace that people would cheer the death of another human being, no matter how evil he may have been. And there are also people who think bin Laden deserved a fair trial and killing him makes us just as inhumane as the terrorists are. God bless these people. I think it’s awesome that there are people in this world who are compassionate and have such a strong moral fiber that they’re willing to treat Osama with the same respect as they would a loved one. But I’m not one of these people. The way I see it, bin Laden has repeatedly made it clear that he’s not actually a human but is instead a monster. And the last time I checked, the protocol when dealing with monsters/zombies isn’t to slap some handcuffs on them, waste time and money on a trial that would obviously result in capital punishment, and then just shrug our shoulders and ho-hum as someone who has been terrorizing us for years dies. No, the protocol is to put a bullet between his eyes, throw his ass on the express train to Hell, and rejoice that the world is rid of one less demon.

Let me lastly say that I’m not naïve in thinking that America is suddenly fixed now. We are far from perfect and still have a bunch of problems that need to be addressed. But this doesn’t mean we shouldn’t celebrate a significantly historic victory. The bottom line is that I would make absolutely no difference in the war on terror if instead of celebrating in the streets and partying at Mirror Lake, I decided to stay focused and try to figure out how to fix America. The beauty of our country is that I can sit on my lazy ass and play FIFA all day while the big shots in Washington figure out how to fix our problems (for the record, I couldn’t care less about politics. Everyone I know who is interested in politics basically just bitches all day about how the other party is wrong. I’m not interested in bitching so I just stay out of it altogether). Whether or not I riot in the streets in celebration has literally zero effect on the American mission to end terrorism.

Sorry for the rant and sorry for being serious with all of this, but I honestly do view this as a historic time in America and felt compelled to quickly write about it, not only because it’s a significant time in our country’s history but also because some of the holier-than-thou people who are criticizing the majority of Americans for being excited kinda piss me off. We aren’t necessarily excited that a human being died – we’re excited that no matter what else happens with this war on terror, the man who killed thousands of our innocent civilians and caused one of the most somber times in American history will never again hurt a single one of us. Screw every other detail about the situation. That alone is enough for me to be absolutely ecstatic. Sorry I’m not sorry.

God bless our troops and God bless the United States of America.

Proud To Be A Buckeye But Even Prouder To Be An American,

Mark Titus

Club Trillion Founder

Coping With A Realization

2011-04-21T11:55:00.001-04:00

Before I get started, let me first remind everyone that the Bloodhound Gang’s most popular CD was not only entitled “Hooray for Boobies”, but the actual disc was flesh-colored (for white people anyway) and came with instructions to stick your tongue through the hole of the disc to make it look like a boob. I think I speak for everyone who was 12-years-old when that CD came out (like I was) when I say that this was quite possibly the single funniest thing in the world at the time. I actually think I may have called the Bloodhound Gang “geniuses”, which looking back might have been giving them maybe just a little too much credit, but still. The fact of the matter is that they made a CD that looked like a boob, and for 12-year-old guys, that’s all it really takes to earn the “genius” label. I regret nothing.

(By the way, getting a group of guys together and dressing like the Bloodhound Gang from “The Bad Touch” video would make a phenomenal Halloween costume. I suggest you get on that now. You’re welcome for the idea.)

Since I’m kind of on the topic of being 12-years-old and since – let’s be honest – I have no idea what to write about with this blog post and I’m basically just spitballing at this point, I guess I could discuss how I had a revelation since you last heard from me and realized that I live pretty much the same lifestyle I did when I was 12 (and school was out for the summer). I mean, I still don’t have a real job and can therefore do whatever I want all day every day, I still have the exact same diet as I did 11 years ago, I still watch the same TV shows, and ~~I still get nervous when I talk to attractive 14-year-old girls~~ (whoops – um, please disregard that last part). In fact, the only real differences now are that I have bills to pay (but even so, I only pay them when I feel like it), I can actually get arrested for egging my neighbor’s house and taking a dump in their shrubs, and I don’t sneak down to my parents’ basement to watch scrambled Cinemax at 2 in the morning. Oh, and I now have a crippling amount of debt thanks to student loans and overusing credit cards (and apparently not paying my bills on time). Can’t forget about that one.

Anyway, the first time I should have known I was recently living a 12-year-old’s lifestyle was when I went shopping for groceries with my fiancée last week and she put gross things like lettuce, asparagus, and broccoli into the cart and I honestly loaded up on nothing but cereal, cookies, ice cream, and Spaghetti O’s. Anyone who knows me on a personal level will tell you that I’m a notoriously picky eater, which is to say that I basically only eat meats and sweets (“Meats & Sweets” kinda sounds like it could be the name of a gay club, doesn’t it?), and I’ve been that way my entire life. I’ve never really given much thought to the fact that I’m 23-years-old and I’m basically still eating from the kids’ menu, mostly because I think the food I eat is delicious and don’t see a reason to change. I’ve just always poured myself a tub full of Cap’n Crunch’s Oops! All Berries, wolfed it down, and not thought twice about it.

(I’ve got two things I need to get off my chest real quick: 1- As far as I’m concerned, Oops! All Berries is the best mistake in the history of mankind and will most likely remain at the top spot on that list until my first child is born, and 2- How have the Cap’n Crunch people not corrected the mistake by now? They’ve been making Oops! All Berries for almost 15 years. At this point, I think it’s clear that it’s no longer a mistake and they know exactly what they’re doing. Because of this, I think they need to change the name to “This Perceived Accident Was Actually Premeditated! All Berries”. Just saying.)

Anyway, where was I? Oh, right – I’m a picky eater. So, about five days ago I got a terrible stomach ache and thought it was nothing more than some strange coincidence because my last blog post was probably my favorite piece of writing I’ve ever done in my life and it focused almost exclusively on pooping (side note: I was happy to see The Relationship Poop Cycle was so well-received by the Trillion Man March. You guys are awesome). I expected it to be just a routine stomach ache that would pass with a painful 30-45 minute poo, but it turned out to be much, much worse. Starting on Saturday, for about four days straight, it felt like a swarm of bees flew up my rectum, stung the sh*t out of my bunghole, and then set off a bunch of firecrackers to top it all off. In other words, it has not been a pleasant week for me.

After a few days of battling the stomach ache, I realized that my original thought that this was somehow related to “The Relationship Poop Cycle” was dead wrong. That’s because, after further review, I’m fairly confident that my stomach aches are directly related to the fact that my dinner pretty much every night consists of two cans of Spaghetti O’s, two PB&J sammiches, and one big ass bowl of ice cream for dessert. I can’t say for sure, but I think my body has finally had enough and is trying to tell me to grow the F up and start eating foods that aren’t exclusively found at the tip of the food pyramid (I like my food pyramid like I like my foreplay – “just the tip”).

(Let’s do another one of my patented paragraphs in parentheses. Alright, so after eating Spaghetti O’s for about a week straight, I have another irrelevant theory. Here it is: I’m fully convinced that Campbell’s spent millions of dollars on years of research to figure out the size of the average American fork prong, and then made the smallest Spaghetti O just slightly bigger than that. Think about it. Once you eat most of your Spaghetti O’s and you’ve only got a few stragglers left, what do you do? You start looping those bitches on your fork until you can’t fit anymore on there, that’s what. Well, when I was eating the Spaghetti O’s this week, I noticed that the smallest O’s barely fit on the fork and you can usually only get one or two stacked on each prong at a time, which was something I somehow missed all these years. The way I see it, Campbell’s purposely made these Spaghetti O’s this small because they wanted to stimulate kids’ brains and make them really focus on looping the biggest O’s first, the medium-sized O’s second, and top the stack off with the smallest O’s. This way you can’t just randomly loop the O’s but instead you have to have a strategy to attack them. Well, Campbell’s, I’m a product of the ADHD generation and don’t have the attention span for your manipulative games now that I’m a grown-up. So do me a favor and get rid of the small O’s, because my only other option is to use a spoon. And in my household, using a spoon to eat Spaghetti O’s is the highest possible form of blasphemy.)

Last Friday, I was again reminded that I was living a 12-year-old’s lifestyle when I stayed in that night to watch Friday Night Smackdown! instead of going out, getting drunk, and making terrible decisions like pretty much everyone else my age does. I haven’t watched pro wrestling in years, but ever since The Rock announced his comeback recently, I’ve started paying a little more attention to what’s going on (it was obvious Triple H wasn’t going to beat The Undertaker at Wrestlemania and I don’t understand how anyone could’ve possibly thought he would. Also, hearing about Edge’s injury damn near brought a tear to my eye. He was a master on the mic and was one of my all-time favorites, which is why I paid tribute to his career by spearing my fiancée as she walked through our front door the other day).

Anyway, much like my prolonged stomach ache has made me reconsider my juvenile diet, there are three reasons why I think it’s time for me to grow up and stop following WWE again (the same three reasons I stopped watching in the first place). The first of these is simple – the WWE is racist. Now, I know that the WWE has a long history of pumping up racial stereotypes when creating characters (the most notorious example of this being Tony Atlas’ alter ego, Saba Simba), but that’s not what I’m talking about here. No, I’m more concerned with the fact that it’s always the Hispanic announcers who have someone bodyslammed through their table. Sure the American announcers get their table destroyed every now and then, but it’s almost always after the Hispanic guys get theirs annihilated first. In fact, according to the Elias Sports Bureau, 94% of the time that only one announcing table is destroyed in a WWE match, it’s the Hispanics who are left to deal with the damage. Just try and tell me that’s not racism. You can’t.

The second reason I’m frustrated with the WWE is because they still have women’s matches. That’s right – I’m all about racial equality, but gender equality can S my D and make me a sandwich. I’ve got nothing against women per se, as evidenced by the fact that I’ve made love to more than 258 of them and even plan on living with one for the rest of my life. My problem is more with women’s sports, especially the masculine sports like wrestling, football, and boxing. On paper, women’s wrestling seems like a great idea. Put smoking hot women in skimpy clothes and have them catfight? R U SRS? I’ve got a half chub just thinking about it. This is just about every man’s initial reaction to women’s wrestling. But when their matches actually start, it only takes somewhere between 10-20 seconds to figure out that there is literally zero chance that any of the girls will inadvertently lose their tops. And that’s really the only reason for watching women’s matches in the first place. Once it’s established that that’s not happening, all you’re left with is a bunch of unathletic chicks screwing up simple wrestling moves. Sure their matches never last too long, but by the time you factor in their intros and the commercials before and/or after their match, that’s a 5-10 minute block that’s basically going to waste. Coincidentally, because women’s matches are such a waste of time, that’s usually the part of the broadcast that I get up and make myself a sandwich. And by that, I obviously mean that I have my fiancée make me a sandwich cause she’s a woman and that’s her job.

(Relax, ladies. I’m only half serious.)

Finally, the last and most important reason I’ve more or less given up on pro wrestling is because I just can’t stomach a WWE where guys like John Cena, The Miz, Wade Barrett, and Jack Swagger are marquee names. This has nothing to do with these wrestlers being faces or heels (good guys or bad guys, for those of you who didn’t know), but rather because all four of these guys seems like world champion douchers. The WWE I know and love featured Stone Cold Steve Austin flipping people off, drinking beer in the ring, and reminding everyone that Austin 3:16 says I just whopped your ass. The WWE I know and love featured The Rock dropping The People’s Elbow on fools, laying the smack down, and putting his boot straight up your candy ass. The WWE I know and love never revolved around a bunch of douchey white guys with terrible personas who basically look like stereotypical frat boys with (more) steroids pumped into them. Simply put, you’re never going to hear someone say, “The Miz is such a badass.” And, the way I see it, that’s a serious problem.

So that pretty much sums up my last week and a half. I still enjoy the fact that I can sleep in and play video games all day if I want to (who wouldn’t?), but it’s clear that it’s time for me to start making some changes to my 12-year-old lifestyle, starting with trying some vegetables and watching more thought-provoking shows on TV (you know, like Jersey Shore and The Real Housewives). Much like Uncle Joey and the Toys R Us kids before him, I’ve always prided myself on celebrating youth and not wanting to grow up. But this past week has been a wake-up call, and writing all of this down (in an admittedly disjointed and improvisational manner) has been pretty therapeutic for me. I need to make some changes and I need to make them now. The only problem, though, is that my mom just brought home a ton of groceries and my Super Mario Kart isn’t going to play itself. So if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some Fruit by the Foot and a date with Bowser on Rainbow Road calling my name. I’ll start growing up tomorrow.

Proud To Be An American But Even Prouder To Be A Buckeye,

Mark Titus

Club Trillion Founder

The Relationship Poop Cycle

2011-04-12T09:30:00.002-04:00

With the exception of benchwarming, FIFA, making it rain on the basketball court, the Rubik’s cube, belching the ABCs, singing “Sister Christian” at a karaoke bar, Facebook stalking, making fart noises with my armpit, eating ice cream, and destroying every aspect of the Presidential Physical Fitness Award in elementary school except those sumbitch pull-ups, there aren’t too many things in this world that I claim to be an expert at (my mom always stressed to me the importance of being modest). But now that I’ve been engaged to my fiancée and future first wife for almost a year, I’m starting to think that I just might be an expert on romantic relationships. Sure I’m only 23-years-old and sure most of my relationships have started on Facebook (and coincidentally, ended on Facebook), but that’s irrelevant because I’ve already discovered that all it takes to have a successful relationship is to have some sort of income, to not buy anything that costs more than $100 without first talking it over with your partner, and to not put your wiener where it doesn’t belong (or if you’re a lady, don’t let other guys put their wiener where it doesn’t belong). You can worry about “communication”, “being compatible”, and “maintaining that spark” later. Just so long as you make a little money, don’t spend too much of it, and don’t let other ladies ride your bologna pony, you’re set.

Ok, ok…you got me. I’m not really a relationship expert, as evidenced by the fact that I’ve been dumped infinity more times than I’ve done the dumping. Instead of saying I’m a relationship expert, what I meant to say was that I’ve been in a handful of failed relationships and now that I’m in one that seems to have the legs to go the distance, I feel like I have enough experience to accurately measure just how serious a relationship is. And what I mean by that is that over the weekend I came up with a concept that I wanted to write about, so I first decided to write a couple paragraphs about how I’m a relationship expert just so it could maybe sort of serve as a transition into what I really want to discuss. After all, it would’ve been a little weird for me to talk about The Relationship Poop Cycle right off the bat. In fact, from what I’ve been told, that’s the first rule they teach you in journalism school – “Don’t talk about The Relationship Poop Cycle right off the bat.”

So, now that I’ve introduced it, what is this Relationship Poop Cycle anyway? I’m glad you asked. It’s something I came up with while – you guessed it – taking a dump this past weekend that will surely revolutionize how you view your relationships. Here’s the gist of it: I’m of the opinion that you can gauge how seriously you view a romantic relationship and how much you like/love your partner based solely on your behavior when you are in their presence and, to alter a phrase from the 69 Boyz, you feel a poop coming on. The way I see it, as time passes and the relationship gets stronger, you will go back and forth with how comfortable you are pooping in front of your partner, which is why I refer to it as a “cycle”. Instead of trying to explain it further, I think it would work best if I just went ahead and jumped right into what the different phases of the cycle are. And by the way, since I’ve yet to even slightly figure out the female thought process, the cycle was created with the fellas in mind (but it’s still worth reading if you’re a woman because you’ll definitely learn how seriously your man views your relationship).

PHASE ONE – Don’t want her to know that you ever poop

This is in the preliminary stages of the relationship, usually within the first couple dates. Chances are that you aren’t yet an actual couple and since she doesn’t know much about you, you’re hesitant to excuse yourself because you don’t want her first memorable experience with you to be associated with defecation. Even if you can already tell that there won’t be a second or third date and you’ll never see her again for the rest of your life, you still don’t want her to know that you have to poop because it will forever haunt you to think about her friends asking her how the date went and her responding with “he left the table for 15 minutes to take a dump” or “he had to poop the entire night but didn’t want to be rude” (nobody wants someone’s lasting memory of them to revolve around feces). If you’re in this phase and you have to drop a deuce, your only real option is to tell the chick you don’t feel well, end the night early by taking her home so you can go back to your place and relieve yourself, and either reschedule another date within the next few days or never talk to her again. Or if you’re superhuman and can somehow take a sh*t in less than 5 minutes, I guess you could just excuse yourself like you were going to go #1 and then play it off like nothing happened (but be warned: unless you’re absolutely sure that you have the bowels of a god, I would strongly advise against this, as there’s a solid chance this could end up doing much more harm than good).

PHASE TWO – Comfortable enough to excuse yourself

At this point you’ve been on a few dates and she’s had the chance to get to know a little bit about you, so if you excuse yourself for 10-15 minutes, it won’t be the end of the world. After all, you’re human and pooping is the great common denominator of every person who has ever lived. Sure it’s not the best situation, but she understands and it’s not like she’s going to associate you with poop if she already likes you enough to go on four or five dates with you.

PHASE THREE – Explicitly announce that you have to poop

This is my favorite phase of any relationship and is exactly what it sounds like. By now, you know each other pretty well and she’s most likely your official girlfriend, so you see no reason to hide the fact that you just ate a couple of Chipotle burritos and will now be busy for the next 15-90 minutes. This is the phase where you basically tell her how it is and if she’s disgusted and can’t handle it, you’ll find someone who can. An interesting note here is that Phase Three is also the first significant phase in The Relationship Poop Cycle, because it most likely marks the first instance in which your girlfriend is on the same level as your friends and family.

PHASE FOUR – Comfortable enough to poop at her place

Phase Four is one of the most underrated phases because it doesn’t seem like that big of a deal until you’re in a relationship and it happens. Everyone knows that once you step outside the confines of your own house, it’s a whole different ball game, but in a relationship the stakes are raised that much more because clogging her toilet or having a Dumb and Dumber moment could very easily be a deal breaker for her. It’s common knowledge that before taking a dump in someone’s house, a man must always make sure he knows that there’s a plunger on hand, he knows where the backup toilet paper is, and he is confident that the bathroom fan could effectively mask the sound of any potential disturbingly gross drawn out farts. But that’s just the bare minimum. For some guys it takes much more than that to get comfortable enough to poop at their girlfriend’s place, and can sometimes take months for them to get to that point. Others, like me, though, don’t need quite as much time, which makes this phase the most debatable in The Relationship Poop Cycle (it’s probably actually Phase Three for me, but I know a lot of guys that this would be Phase Five or Six for). Either way, there’s no denying that pooping at your girlfriend’s place is definitely a big step in the relationship.

PHASE FIVE – Poop with the door open

Again, this phase is pretty self-explanatory and usually occurs a few months into the relationship at the absolute earliest (and almost always occurs after the relationship has at least gotten to third base). You don’t necessarily want her to see you taking a dump, but at this point you don’t care if she does because keeping the door open maintains good airflow, and that’s essential considering how majestic of a load you are capable of unleashing into the toilet. This phase basically tells her that you have officially integrated her into your life and you are now going back to the pooping behavior that you utilized before you met her, which is a pretty big deal if you really think about it.

PHASE SIX – Poop in front of her

This is similar to Phase Five, but is slightly different in that she’s actually in the bathroom with you as you poop. This is one of the more disgusting phases on The Cycle and is so disgusting, in fact, that some people save this phase for marriage. The important thing to remember here is that Phase Six doesn’t necessarily mean that she has to be in the bathroom with you every time you take a dump, but rather it means that you don’t mind if she brushes her teeth or does her makeup at the sink while you drop bombs in the toilet, usually because you both are in a hurry and can’t afford to wait on each other. As gross as this phase is, the good news for the women is that it’s almost exclusively for guys who are taking their relationship very seriously, think it has some real long-term potential, and aren’t afraid to admit that they’re in love. That’s right, ladies – he can get you all the flowers, chocolates, and stuffed animals in the world, but it won’t mean a thing until he busts down the bathroom door while you’re putting on your eyeliner, drops his drawers to his ankles, spreads his cheeks, and lets last night’s dinner ooze out of him without thinking twice about it. Then and only then will you know for sure that he loves you.

PHASE SEVEN – Respect her too much to poop in front of her

For what it’s worth, this is the phase I’m currently at with my fiancée and is really the entire inspiration for The Relationship Poop Cycle in the first place. This phase is reserved for guys who are either newly married, engaged, or have already figured out that they’re going to marry their girlfriend but they don’t have the money to buy a ring yet. At some point in your relationship, it finally hits you that your spouse/fiancée/girlfriend is going to be your life partner and the mother of your unborn (or born) children, and upon realizing how precious and special she really is you also realize that it’s incredibly disrespectful to poop in her presence. I like to think of this phase as the most romantic, because it’s basically your way of showing your significant other that you care for her so much that you want to shield her from the horrors of the world, namely the heap of toxicity coming out of your butthole. This is accomplished by shutting the door, doing your business, and sometimes even giving a courtesy flush and some aerosol spray to help dissipate the odor when you’re done. It’s the little things that mean the most.

PHASE EIGHT – Just stop caring altogether

At this point in the relationship, you’ve been together so long that the honeymoon feeling has worn off and you really just don’t have the energy to care anymore about whether or not you should poop in front of your wife. Besides, by now pooping in front of her probably wouldn’t even crack the top 50 most disgusting things she’s seen you do, so it’s really not even that big of a deal for either of you. In fact, the relationship has most likely reached the point where you poop in front of her without even realizing what you’re doing. You carry on a conversation while you’re on the toilet and even while you’re wiping, all without taking a second to step back and process how gross the situation actually is. The epitome of this phase is the middle-aged couple who have been together for so long and are so inseparable that they basically are the same person at this point and do everything together, including pooping. And yes, I did write that last sentence solely because I wanted all of you people who are my age to think about your dad taking a dump with your mom standing five feet from him (if you weren’t before, you are now!). You’re welcome for that mental image.

PHASE NINE – Getting on and off the toilet becomes a challenge

With the exception of Phase Ten, this is the saddest of the entire Relationship Poop Cycle. With this phase, you are so old and your body is so weak that squatting down onto the toilet and trying to get back up has become a real chore for you. Because of this, you want to close the door while you poop so your wife can’t see you in your feeble condition. I can’t say for sure (and am only speaking based on how I’ll probably act when I’m older), but I imagine these elderly men love their wives so much that they don’t want them to see how much trouble they have when they take a dump, because their wives will inevitably want to help and the men will feel guilty for being a burden. And so, they slowly drop their wrinkled cheeks to the porcelain, defecate with all their might, and methodically stand back up without so much as letting out a single groan. And they do it all in the name of love.

PHASE TEN – Swallow your pride and admit you need help

This is the final phase in The Relationship Poop Cycle and is undoubtedly the most depressing one. Whereas the other phases reflect how much a man cares for a woman, this phase is really more of a testament to how much the wife cares for the husband. After a few months or even years of living in Phase Nine, you finally swallow your pride and admit to your wife that you just can’t poop on your own anymore. Your fragile body can’t handle squatting up and down, and in some cases you might even have trouble twisting around to give your crack the proper wipe it needs. This is sad for all parties involved, but in a way it should be celebrated because it shows just how much love exists between you and your wife. In all seriousness, with all joking aside, and (insert whatever your favorite phrase to convey sincerity is), if I could define love with a single picture, it would be one of a wife wiping the bunghole of her ailing husband. You can’t possibly name me a more selfless act in this world than that.

And that’s The Relationship Poop Cycle. Personally, I think this needs to replace the relationship status feature on Facebook, as telling the world that you are Phase Six with a chick gives people a better understanding of the magnitude of the relationship than if you were to just put “in a relationship” with a chick. Anyway, there you have it. Fellas, if you were unsure how you felt about a girl you’re dating, let The Relationship Poop Cycle be your guide. If you tell your friends that you don’t love her, but you poop with her in the bathroom with you, you’re lying to both them and yourself. And ladies, if you wanted to know how your man really feels about you, now you know. If he says he loves you, but he’s never pooped with the door open and you in the other room, he’s just saying he loves you to get in your pants (or to avoid pissing you off). But if that’s the case, don’t let it get you down. I’m sure someday you’ll find Prince Charming and will eventually get the Phase Ten relationship we all strive for. And when that time comes and you’re wiping in between your 90-year-old husband’s scaly pale asscheeks as you’re overwhelmed with the feeling of love in the air, your entire life will be validated and suddenly all your failed relationships will be a distant memory. Mark my words.

As I mentioned in the last blog post, Brooks Godwin of Wake Forest won the inaugural contest among college basketball walk-ons from all over the country that I had been referring to as The Belt. Originally, the belt was basically just going to feature a bald eagle and that’s it, but after talking with the company that will make it, I apparently have more creative freedom than I initially thought. Having said that, I proudly present to you the mock-up (created by Keller) of the most badass thing these eyes have ever seen…

If you plan on rubbing one out to this picture, I suggest first clicking on the belt to make the image larger.

Yes, the belt will be made of basketball leather, and yes, that’s Fundamentals Montage lightning in the background. Unfortunately, as of right now I can’t say for sure whether they can make this exact belt or not, but you can bet your balls I’m going to do everything I can to see that they get as close as possible to it. And with that, we can all officially start being jealous of Brooks Godwin now.

By the way, in case you cared here’s the final tally for what is now being referred to as the 2011 Club Trillion National Player of The Year award. It should be noted that Jarrett Sutton actually tied Brooks Godwin for total trillions, but Brooks dominated with the tiebreaker and thus claimed the belt. Anyway, props to Jarrett Sutton for making it a hell of a race (and props to Matthew Dorwart for making a late push).

Proud To Be An American But Even Prouder To Be A Buckeye,

Mark Titus

Club Trillion Founder

Don’t Call It “Don’t Call It A Comeback”

2011-04-01T14:05:00.001-04:00

Listen here and listen good.

If you’re reading this, you’re obviously a diehard member of the Trillion Man March. I know this because I informed the masses months ago that I was done blogging yet here you are still visiting, either because you like reading the old posts or you have your fingers crossed that maybe, just maybe, I’ve written something new. Well, I’ve got good news. You can now uncross your fingers, douse them with lube, and start pleasuring yourself (unless you’re reading this in a public place, in which case I’d recommend you just simply uncross your fingers and leave it at that) because not only is this blog post “something new”, but there’s plenty more where this came from.

As I’m sure you remember, the main reason I stopped writing the blog is because I was overwhelmed with trying to write both it and my book (“Don’t Put Me In, Coach” will be available in March 2012 wherever books and cans of whoop-ass are sold), and therefore decided to put all my focus towards just the book. But now that I’ve written half of the book and gotten into a groove (which is just another way of saying I’ve figured out the appropriate ratio of dick jokes per page), I think it’s high time to start blogging again. And even though it’s all but guaranteed that many of you will claim that this is an April Fools prank, I assure you that it isn’t. You’re just going to have to trust me, which shouldn’t be too hard considering that, if you don’t count my repeated behavior of lying and going back on my promises, I’ve never let you down.

So here’s the deal. I’m going to wait a week or so to tweet and post on Facebook about my “comeback” for two reasons, with the first being that I’m dumb and apparently don’t want anyone to read my blog. The second (and real) reason, though, is that I want to give you diehard fans a chance to be the cool person in your group of friends by being the one who breaks the news to all of them (although if being the first one to know that I’m starting my blog again makes you the cool one in your circle of friends, it’s probably time for you to find some new friends who aren’t incredibly lame). I understand that by waiting to tweet and post on Facebook, it only enforces your thought that this is an April Fools prank, but I again assure you that it’s not. So go spread the word and meet me back here in about a week so we can party. And before I forget, when you do come back for the party be sure to bring a bag of chips with you if the first letter of your last name starts with A-M, or a dessert item if your last name starts with N-Z.

Don’t you worry – I’ll provide the booze.

For those who have asked – yes, we still plan on having the SharkWolf podcast. As of right now, the only thing standing in our way is Keller somehow being even lazier than I am. For whatever reason, every time I ask him to record one he says he doesn’t feel like it or he’s too busy screwing around on the internet. If you want to give him a kick in the pants so we can make this podcast a reality, here’s his Facebook (I should warn you, though – he takes pride in his Facebook stalking abilities, so if you’re a female, you should probably think twice before you open that can of worms).

Lastly, I need to congratulate Brooks Godwin of Wake Forest for clinching The Belt last week, making him the inaugural winner of what’s sure to be college basketball’s coolest award. Brooks actually tied with Jarrett Sutton of Missouri for total number of trillions on the season with eight, but crushed Jarrett with the tiebreaker. I’ll post a final leaderboard on the next blog entry (when the season is officially over), but none of that really matters anyway because none of the other guys in the race can catch Brooks (I’ll also post a picture of The Belt once I get it). So if you go to Wake Forest and see Brooks Godwin on campus, be sure to congratulate him. And if you’re an attractive female who is ready and willing, by all means don’t be afraid to give him a ride to Pleasure Town.

Proud To Be An American But Even Prouder To Be A Buckeye,

Mark The Shark

Trying To Think of A Blog Post Title Sucks

2011-01-27T15:03:00.001-05:00

With the exception of turning around, walking away, and pretending I don’t love you, writing a book is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I devote pretty much every hour of the day to writing the thing and as of right now I’ve only made a small dent in the final product. The main problem is that I’m a perfectionist who reads through everything I write a thousand times to make sure I don’t mispell anything or have any tyops, which means it sometimes takes me hours to write a single paragraph. But another big problem I’ve run into is that I can’t really make jokes about current events since the Trillion Man March won’t understand the references/they won’t be nearly as effective when the book comes out in a year. For example, I can make a joke on my blog about Rashard Mendenhall dry-humping an accused rapist on national television, but I can’t put it in my book because it will be a completely irrelevant story in a year. And of course, the last problem I’m having is the inability to link to awesome YouTubes in my book, which is something that makes up about 50% of my blog and 100% of the interesting parts of my blog. I was under the impression that the book would be just as easy to write as the blog, but that was before I realized that it’s a completely different process that’s much more challenging and unlike anything I’ve done before. Anyway, the point is that writing a book is more tedious and mentally draining than my first marriage.

This is why I’ve decided to put the blog on the backburner for awhile. The way I see it, I can either stop doing my blog to focus on my book now, or I can ignore my book and realize six months from now that I’m screwed as a scramble to finish it (Before you ask, no, I’m not capable of writing both at the same time. I’m a terrible at multitasking and I’m terrible at writing, so doing something that involves both doesn’t seem like a very good idea). I know that the TMM isn’t thrilled with my decision, but I really do think it’s better than the alternative. Besides, when my book comes out and you all buy at least ten copies (in the words of Latrell Spreewell, I’ve got a family to feed), this will be water under the bridge. By then you’ll all be mad at me for talking about pubes too much or using the word “poopdick” too much in my book and you’ll completely forget about the time I didn’t write my blog for months.

In the meantime, if you really are desperate to swim with The Shark and can’t fathom a life without my off-base and ignorant thoughts (judging from the bombardment of “what the hell happened to you” emails, many of you apparently are for whatever reason), you do have some options. First of all, you can follow me on Twitter, where I routinely make fun of Daequan Cook and then get disappointed that nobody finds him as hilariously awesome as I do. Yeah, I know – “Twitter is gay and is only for people with self-confidence issues who can’t figure out that nobody cares they’re having a muffin for breakfast.” I can’t say I fully disagree. But if you actually checked Twitter out you’d realize that as long as you don’t follow professional athletes, celebrities, or 16-year-old girls, you’ll most likely never see a dumb tweet about what someone is having for breakfast. #jussayin

The other option that you’ll have pretty soon (within the next month for sure) is the SharkWolf podcast that I’m starting with my BFF Andy Keller, who calls himself The Electric Wolf (yeah it’s a terrible nickname, but just go with it – you’ll hurt his feelings if you tell him how badly it sucks). I can only imagine what’s going through some of your minds as you read that sentence so I figured I should just list what you’re thinking and address your thoughts right now.

Didn’t you already have a podcast? And didn’t it kind of suck?
Yes I did and yes it did. The biggest difference between my old podcast and the SharkWolf podcast is that I really just don’t give a s*** this time around. With the old podcast, I tried too hard to be professional and not piss off the higher-ups at Ohio State, which ultimately made me kind of bland and uninteresting. For the most part, the SharkWolf podcast will never have guests and will instead just be Keller and me discussing things like the strange hypothetical situations we always come up with (and probably tons of “would you rather…”). Since I do this with him everyday anyway, it will be a lot more natural for me and won’t result in me trying way too hard to conduct an interesting interview with a guest and failing miserably.
You’re turning into Simmons.
I see your point, but I promise you that I won’t end up being Simmons 2.0. The truth is that I really don’t care about sports all that much, which is the primary reason why I want nothing to do with sportswriting. My proof is that I dabbled in college basketball writing for ESPN a little bit, but I really wasn’t feeling it so I stopped. I know it puts me in the minority, but sports are enjoyable for me only when I’m watching the actual games. All the arguing and banter that goes on in between the games is exhausting and completely pointless to me. It’s occasionally entertaining to watch other people do it (and argue about sports LOL), but I don’t really want to be a part of it.
Yeah, but you’re still turning into Simmons. He took time off to write his book and now he podcasts more than he writes.
I don’t know what to tell you. It just makes sense to do it that way. I’m not a good enough writer and there aren’t enough hours in the day for me to consistently write two different things. Podcasting is a good way to let the Trillion Man March inside my brain without having to take huge chunks of time away from writing my book. It makes sense and you know it. As always, if you don’t like it, you can suck it.
Podcasts suck. I don’t have an hour and a half to take out of my life to listen to you talk.
Like you, my pet peeve with podcasts is that they are always way too long. This is why the SharkWolf podcast will aim for 30 minutes every time. After all, you people have lives, and even if you don’t, your video games aren’t going to play themselves. We might go over 30 minutes every now and then, but that’s the goal. Just like I’ve told every girl I’ve ever dated: If you want longer, there are plenty of other options.

So there it is. Follow my ass on Twitter, listen to my ass on the SharkWolf podcast, or be SOL. Those are your options. If you have your heart set on only reading the blog, well I guess this is goodbye. For now. I’ll be back eventually, but maybe it’s best that we go on a little break and rekindle our love somewhere down the road. After all, if there’s one thing I’ve learned from all of the high school/college chicks I’m Facebook friends with, it’s that absence makes the heart grow fonder.

Your awesome YouTube is the video that everyone keeps asking me about. Watch it first if you haven’t already and then meet me on the other side for my commentary.

The concept for a video like this is a good idea (I say this because I proposed a similar idea to some OSU higher-ups while I was there, but it got shot down because they’re all jealous douchers), but the execution was terrible. I don’t mean that the three guys blew it, because they made it as entertaining and funny as they possibly could have. I mean that the song choice was awful and having them just sit there and sing while reading the lyrics was another poor choice.

If I’m in charge of this thing, I get together five guys (three sitting down and two standing behind them) and have them sing “Tha Crossroads” by the Bone Thugs, but I don’t let them look at the lyrics. Since they all know how the song goes, but nobody actually knows the words, I’d have them sing with hardass looks on their face while they basically just mumble the words. I’d split the parts of the song up so that it mirrors the Bone Thug’s style of passing the baton and letting another guy take over the song every so often. After the inevitably hilarious “bow bow bow bow bone bow bone bone” intro, the rest of the video would fall into place and would be equally awesome. Just imagine Aaron Craft looking hard while mumbling about how tough ghetto life is, before letting Jon Diebler take over and struggle to tell us all about the homeys that he’s lost in the streets. I say throw in Sullinger and Lighty, who are both great at playing along and would bring some over the top comedy, and then round it out with Will Buford, who would take the thing dead seriously and would make it that much funnier because he probably knows all the words. That’s an F’ing video. It would’ve taken 30 minutes longer to film this thing than it did to film the Miley Cyrus one, but it would have definitely been worth it because my idea would have been much, much better. But alas, my suggestions always fall on deaf ears, which, interestingly enough, is exactly what I have after listening to those guys sing.

Proud To Be An American But Even Prouder To Be A Buckeye,

Mark Titus

Club Trillion Founder

Movember Contest (Part II)

2010-12-14T14:54:00.004-05:00

Since the book I’m writing is two or three months behind schedule, I decided I’d spend all my time this week working on that instead of writing another irrelevant theory about potentially being murdered by a drifter. As always, if you have a problem with this, you can suck it. Besides, the Movember contest (that officially ended two weeks ago) and The Belt contest obviously matter more to the Trillion Man March than anything I write. And if they don’t, well, they absolutely should.

After analyzing the comments for the last blog post, I noticed that there were over 350 “nominations” for the mustache contest from probably no more than 20 people. When I said that you could vote for more than one person, I apparently forgot to request that you not submit the same nomination 50 different times. Oh well. I sorted through all of them as best I could and decided on the six that I thought got the most votes, and threw in my bonus pick (Nicolas Cage) because doing so gives me a feeling of authority I can’t get anywhere else in my life. Anyway, listed below (in no particular order other than alphabetical) are the pictures of the seven finalists. The poll is in the top right corner of the blog. Make yourself useful and vote for someone. As a reminder, whoever gets the most votes wins a free pack of Barbasol for being so manly and a free shirt for being so awesome. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go back to ~~playing FIFA~~ writing my book.

CHRIS MULLIN

JOHN STOCKTON

LEE GREENWOOD

LUTHER VANDROSS

NICOLAS CAGE

WALTER SOBCHAK

GEN. WILLIAM TECUMSEH SHERMAN

___________________________________________________

A few quick points regarding the rules for The Belt:

Ties will be settled by looking at the total minutes played in achieving the trillions. For example, a player putting up a 4 trillion and 3 trillion will beat out a player putting up a 2 trillion and 1 trillion. In other words, Nate Schwarze has one helluva tiebreaker in his back pocket by getting an 11 trillion earlier in the season. I’ll post a tiebreaker column with the leaderboard next time to make this easier to follow.
I’m only considering the stats from ESPN box scores. In order for it to be considered a trillion, every statistic listed for the game other than minutes played must be zero. For a visual, here’s the game log for Wake Forest's Brooks Godwin (who is currently tied for the lead).

That’s all I got for now.

Things are getting much more interesting now that we have four people atop the leaderboard (one of which just recently submitted their name and is new to the contest).

Thanks to Alex in the Trillion Man March, I’ve recently learned that Wake Forest only has seven scholarship guys available right now, which means Brooks Godwin should have a lot more chances than the rest of the guys to put up trillions. I’ve said all along that I like one of the Purdue guys to ultimately win it, but I’ve recently suggested that Nate Schwarze of Rice is a serious darkhorse contender. So if you’re scoring at home, Godwin is probably the favorite, the Purdue guys are my pick(s), and Schwarze has a shot (especially considering that if he ties for the lead, his 11 trillion will probably propel him to victory). But, there’s obviously still a lot of basketball to not be played, so we’ll just have to wait and see. ___________________________________________________

Let me make it perfectly clear that I’m always impressed by basketball trick shot videos that feature kids who are considerably younger than me. When guys haven’t even hit puberty yet but can still make insane shots, I’m always going to give them some props. Especially when the video has one kid riding a unicycle and another kid repeatedly giving the “suck it” crotch chop. Anyway, keeping that in mind, your awesome YouTube was sent in to me by Travis W. and his friends. There’s your shout-out, Travis. And here’s your video.

Proud To Be An American But Even Prouder To Be A Buckeye,

Mark Titus

Club Trillion Founder

Movember Contest

2010-12-06T11:15:00.003-05:00

Scary thought: I’m fully convinced that anybody can get away with murder one time. I’ve made this argument to my friends and family for years, but last night I lost a ton of sleep because I started thinking about it again (probably because I get too emotionally attached when I watch Dexter). Let me explain.

First of all, when I say that anybody can get away with one murder, I obviously don’t mean that you can just walk in on your ex-girlfriend and her new man and just stab him in the balls with no consequence. So please, put the knife down and keep reading before you do something you’ll forever regret. What I really mean is that anybody can get away with one random murder.

Think about it. When cops are investigating a murder, there are always three things they seriously consider– motive, evidence, and possible witnesses. Keeping this in mind, (we need to give our hypothetical murderer a name – “Evan” will do the trick) Evan could get away with murder, provided that he has absolutely no connection to the victim, he doesn’t leave a trail, and nobody sees him do it (or at least nobody gets a good look at him). This means that if Evan was to get bloodthirsty for some reason, all he’d have to do is break into a random house in the middle of nowhere (also known as the rural Midwest), unleash a meat cleaver on whoever he sees, and then take the weapon with him as he quickly flees the scene.

So long as the entire crime is random and unpredictable, and as long as he has no criminal record (so DNA testing can’t nail him), I’m convinced the cops would never figure out that Evan did it. This, more than anything else, is why I was so terrified of Christopher Lloyd in Dennis The Menace when I was little. Dude was a drifter who just jumped off a train in Dennis’ town. He could have easily slit Mr. Wilson’s throat and anally penetrated Dennis with his own slingshot, then jumped backed on the next train and disappeared into oblivion. There’s no way in hell the cops would’ve figured that one out.

Now, I know some of you might think that bringing this up makes me some dark, creepy guy. My response to this is twofold – A) this is what a dark, creepy guy looks like, and B) I’m not bringing it up because I plan on killing someone, but rather because I’m scared of someone doing it to me. It’s terrifying to know that some hobo could stalk me for a few days and gut out my insides while I’m sleeping without the cops having any idea of where to even start looking.

Even worse, “Evan” could stage the murder to look like a suicide and the cops wouldn’t investigate it at all. This is why I’m adamant about my concept of a non-suicide note. It’s basically a note that happy, mentally-healthy people write that says, “I assure you that I would never commit suicide, so if it looks like I did, please know that someone murdered me and tried to cover it up. Please investigate this and don’t just assume things.”

Obviously I’d ideally want the cops to find my note immediately. But I also wouldn’t mind if they didn’t, so long as my murder happened when my wife was pregnant and my unborn son found the note 20 years later. That way there would be a 100% chance he would feel obligated to avenge my death, which would be all sorts of badass because it’d more than likely mean he would somehow turn into a superhero. And when you think about it, having your child avenge your death and become a superhero is all a father could ever really ask for.

Now that I’ve got you all paranoid and creeped out, let’s ease things up a little bit by looking at pictures of guys with mustaches.

There’s no way you’re falling asleep tonight.

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My original plan for this contest was to pick out a few of my favorites and have the Trillion Man March vote on a winner. But when you all started sending in your stache pics, it became obvious to me that I couldn’t just pick a handful. After all, I’m the same guy who used to like emo music, turtlenecks, and Rick Reilly (to be fair, though, there’s no denying that ESPN Rick Reilly is a completely different person than SI Rick Reilly was), which is another way of saying I’m clearly not that great at making decisions, so picking just a few staches out of the 29 that were sent in was always going to be an impossible task for me.

So here’s what we’re going to do. I’ve decided to post every picture that was emailed to me (except for a few that were pics of guys with full beards) and I’m going to leave it up to the Trillion Man March to decide which staches are the best. If you see a mustache you like, leave a comment in the comment section of this blog entry and it will serve as a nomination. After a week or so, I’ll tally up the nominations and post the five or six best again and we’ll have a final vote to decide the winner. Remember that anything can be taken into account when judging these mustaches – creativity, manliness, or the lack of both if your heart desires (I think a couple guys could end up winning just because the TMM will pity them).

Just so we’re clear, it’s okay to nominate more than one stache, but please don’t be a Singler and nominate 20 or something. Also, to make the identification process easier, I’ve decided to assign each picture a name of a great American hero (the name appears ABOVE the picture it corresponds with – I’ll say it again: the name appear ABOVE the picture it corresponds with). When you leave a comment with your nominations, list the names of the great American heroes that correspond to the pictures. So instead of writing, “I like both the guy who looks like a child molester and the guy with the fu manchu/soul patch combo,” write, “I like Rod Beck and Lee Greenwood.” Hopefully that makes sense.

By the way, don’t forget that the ultimate winner of the contest gets a CLUB TRIL or FUNDAMENTALS MONTAGE!!! shirt, as well as a pack of Barbasol shaving cream. In other words, there’s a lot at stake, so please take this as seriously as I know you will. Like Derek Anderson said: “You think this is funny, but I take this s*** serious. Real serious.”

Now on to the staches…

FRANCIS SCOTT KEY

LEX LUGER

LEE GREENWOOD

RICHARD BELDING

GENERAL GEORGE S. PATTON

CHRIS MULLIN

JOHN D. ROCKEFELLER

WALTER SOBCHAK

ABRAHAM ZAPRUDER

BRIAN BOSWORTH

BENJAMIN FRANKLIN

HOLDEN CAULFIELD

BENNY “THE JET” RODRIGUEZ

JOHN STOCKTON

ARTHUR FONZARELLI

WILLIAM JEFFERSON CLINTON

DR. JONAS SALK

CARL SPACKLER

ROD BECK

CLINT EASTWOOD

GEN. WILLIAM TECUMSEH SHERMAN

TRENT WALKER

ERNEST HEMINGWAY

Edit: I just realized that Ernest Hemingway took this picture in December of 2007. Clearly he didn't follow the rules, so I'm disqualifying him from the contest. However, his mustache is unfathomably manly, so I'll leave the picture on here.

SALVATORE GIUNTA

JOHN WAYNE

BATMAN

NICOLAS CAGE

CHARLIE CONWAY

LUTHER VANDROSS

God bless America. __________________________________________________

Now that college basketball is in full swing, the race for The Belt is getting much more heated. There’s a new name atop the leaderboard this time around (and a few names added to the list as well), but it’s too early to pick a favorite as there’s still a lot of basketball to be played (or in the case of these guys, not be played). Here are the current standings.

I still say that one of the Purdue guys will end up winning it, but my dark horse pick is Nate Schwarze of Rice, mostly because he put up an 11 trillion in his last game. Yes, you read that right. Eleven. Trillion.

What a badass. ___________________________________________________

Your awesome YouTube celebrates the holiday season and was sent in to me by Marc L. There’s your shout-out, Marc. And here’s your video.

Don’t forget to nominate your favorite mustaches.

Proud To Be An American But Even Prouder To Be A Buckeye,

Mark Titus

Club Trillion Founder

2010-2011 College Basketball Preview (Part III)

2010-11-22T13:12:00.001-05:00

I’ve been going back and forth for the past few days about whether or not I should address Kyle Singler’s trick shot video that most people agree is nothing more than a blatant rip off of my critically acclaimed Mr. Rainmaker video. Even as I sit down to write this I don’t know whether I should talk about it. The truth is that I don’t think Singler has ever seen my video, so I can’t be too butthurt about anything he did. But at the same time I’m pretty certain that people within the Duke basketball program have seen Mr. Rainmaker (I know some people who know some people who know some things), which means there’s a good chance whoever approached Singler with the idea for his video was inspired by my video. Still, I think I should probably just take the high road for now. I need some time to gather my thoughts and make sure I don’t have a Dan Gilbert moment and say something too emotional. But that’s not to say that I’ll let this issue go away quietly. Because quite simply, in the words of The Dude, “This aggression will not stand, man.”

While I think about the best way to handle this situation, I think we should all just focus on Part III of the Club Trillion College Basketball Preview. Today we’re talking about the loss of hair, the loss of rules/morals, and the loss of one’s conscious when the game matters most. As a reminder, I’m writing the FIFA and college basketball sections and my friend Keller is tackling the professional wrestling sections (to get up to speed on how the format works, check out Part I and Part II of the preview).

PREMATURE BALDING
This category takes a look at the guys who would have every right to get upset with the genes they were given, if not for the fact that those same genes helped make them high caliber athletes. I would call this situation a catch-22, but I’m not sure I even fully understand what “catch-22” actually means. Maybe me not being able to use the phrase because I don’t know what it means is itself a catch-22? Or maybe the first situation really is a catch-22, and the fact that I was hesitant to use the term even though I would have been using it correctly is also a catch-22? Holy balls my head hurts trying to figure this out. Maybe we should just move on.

FIFA: Wayne Rooney (Manchester United)

Most of you probably don’t know about Rooney’s recent sex scandal because he’s an English soccer player, which is to say he’s irrelevant because he’s not American and he doesn’t play football, basketball, or baseball. So allow me to fill you in. Basically the gist of the story is that Rooney cheated on his wife (who he has been dating since they were 16) with a prostitute while she was pregnant with their first child. Not that big of a deal, right? I mean, common folk like you and I would never do something as dumb as this, but it’s almost expected of celebrities to go big or go home with their sex scandals. And on a scale from 1 to Tiger, this seems likes it’s barely a Letterman. Until you dig a little deeper, that is.

The issue here isn’t that that Rooney cheated on his pregnant wife (I’m sure my fiancee is thrilled with me writing that sentence). The issue is that he had to pay a prostitute to do so. Now, I know it’s common knowledge that every celebrity pays a prostitute for sex at least once in their lives. But it’s a little different with Rooney because he publicly admitted to sexing up hookers on the reg before he even turned 18. He’s clearly way ahead of the prostitute curve, which takes this from a one time scandal to a serious pattern of questionable behavior. Again, the problem isn’t that he’s having sex with all sorts of women (that’s the norm for athletes/celebrities) – it’s that he’s paying these women to let him tickle their innards. Someone of his fame and stature should be able to get his rocks off without paying for it, yet it seems like he has trouble getting some for free, which is why this scandal is a bigger deal than it should be. Most believe that Rooney has to pay for sex because his premature balding makes him one of the uglier people in the world. While I can’t say I disagree with this sentiment, at the end of the day I still think it shouldn’t take all that much for him to get laid. After all, he’s still probably one of the more attractive people in England, since everyone knows the English don’t have time for hygiene cause they’re always too busy losing to America at everything. USA! USA! USA!

Pro Wrestling: The Rock

This was a tough one to award. For one, male pattern baldness is a side effect of steroid use, so about 99% of wrestlers are balding in some capacity (the 1% is clearly the Ultimate Warrior and Ted DiBiase). Asking me to choose the wrestler with the biggest receding hairline is like asking me to choose the stripper with the lowest self-esteem, or the most metrosexual blazer from Express in Danny Peters’ closet. There will be a lot of candidates. For two, many of the balding wrestlers choose to shave their heads completely to hide it (see: Stone Cold Steve Austin, Goldberg, and Gillberg). And for three, nearly every wrestler who I was going to pick turned out to be like 40 years old from my earliest memory of him. I was going use this space to talk about how Dean Malenko was criminally underrated , but I don’t remember any of his matches before around 1997, when he was 37 years old. It’s not exactly premature balding at that point. Enter The Rock.

Take a look at that picture. Ignore the earring, or the stupid outfit, or the awful length of the hair. Instead, focus on how far back the hairline recedes. This is The Rock in his mid twenties. His level of balding is embarrassing. When you are wearing a kindergarteners Thanksgiving project as a shirt and your hairline is still the most troubling part of your look, you know it’s bad.

Nonetheless, The Rock took his follicle shortcomings and made everything else about himself the focus, presumably to deflect from the fact that it looked like somebody photoshopped Borat’s mustache onto his shaved head. He started delivering great promos. He embarked on a singing career. He took informal polls on pancake enjoyment. He grew out some ridiculous sideburns. He hit Mick Foley in the face with a chair for the better part of an hour. Essentially, he stole the show every single week until you forgot about the fact that he had a giant fivehead. It’s impressive, really. If anybody could pull it off, it was The Rock.

College Basketball: Dallas Lauderdale (Ohio State)

Truth be told, the only reason I even came up with this category was to bring up Dallas’ new look. After years of denial (and wearing a do-rag to “catch the hair that falls out”), Dallas finally went the Clyde Drexler route by giving up on the dream and shaving his head in the offseason. I can’t say enough how much I like this decision (and the decision to grow a solid beard to go with). Dallas looks leaner, quicker, and about 1,000 times more badass. Some would argue that he looks leaner and quicker because he lost weight and got in better shape, but I’m sticking with my theory – it’s all about the shaving of the head.

Don’t let the smiles fool you - The guy on the left ended my basketball career and the guy on the right looks capable of ending my life.

In the four games I’ve watched this year (one of which was an exhibition game), Dallas looks like he’s markedly improved from last season, which is scary for the rest of the Big Ten considering he unofficially blocked 93.4% of shots attempted on him last year. What’s even scarier for Big Ten teams, and really the rest of the country, is that Dallas isn’t even the best big guy on Ohio State this year (some would say that he wasn’t the best big guy on the team last year, and by “some” I mean Kyle Madsen). But whatever the case, I think we can all agree that Dallas is the perfect example of how to handle premature balding. Some people get dealt a 7-2 off suit and pray for a miracle to somehow turn it into a royal flush. Dallas, on the other hand, got dealt a 7-2 off suit and decided that that s*** wouldn’t fly, so he pulled out his sawed-off shotgun, pumped lead into everyone at the table, and made off with all their money cause that’s just how he MF’ing rolls.

BLATANT CHEATERS
Even though this could absolutely apply to guys who put their wiener where it doesn’t belong, in this case we’re talking about the guys who blatantly break the rules and don’t play fair. Not only do these guys cheat, but they do so in a seemingly unapologetic fashion, which is what bugs me the most (except for the WWE example, obviously).

FIFA: My Goalie on “Legendary” Difficulty

There are very few things in this world that I don’t strive to be the best at. Wait, I wrote that wrong. Let me try again – There are only a few things in this world that I strive to be the best at (that’s better). Along with mustache growing, loving my country, and Facebook stalking, FIFA is one of these things. I simply can’t stand it when I meet someone who is better than me. Why, you might be asking, does it mean so much to me to be the best? Because if rap music has taught me anything other than that “trifling” is actually a real word, it’s that two is not a winner and three nobody remembers.

Because I want to be the best at FIFA, I usually only play the computer on “legendary” difficulty because it’s the only level that gives me any sort of challenge whatsoever. The only problem with this is that that challenge usually comes in the form of my goalie throwing the game. A simple tweaking of the difficulty settings suddenly makes my otherwise stellar goalie unable to do fundamental things like “make an attempt to stop the ball” or “refrain from diving when there’s not even a shot because it would consequently create an open net for the opposition.” I’m of the opinion that changing the difficulty settings shouldn’t make your team any worse, but instead should only make the computer better. Unfortunately, this isn’t the case and I get stuck with Robert Green in goal every game I play on legendary (suck it, England! USA! USA! USA!), even though my goalie is rock solid when I play on any other difficulty level. The only possible explanation for this is that my goalie hates me and is intentionally throwing the game.

Pro Wrestling: Diamond Dallas Page (Ready to Rumble)

If I hadn’t already given him an award, this would naturally be a slam dunk victory for Ric Flair, who when not called The Nature Boy was known as The Dirtiest Player In The Game. A quick aside on Flair’s nicknames: when I was in elementary school there was some doucher in our neighborhood named David who sucked at life but still managed to tagalong and ruin any gathering we had. We started calling him Nature Boy, only it was meant as an insult that quantified how much he blew, and not a reference to Flair. The lesson, as always, is that I was a dumbass as a kid.

Instead, this award is going to Diamond Dallas Page. Not the real DDP; he was too busy making people feel the bang in WCW to break any rules (though he would debut in the WWE to a gigantic pop when revealed as the Undertaker’s wife’s stalker, so he wasn’t always a good guy. Naturally, watching video of Page unmasking makes me think about the other time he hid under a mask, which made me think of La Parka, which made me think of La Parka punching a fan in the face, which made me think that that fan surely still thought wrestling was real to him, dammit. The slippery slope of wrestling YouTube videos). No, I’m talking about Diamond Dallas Page in the 2000 movie Ready to Rumble, starring David Arquette and Scott Caan.

In the movie, Page forms an alliance with WCW’s evil booker, Titus Sinclair (played by Joe Pantoliano looking sweet in a cowboy hat and fringed jacket. In that same year Pantoliano would star in Memento, a movie I’ve heard is pretty good and have been meaning to watch, but forget about by the next morning) to strip reigning champion Jimmy King of the heavyweight title. King is played by a Fat Oliver Platt, who is taken by surprise when DDP starts actually fighting him in the ring. Now, King is a slob who got winded during his pre-match rap of Run DMC’s “King of Rock”. DDP was a badass who partied with Bon Jovi and got Jay-Z to pay him for the right to use the diamond symbol. Page shouldn’t have needed any help taking King down. But he used it anyway, and that’s why he earns the title of biggest cheater.

First into the ring to interfere were “Page’s Goons” – Sid Vicious, Van Hammer, Juventud Guerrera, Prince Iaukea, and Bam Bam Bigelow, five men who had no significant interaction on WCW programming yet were grouped together in the movie. They help DDP beat King down, only to have “The King’s Men” (who sound like a LARPing crew but were really Jimmy King’s protectors) rush to the ring to aide him. Or so it seemed. Instead of helping King, the group of Curt Hennig, Konnan, and Perry Saturn instead joined in on the attack. It was 8 on 1 in Page’s favor. At one point, four of the wrestlers got on the top turnbuckles. Mike Tenay, a terrible WCW announcer who I can only remember because of his long-winded explanation of why Dean Malenko was a dick for removing Rey Mysterio’s mask and his propensity to overpronounce wrestling moves like he was Giada without the awesome boobs, informs the viewing audience that they are about to perform a Four Post Massacre. Tenay claims that nobody has ever survived that (a claim that’s probably true seeing as how it was never performed before the movie). After all four men land on King at once, Page pins King and steals the title. Since, to my knowledge, nobody has ever needed greater than an 8 on 1 assault to win a match, Diamond Dallas Page is the biggest cheater.

College Basketball: Every Coach In The Country

This summer, both Jim Calhoun and Bruce Pearl got busted for breaking NCAA recruiting rules (Pearl just recently got suspended for 8 SEC games). Pearl’s transgressions are considered much more serious not only because he lied to NCAA investigators but also because he was blacklisted from coaching awhile back for being a whistleblower, so the idea of him cheating and lying about it is pretty ironic really (wait, is it ironic? Do I know what ironic actually means? Could it also be a catch-22 somehow?). Meanwhile, John Calipari might be the scuzziest coach in the history of sports and has committed violations at just about every school he’s been at, but instead of getting disciplined, he gets millions of dollars and is loved by Kentucky fans everywhere. The lesson here is that if you want to be a college coach, you have to be willing to cheat your ass off. And if you somehow get caught, all you have to do is cooperate with the investigation, say it was all a misunderstanding and it won’t happen again, and flee to a new school before the NCAA comes to your current school and just starts dishing out sanctions up in that bitch.

Seriously, though, all college coaches cheat. It’s just to the degree that the cheating takes place that sets them apart. Some coaches practice too often or for too long and some give money to recruits. Obviously one is more serious than the other (practicing too much sucks and any coach that can’t follow that rule should be fired immediately), but in the end they’re both considered cheating. Still, you can’t punish every coach for cheating, so it’s important to just go after the guys who either break the rules the most often or commit the most serious violations.

As a good rule of thumb, to figure out how badly a coach cheats all you have to do is look at his hair. If it seems as though the coach doesn’t care what his hair looks like, chances are he only commits minor infractions. Coaches that style their hair a little bit usually commit more serious violations, but nothing worth investigating. Coaches that use way too much hair gel are just about guaranteed to be doing some shady things, and coaches that use too much hair gel and slick their hair back are surely giving recruits thousands of dollars, changing SAT scores, and probably have some sort of ties to the mafia. Using this template, I completely expect Steve Lavin to turn St. John’s into a national powerhouse within the next five years.

UNSTOPPABLE IN CRUNCH TIME
This is simple. If there isn’t much time left and the outcome is in the balance, these are the guys who take matters into their own hands and do something about it. These guys will let you get a little taste of victory, and then will swiftly cut your tongue out, make you lick your own scrotum, and have sex with your girlfriend just because they can. All without really breaking a sweat. So yeah, don’t f*** with these guys.

FIFA: Cristiano Ronaldo (Real Madrid)

It’s no secret that just thinking about Cristiano Ronaldo’s abilities on FIFA gives me at least a semi-chub. I’ve said many times that I think he’s the best athlete on a sports video game since Jeremy Roenick on NHL ‘94, but the more I think about it, he actually might be better. Now, I know that the real Ronaldo is a puss who flops way too much and has that weird European mullet going on, but the beauty of FIFA is that the personality of the players doesn’t matter and none of the players are programmed to take dives. All that is taken into account is pure physical and athletic talent, and there’s no denying that from a this standpoint nobody (not even Messi) can touch Ronaldo. Ronaldo is so good, in fact, that if you created a virtual pro on FIFA, made it Ronaldo’s size, and maxed out its attributes, it still wouldn’t come close to having Ronaldo’s speed, skill, or strength. In other words, you can’t even create a player as good as him because FIFA thinks its impossible for someone to be that good. Think about that for a second.

So what does this have to do with crunch time? Well, obviously the best players throughout the game are going to still be the best players when the game is on the line. Ronaldo not only is the overall best player in the closing moments, but he’s also got a specific go-to move that rivals my step-back three going left that I perfected during my basketball playing days (just ask Danny Peters how venomous my step-back going left is – he knew exactly when it was coming every day in practice and still couldn’t stop it). It truly is the most unstoppable move on FIFA, and it only becomes that much more unstoppable when things get ugly and I desperately need a goal. Unfortunately, people who I regularly play in FIFA read this blog and therefore would know my secret move if I told all of you, so I’m going to have to keep that vault locked. Sorry, but when you aspire the be the best like I do, giving away secrets isn’t a great idea.

Pro Wrestling: Hulk Hogan (At height of Hulkamania)

It’s hard to definitively say what goes into Hulking Up. I would venture to guess that it’s partly from having the most patriotic song in history as your entrance music, part dad strength, and part Hogan being a total dick in real life who refuses to lose any of his matches (when that last part is mixed with another dick who refuses to lose matches like Shawn Michaels, hilarity ensues). You have a better chance of getting that sweet Yoda backpack you wanted for Christmas than you do of beating Hogan in an important match. Nonetheless, when the match is on the line, Hulk Hogan turns into arguably the most unstoppable force in the history of the world.

It happened, among countless other times, at Wrestlemania VII, against Sgt. Slaughter. Hogan, bloodied and looking like he’d met his match, finds his inner strength and begins Hulking Up. He becomes unfazed by punches, impervious to pain. He takes shots that don’t affect him until he’s finally had enough. Out comes the point. This is a picture of Hulk Hogan pointing at you while Hulking Up (and this is a picture of a taxidermied squirrel riding a plastic horse). If you see this, the match is over. What follows next is pretty much set in stone, because they’re 3 of the only 5 moves that Hogan knows. First comes the punch. Then comes the big boot, which is supposed to hit the opponent in the face but usually connects with the right nipple instead. Finally, the leg drop. It’s never really been properly explained how dropping a leg on your opponent is somehow the most effective finishing maneuver in professional wrestling history (as opposed to this, or this for that matter), but it almost always leads to a three count when Hogan delivers it. When it matters, Hogan delivers. Just ignore the part about him always delivering because he’s a selfish doucher who won’t let other people beat him. Hogan might be all-time quarterback a little too much, but he still gets the job done in crunch time.

College Basketball: Jimmer Fredette (BYU)

Before Jimmer Fredette came along, the only thing I knew about Mormons that I didn’t learn from South Park is the concept of “letting it soak.” Now, thanks to Fredette, I’ve also learned that Mormons can apparently play basketball pretty well. Fredette is a preseason 1st team All-American this year, thanks largely in part to a stellar season a year ago in which he broke the BYU record for points in a game by pouring in 49 against Arizona. Call me crazy, but I think this solidifies his status as the best athlete named “Jimmer” of all-time. In fact, I’ll take it a step further and say that he’s the best anything that’s ever been named “Jimmer.” That’s something to be proud of, I guess.

There are really two reasons why I think Jimmer Fredette is the most clutch player in college basketball. The first and most important reason is that I wanted an excuse to bring up “letting it soak,” because that might be the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard of. The second, and probably more relevant, reason I picked Jimmer Fredette is because of his performance against Florida in the NCAA tournament last year. In one of the more memorable games of the first round of last year’s tournament, Jimmer scored 37 points as BYU beat Florida in double overtime. Fredette gave the Gators a steady dose of ~~buckets~~ rainmaking (Mr. Rainmaker > Kyle Gets Buckets) throughout the game, but really ripped their hearts out in the second overtime by hitting two more threes. Sure he didn’t hit a game winning shot or anything dramatic like that, but that’s only because he decided to take the game over so that a last second shot wouldn’t be necessary. And really, hitting a last second shot doesn’t necessarily equate to being clutch. Most of the time it’s just a result of being in the right spot at the right time. Being clutch is really achieved when there’s about a minute left and your team desperately needs to score (either because they’re up by one possession, tied, or down by one possession). Fredette strikes me as a guy who is dangerous with the ball in his hands during these moments, as evidenced by the fact that he stepped up his play when it mattered most (second overtime of NCAA tourney). That’s why he gets the nod (also, I really wanted to mention letting it soak).

By the way, through the first couple weeks of the college basketball season, here is my starting lineup of “White Guys Who Really Don’t Look Like Much But Are Actually Pretty Good”:

PG: Aaron Craft (Ohio State)
SG: Jimmer Fredette
SF: Would be Kyle Singler, but screw that guy
PF: Chandler Parsons (Florida)
C: Mike Tisdale (Illinois)

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The day you’ve all been waiting for is finally here. At this point, just about every D1 team has played at least two games, meaning it’s time to start tabulating results so we can put together a leaderboard for The Belt (For those who don’t know – I’m giving away a custom made wrestling belt to the Division 1 player with the most trillions this season). As of right now, we have 18 entrants but ideally I’d like to have close to 50. So please, do whatever you have to do to get your favorite college team’s walk-ons to sign up. All it takes to enter is to be a Division I basketball player (don’t even have to be a walk-on, but a walk-on will probably win) and send an email with your name and school by clicking here. Remember: Fans can’t register for players. I want the players themselves to enter because I don’t want to give The Belt to someone who won’t appreciate it and/or doesn’t even know about it. With all that being said, here’s your current leaderboard for The Belt:

Obviously, seeing a Michigan player at the top is very disheartening. This needs to be fixed and it needs to be fixed now.

Also, and this is just my opinion here, look for the Purdue guys to make a strong play at The Belt this year. They have a pretty good team and Matt Painter is quick to pull the trigger on subbing walk-ons into the game, so these guys will have a lot of chances to put up trillions. What they do with these chances is up to them.

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A few reminders:

FUNDAMENTALS MONTAGE!!! shirts are now available by clicking here.

If you really want to consider yourself a member of the TMM, you’ll buy one as a way to show the world that you prefer Mr. Rainmaker over Kyle Singler’s terrible knock off video. Also, 10% of all shirt sales for the rest of the month will go towards the Movember cause. So really, you’re getting a badass shirt and supporting two great causes at the same time – Movember and Mr. Rainmaker.
Movember – Don’t forget to take a picture of your mustache towards the end of Movember and send it to clubtrilcontest@gmail.com. I’ll post what I deem to be the best ones on the blog and I’ll let the TMM vote for the winner, who will receive a pack of Barbasol shaving cream for being so manly and a free Club Trillion t-shirt (either CLUB TRIL or FUNDAMENTALS MONTAGE!!!) for being so awesome.
Kyle Singler’s video sucks.

___________________________________________________

Today’s Great Mustache In American History is brought to you by Steve Prefontaine.

“Pre” is by far the most famous distance runner in the history of the sport, most likely because he was a bonafide badass. While others would pace themselves during long distance runs, Pre always went balls to the wall because that’s what guys with mustaches as awesome as that do. As a 19-year-old, when most other people his age were celebrating their first pubes, Pre celebrated being on the cover of Sports Illustrated. During his collegiate career, he won four straight 5000 meter NCAA track titles and won three NCAA cross country championships. The only reason he didn’t win a fourth cross country title is because he got too bored beating all the college kids’ asses and decided to try a little tougher competition in the Olympics instead. At one point, he held the American track record for every distance between 2,000 and 10,000 meters, which added up to seven records in all. So yeah, he was pretty good at running.

Pre ultimately died in a car wreck when he was just 24 years old, but his legacy has lived on thanks to Nike and the University of Oregon refusing to let people forget about him (not to mention the two movies that were made about his life). 35 years after his death, he’s still the only name in long distance running that I know, which doesn’t seem like much, but is kind of a big deal considering I watch every Olympics and my best friend closely follows track to the point that he routinely tells me about the results of meets all over the world. Anyway, the bottom line is that Pre was a hero who continues to inspire thousands if not millions of people to this day, and was capable of growing a kickass mustache even though he died well before his mustache-growing prime.

Proud To Be An American But Even Prouder To Be A Buckeye,

Mark Titus

Club Trillion Founder

2010-2011 College Basketball Preview (Part II)

2010-11-12T17:02:00.001-05:00

The Club Trillion College Basketball Preview moves on, as today we talk about guys who look the part, guys who kinda suck, and guys whose lunch money we could easily steal. As a reminder, I’m in charge of the FIFA and college basketball sections and my good friend Keller is in charge of the professional wrestling section (just so you know who to be pissed at if we somehow offend you). Now let’s get to it. 5…4…3…1…off blast!

(By the way, if none of that made sense to you because you missed Part I of the Club Trillion College Basketball Preview, you can get up to speed by clicking here.)

BEST USE OF GEAR
At first, this category might seem like it’s focusing on fashion, but in reality that couldn’t be further from the truth. I think of fashion as people using their clothing and whatnot to mask their insecurities and try to be cool. In other words, fashion is for vaginas. What we’re doing here is analyzing the guys who use their “gear” as a way to accentuate their attitude. They don’t wear this stuff to make it seem like they’re cool. They already know they’re badass. These guys dress the way they do simply because it’s comfortable and that’s how they like it.

FIFA: Sergio Ramos (Real Madrid)

No homo, but real talk I’ve always been a little fascinated with the long hair pulled straight back look. This is most likely because both of the male members of the original DX rocked this hairstyle in two completely different yet completely perfect ways. Seeing Triple H and Shawn Michaels raise hell and crotch chop all through my childhood made a lasting impression on me and I’ve been a fan of long hair ever since. It should be noted, though, that the DX/Sergio Ramos long hair look is the only long hair style that’s awesome. Examples of guys’ long hair looks that suck include the Bama Bangs, the Emo Bangs, the Polomalu, the Shaun White, the Bieber (Bama Bangs except the hair goes over the ears), the Asian Mullet, the Efron (pretty much a combination of the Bama Bangs and the Bieber), the Joakim Noah, and the Home Improvement Kids.

What makes Sergio Ramos stand out is that he takes his long hair to the next level with a subtle skinny headband. By also wearing a sweatband on his wrist with the occasional long sleeve jersey, Sergio Ramos has the exact look I would have if I were a soccer player (again, no homo). Unfortunately, a quick Google Image search of him shows me that he can be a little feminine off the field sometimes, which is pretty discouraging really. I’m going to chalk up this perceived femininity to the fact that he’s European and it’s well-known that all Europeans are a little light in their loafers. Nonetheless, the FIFA version of Sergio Ramos looks pretty badass and that’s ultimately all that I care about.

Pro Wrestling: “Ravishing” Rick Rude

When I was a kid, I absolutely hated Rick Rude. I disliked vegetables. I didn’t care much for girls. But I completely and unequivocally hated Rick Rude and would cheer for whoever he was wrestling to kick his ass every time one of his matches was on. As I got older, I really started to wonder why young me was such a dumbass on all those things (except for vegetables. Those still blow). The more I caught Rude’s matches, the more and more I started to like him. In fact, he was awesome. He was from Robbinsdale, Minnesota, and the only people I’ve known from Minnesota have been Jared Allen, two swimmers who bite the lids off beer cans to open them, and a total babe who owns multiple animal shirts, so he was good from location alone. Add in a mustache so manly that it generated testosterone into the air the way that trees generate oxygen to go along with the fact that he gyrated his hips inappropriately at both females and males alike, and already you can tell how stupid young me was for hating him. But the biggest thing I missed as a youngster when it came to Rick Rude was just how ridiculously awesome his ring attire was.

The first place to start is his robe. While not known for his robes in the way that Ric Flair (the runner-up in this award, obviously) was, Rude’s robe was still an integral part of his look. Adorned with jewels and with “Simply Ravishing” written on the back with a pair of lips, the robe worked on two levels. The first was that it was cool in its own right. The second level was that he used his robe as a great reveal, putting down audience members and reminding them that he was the sexiest man in the room and they were about to see for themselves. When he opened his robe, they’d get a glimpse of not only his steroid-perfected body, but also of the tights that lay him claim to this award for best use of gear. It’s an interesting dichotomy.

A quick aside: to the reader that doesn’t know any better, it would seem like Rude might have been gay. Between the bedazzled robe with big red lips on them and an entrance song that sounds like if Val Venis’ music had been composed for a Christmas present shopping montage in an 80s movie, to the untrained eye Rude would appear to be a homosexual character. But that couldn’t be further from the truth. Rude would routinely bring female fans in from the audience to make out with him in the ring, leaving them swooning messes when he was done with them. He would even adorn his tights with female faces to show just how much of a ladies man he really was.

But back to the tights. You see, Rude wins this award because there has never been a wrestler in history with cooler tights than his. The exact look varied, but they almost always had either his face, some girl’s face, or something relevant to whatever angle he was in. When Rude was facing the Ultimate Warrior, the Warrior’s face ended up on Rude’s tights (if you’ve been clicking these links, you’ll see that Rude has a go-to pose, not unlike Same Face Guy). When Rude won the Intercontinental title, where a face would normally be was instead now an airbrushed rendering of the belt itself. Of course, Rude still had a picture of himself puckering his lips, just on the back of his tights now. With gear like Rude wore, it would be wrong to give the award to anybody else.

College Basketball: E’Twaun Moore (Purdue)

E’Twuan Moore’s look varies from time to time, but the reason he’s on the list as the best use of gear in college basketball is because of his occasional combination of shirt under the jersey and single sweatband on his wrist. But, you might be saying, aren’t there tons of guys who wear shirts underneath their jerseys? Yes, yes there are. But in case you haven’t figured it out, sweatbands being worn on the wrist gets all sorts of bonus points in my book. This is mostly because ever since Michael Jordan came along, everyone abandoned the wrist and started wearing their sweatband on their forearm. Very few people have the audacity to take it old school and throw that sumbitch on their wrist, which is why I think it’s so awesome when someone does, especially when that someone is one of college basketball’s better players.

The truth is that picking Moore for this is somewhat reverse racism, but it makes perfect sense so I’m not going to apologize. Even though there are tons of white guys who wear a wristband and a shirt under the jersey, the reality is that pretty much every one of them looks like a dweeb. It’s a universal rule in society that black guys make everything cooler and this case is no different. When a white walk-on wears a shirt under his jersey, he looks like he’s doing nothing but trying to hide his scrawny arms. But when E’Twaun Moore dresses exactly like said scrawny white walk-on, he somehow makes it look awesome, simply because he’s smooth on the court (and he’s black). And that’s ultimately what sets Moore apart from everyone else. There are plenty of guys that look cool, per se, but only E’Twuan Moore really looks smooth, which is a completely different thing in the same way that William Buford will tell you that your “ol’ girl” and your “main squeeze” are completely different things.

HOUSEHOLD NAME THAT ISN’T THAT GOOD
For this category, we’re taking a look at guys who have become famous to the point that people who don’t pay all that much attention just assume these guys are really good. In reality, they’re decent, but these guys are by no means as good as their level of fame would suggest. An example of the type of person we’re dealing with here is how chicks who don’t watch basketball assume that Lamar Odom is one of the five best players in the world because he’s always on Keeping Up With The Kardashians and he’s won a couple NBA titles. Sure he’s a great player, but by no means is he as good as a majority of girls probably think he is (Now that I think about it, Hank Baskett is another example for the same reason as Odom, except Hank Baskett really does suck). You get the idea.

FIFA: Ronaldinho (AC Milan)

In all honesty, Ronaldinho was the single reason I ever started to care about soccer and consequently FIFA in the first place. Thanks to the combination of his crazy ball handling (or is it ball footling?) skills and the increasing popularity of the internet when I was in high school, a friend of mine showed me a few highlights on YouTube and I was mesmerized to the point that I decided to give soccer a chance. I haven’t looked back since. My guess is that there are tons of people like me who never knew anything about soccer but know about Ronaldinho because they saw a few YouTubes of him and were blown away at what he was capable of (mostly because it was fake). In fact, if my circle of friends are any indication, Ronaldinho is one of the most famous soccer players in the world to Americans. Unfortunately, though, no matter how famous he is, at the end of the day his game is pretty much all show and doesn’t translate to FIFA all that well.

There’s no denying that the real Ronaldinho’s ball footling ability is pretty f’ing nuts, but the problem is that it there really is no place for it on FIFA to me. I play a very disciplined, fundamentals-oriented brand of soccer when I play FIFA and Ronaldinho’s flashy brand of soccer just doesn’t fit (kinda like how it didn’t fit with the Brazilian national team, which is why he was left off their World Cup roster this year). Besides, even if I do want to get flashy, I can just use Barcelona and Messi because he’s probably got better ball skills anyway and is much, much faster than Ronaldinho. Plus, if I’m playing with AC Milan, I’m running everything through Ibrahimovic, if for no other reason than he can kick the piss out of the ball and I really want to see him burn a hole in the virtual net like he’s an on-fire Chris Mullin on NBA JAM.

Pro Wrestling: The Miz

I hate to say this, because he dresses like a total doucher and clearly used steroids and his previous fame to help him get where he is today, but I respect the hell out of Mike “The Miz” Mizanin. Here’s a guy who we only knew liked pro wrestling because he (awesomely) used to proclaim himself “The Miz” and cut loud promos when he was on the Real World: New York. This took guts because it always annoyed Coral, and she had huge boobs which he effectively ruined his chance of seeing by acting like a pro wrestler. Even later, when he’d used his fame from being a dominant player on the Real World/Road Rules Challenge to secure a spot WWE Tough Enough, The Miz worked his ass off to improve his in-ring skills after he got cut, and eventually got a full-time contract. All of this aside, for the amount of fame he might have to the random person on the street, The Miz still, well, sucks.

This might not be the case in 5 years, because he has natural charisma and is continually trying to get better. In fact, he even stopped wrestling in ridiculous-looking board shorts and moved on to actual wrestling tights, which can only mean good things. But at this point in his career, the recognition that The Miz gets as a pro wrestler from the casual fan or random stranger would make you think he’s been a multiple time Heavyweight champion. While he has had reigns as the United States champion and the tag team champion, The Miz has yet to serve any meaningful time in the main event scene. So despite his fauxhawk and half-Mystery Method, half-Tool Academy wardrobe having a high Q score with the general public, any pro wrestling fan will tell you that The Miz just isn’t as good as you think he would be.

College Basketball: Matt Howard (Butler)

If for some reason you don’t know who Matt Howard is, maybe referring to him as “the big white guy on Butler who had the dirty stache last year” will help jog your memory. Thanks to an improbable run by Butler to the National Championship last season, Howard and his mustache got all sorts of national publicity, and rightfully so. After seeing his mustache on CBS, college basketball fans collectively flocked to the internet to research Howard a little bit, and were probably surprised to find that he was the Horizon League Player of The Year in 2008-2009 before his teammate (and my high school teammate), Gordon Hayward, took the honor from him the following season. Upon learning this information, the casual college basketball fan referred to the Morrison Theorem (wispy mustache + mid-major conference player of the year = someone who isn’t to be f***ed with) and assumed that Matt Howard must be one of the best players in college basketball. Unfortunately, this isn’t the case.

Before Butler fans get upset with me (“you’re just hating cause we beat you last year!”), let me first say that I have the utmost respect for Matt Howard. As you should know by now, I’m a fan of both mustaches and wearing a shirt under the jersey, which is why I want so badly for Matt Howard to be good. Sadly, the only thing keeping this from happening is that his game consists of nothing but pumpfaking, throwing elbows, setting illegal screens, and flopping so much that even Butler fans get uncomfortable with it. Again, I’m not hating on the kid, because I did every single one of those things when I played in high school and practiced in college. But that’s the problem – I can do all of these things (not to mention the fact that there’s a 45-year-old version of Matt Howard in every church league in America). As much as I respect what he does and I think of him as an inspiration to all of us pumpfaking/flopping guys, the bottom line is that he simply isn’t that talented.

(Now that I think about it, this is more of a compliment to him than anything else. The guy gets more out of his abilities than anyone in college basketball, which is something to be proud of, I guess.)

GUY WE COULD TAKE IN A STREET FIGHT
This category is simple. We have no doubt in our mind that if we wandered into a dark alley to find these guys perched up against a wall with a leather jacket on and a look in their eye that suggests they want to anally rape us, we would not only deny all access to our buttholes, but we would also kick so much ass and take so many names that we’d probably get a key to the city or whatever it is they give all those awesome superheroes like Daredevil.

FIFA: Lionel Messi (Barcelona)

First and foremost, let me make it perfectly clear that the real life Messi would beat the snot out of me if we were ever to fight. Sure he’s only 5’7”, but the dude is one of the best athletes alive and is lightning quick, so there’s a very good chance that he could beat me silly before I’m even done with my warm-up jumping jacks (even if it is a spontaneous street fight, going through a proper warm-up routine is still very important). There really is no disputing who would win this fight because I fully admit that I would stand no chance against him. But, as is the consistent theme with this preview, I’m not concerned with the real life Messi. I only care about the FIFA version of Messi, and it’s clear to me that I would make virtual Messi my b*tch.

To confirm my point that I could destroy the virtual Messi, I decide to create myself on FIFA 11 and compare my relevant attributes with Messi’s. Here’s what I found:

As you can clearly see, Messi has better body control than me but I more than make up for it with both my strength and aggression. And isn’t that really what would matter most in a street fight? Virtual Messi’s best attributes suggest that if we were to fight, he would do nothing but duck and run away. Meanwhile, I’m bringing a nine inch and 54 pound advantage to the table, not to mention my 91 in strength that would surely break his jaw in two. As much as you might want to side with Messi, the bottom line is that scientific data shows that I would have no problem opening up a can of whoop ass on a virtual Messi in a street fight (two Stone Cold references in one sentence!).

Pro Wrestling: Bob Backlund

I thought about going a few different ways with this one. At first I considered picking the cruiserweight who I thought was the biggest pussy (probably Scotty 2 Hotty, just so I could do the Worm over his lifeless body), but then I realized that the smaller guys are usually legit, real-life badasses, like the “Lethal Weapon” Steve Blackman. So that probably wouldn’t be a great choice. Then I thought about going with someone like Sid Justice, who is arguably the most physically intimidating man with a blonde curly mullet to have been alive in the 90s, but who is also famous for being incredibly soft outside the ring (and for having arguably the most gruesome injury inside it. Click at your own risk). This was a man who once used a squeegee in a street fight with Brian Pillman, so maybe he’d be a good choice for a street fight against me. But even Sid, who was billed at 6’9” and 320 pounds and once went by the name Lord Humongous in the ring before everyone associated it with Greg Oden, had the wherewithal to stab Arn Anderson with scissors in his next out of the ring fight, so he’s probably not a safe bet for a victory. Then it dawned on me: Bob Backlund.

Backlund has the strange distinction of being one of the longest reigning WWF champions of all-time (over 5 years) while also being the loser of the fastest championship match in history (8 seconds, to Diesel/Kevin Nash). He also serves as exhibit A as to why I strongly believe all redheads should have some sort of facial hair to help offset how it looks like you have no hair on your face at all from your eyebrows and eyelashes being so light. Seriously, there is absolutely no way that I lose in a street fight to a man who looks like a 60 year old version of the Gingers Do Have Souls kid. Backlund was apparently an accomplished amateur wrestler, but Adam Morrison is living proof that the better you are as an amateur, the more you’re likely to suck as a pro. Besides, this is a street fight. I’d like to see Backlund try and give me a single leg takedown while I’m hitting him in his temple with a lead pipe and/or stabbing him in the torso with a knife. Those are legal in a streetfight, right? Actually, on second thought, I’m not sure I’d even need them. Again, this is what Bob Backlund looks like. Just like he lost the 1996 Presidential election, Bob Backlund would get dominated in a street fight against me.

College B-ball: Mick Cronin (Cincinnati’s Head Coach)

Even though I couldn’t find Mick Cronin’s height with a quick Google search, I did discover that Bob Huggins is about 6’3” (one inch shorter than me) and Cronin comes up to Huggins’ shoulders. Maybe you don’t know this, but this means that Mick Cronin’s face is at a perfect punching height for me. As I would make contact with Cronin’s schnoz, my arm would be perfectly parallel with the ground, which I’m sure John Brenkus and his Sport Science would tell you is how to get optimal force behind a punch. Translation: Mick Cronin would be f’ed if we were to engage in fisticuffs.

Should the fight move to the ground and take on more of a wrestling dynamic, I’m just as confident that I could destroy Cronin. My guess is that he’d be a wiry little fella that could escape from all sorts of holds and whatnot, so I’d focus more on restraining him with one arm and beating him senseless with the other. As much as I’d love to put him in a camel clutch until he’s unconscious, I’d probably have to be a little more offensive and find a way to land a few punches instead. Surely it wouldn’t take much more than two or three solid shots to the kisser before he’s had enough. Of course, there’s always the chance that he’s a black belt in karate or Billy Blanks Tae Bo, which would throw a huge wrench in the system, but I still think I’d have the upper hand because I’m not afraid to play dirty and hit below the belt if that’s what it takes. ___________________________________________________

In case you don’t follow me on Twitter or your friends who added me on Facebook haven’t broke the news to you yet, I’m proud to announce that after months of begging HOMAGE, we finally released the “FUNDAMENTALS MONTAGE!!!” shirt yesterday.

Before you complain about the price, please keep in mind that this isn’t your standard t-shirt, as this will undoubtedly be the softest shirt you will ever own in your life (unless you have the CLUB TRIL one). Also, 10% of all sales for the rest of the month will be donated to Movember and will ultimately help with prostate/testicular cancer research. So basically you can do your part to help fight cancer by getting an unbelievably awesome and soft shirt. I’m pretty sure this could be the definition of a win-win. ___________________________________________________

Today’s Great Mustache In American History is brought to you by Dale Earnhardt.

Even though I spent my childhood cheering on the Rainbow Warriors and the 24 Dupont Chevrolet of Jeff Gordon, I have no problem admitting that Dale Earnhardt is the greatest NASCAR driver of all-time (Gordon and Earnhardt were bitter rivals for those of you who think you’re too cool to follow NASCAR). Most people are of the opinion that Richard Petty is the best ever, but I’m giving Earnhardt the nod, if for no other reason than Earnhardt had a better mustache.

I was going to highlight some of Earnhardt’s finest moments, but then I realized that those of you who follow NASCAR already know how awesome he was and those of you who don’t follow NASCAR wouldn’t care anyway. So instead, I’ll just link you to a tribute video on YouTube that made my a little teary-eyed and you can do what you want with it.

Proud To Be An American But Even Prouder To Be A Buckeye,

Mark Titus

Club Trillion Founder

2010-2011 College Basketball Preview (Part I)

2010-11-10T13:03:00.003-05:00

Many of you have asked me how I feel about my beloved Vikings deciding to waive Randy Moss last week after trading for him a month earlier, so I thought I’d address it real quick. The truth is that I’m actually not that upset that Moss isn’t a Viking anymore, but I am upset that the Vikings front office (read: Brad Childress) ultimately threw away a draft pick because they couldn’t foresee Moss being a headache. This is like asking The Villain to be on your pick-up basketball team and then getting upset when he never passes you the ball. Or like letting The Villain borrow your car “for ten minutes” during your sophomore year at Ohio State and getting pissed when he returns it to you six hours later with less than a quarter tank of gas and a funky smell coming from the back seat. Sure it sucks that Moss was kind of a doucher, but ultimately it’s the Vikings’ fault for putting so much trust in him. That, more than anything else, is what is so frustrating. This whole ordeal is just another example of how other than murder, pedophilia, and rape, nothing in this world upsets me more than Brad Childress’ decision making, which is ironic because Childress looks like a guy who commits all three of those crimes on a regular basis. But enough about a mediocre NFL team. Let’s talk college basketball.

If you know anything about me or my blog, you know that there are three things in the world of sports that my life revolves around – college basketball, FIFA, and professional wrestling. And if the handfuls of emails I regularly get from the Trillion Man March are any indication, most of you also care about at least two of those three things. So, keeping this in mind and acknowledging that college basketball officially started this week, I’ve decided to team up with Keller to get you pumped for the season by bringing you what will surely be both the best and most irrelevant college basketball preview you will ever read.

For the preview, Keller and I intertwined our three favorite things about sports by likening different aspects of college basketball to aspects of both FIFA and professional wrestling. Keller knows more about wrestling than anyone I’ve ever met in my life, so he will be handling the wrestling section of the preview (warning – he wrote a ton). And since every time we play FIFA I beat Keller like he’s my ex-wife, I’ll be handling the FIFA section of the preview. Obviously, now that I’m writing college basketball pieces for ESPN and I’m therefore considered a college basketball expert, I’ll also be handing the basketball section. Finally, because the entire preview is longer than the list of people who wanted me to make a Greg Oden penis joke right here, I’ve decided to break it up into a bunch of parts and post a new part every couple of days (I would post a new one every day, but I can already anticipate Keller not getting his sections done).

With all of that being said, here is Part I of your 2010-2011 Club Trillion College Basketball Preview. Boom baby.

GUY THAT’S BEEN AROUND FOREVER
This category is pretty self explanatory, but I’ll explain it a little bit anyway. These are the guys who you see either playing, wrestling, or on FIFA and think to yourself, “Wait, he’s still playing/wrestling? How old is that guy?” You know, guys like…

FIFA: David Beckham (LA Galaxy)

Beckham is kinda like the Brett Favre of soccer. Not only has he been playing seemingly forever, but he also has an immaculate stubble beard and there are pictures of his junk all over the internet (although, his junk is unfortunately covered by whatever underwear he is endorsing for that particular photo shoot – damn). Plus, the video game version of Beckham is also much better than the real version of him, just like Favre and his video game likeness. What’s more, Beckham and Favre both married women who are about one year older than them. In fact, the only difference I can see between these two is that Beckham didn’t cost the Vikings their first trip to the Super Bowl in my lifetime by throwing an inexcusable interception to Tracy Porter late in the NFC Championship. Not yet, anyway.

Pro Wrestling: Ric Flair (The Nature Boy)

As a man who currently has a 15-year unbeaten streak in Mercy, and who’s been shaving since the 7^th grade, I’ve been conditioned never to cry under any circumstances. That being said, I stood helpless as my eyes welled up with tears while I watched Monday Night Raw on March 31, 2008. The night before, Ric Flair had lost his retirement match against Shawn Michaels at Wrestlemania XXIV, and this night’s Raw was dedicated as a farewell show to the Nature Boy, honoring his multiple-decade career. Prior to this moment, I think the last time that I cried was during a 5^th grade AAU basketball game, where an opponent who was no less than 12 inches shorter than me bit me in the stomach as I dribbled up the court. After yelling at the top of my high-pitched 5^th grade lungs “HE BIT ME!!!”, the combination of rage, shock, and pain led to me sobbing on the bench for the entire 3^rd quarter before re-entering the game and fouling the kid in retribution.

So imagine my surprise when I learned that watching the Four Horseman reuniting in the ring for the first time in 20 years caused the waterworks to start up. The sound of the greatest entrance music in wrestling history combined with the visual of Ric Flair sobbing in the ring was too much for me. This was the perfect send-off for arguably the greatest wrestler in history. Unlike most of his contemporaries, Flair wouldn't spend his final years toiling away in second rate promotions tarnishing his legacy for a few more paydays. Flair would be different. That is, until Flair would un-retire to toil away in a second rate promotion, tarnishing his legacy for a few more paydays. My tears were for nothing now.

When you're a stylin', profilin', limousine riding, jet flying, kiss stealing, wheeling and dealing son of a gun, you tend to acquire expensive tastes and multiple wives. Flair lived a lavish lifestyle (hell, even his famous robes cost upwards of $5,000 apiece) and let throngs of women ride Space Mountain (his awesome euphemism for sex). By giving out season passes to Space Mountain to not one, not two, not three, but FOUR different women, and continuing his free-spending ways to go along with those divorces, Flair essentially went broke after his retirement and was forced to come back. He signed a contract with TNA a year after his retirement ceremony, and sadly continues to wrestle to this day.

It's truly a shame it ended up this way too, because there have been multiple points in Flair's career where he could have retired on top besides the post-Wrestlemania ceremony. There was the time he went crazy, stripped off his clothes in the middle of the ring, and started elbow dropping his suit jacket. Or after his match with Sting on the final episode of WCW Monday Night Nitro. Or every time he talked sh*t to a fan by calling them "fat boy" or telling them that their mother rode Space Mountain and that they'd ride it later that night. Or when Will Ferrell paid homage to him as Ashley Schaeffer. Through the years there were plenty of perfect times for Ric Flair to go out like the Nature Boy truly should have, and not have to languish in 2010 wrestling in TNA, looking like a droopier-breasted Randy the Ram while every fan who cheered for him during his heyday looked on embarrassed (I say looked on in the loosest sense of the word, because TNA sucks and nobody actually watches it). Much like the Nature Boy never has learned to stop going to the top rope (at this point I would link you to a montage of Flair getting slammed from the top rope, but for some stupid reason there is no video of it on YouTube, despite Flair never once landing a top rope move in any match I’ve seen even though he tries every time), he's never learned it's time to hang up his boots.

College Basketball: David Lighty (Ohio State)

The official Ohio State basketball website says that Dave Lighty is a 5^thyear senior this year, but this is also the same website that once said that The Villain’s hobbies include reading and playing golf, so forgive me for being a little skeptical. I’m fully convinced that he has somehow been in the program for at least ten years. This is mostly because Dave joined the Ohio State basketball team before I did, yet I played four full seasons with the team and graduated, and Dave is still going to play one more year. Those of you who have followed Big Ten basketball for awhile surely agree that Dave has been playing for the Buckeyes forever, but if for some reason you don’t, consider this: Dave was college teammates with Greg Oden and Greg Oden is at least 82-years-old. You do the math.

BEST GUY IN A SUPPORTING ROLE
This category is also self explanatory, but I won’t insult your intelligence like I did with the last one and explain it to you. Let’s just get to it.

FIFA: Kaka (Real Madrid)
(Note: I know Kaka has an accent mark somewhere in his name, but last time I checked, this is America and we don’t use accent marks in America. You can either love it or leave it.)

Diehard soccer fans who follow real soccer being played by real people would tell you that Kaka is one of the best players in the world, which is something you would most likely respond to by saying that you “don’t give a s*** because soccer is gay.” The FIFA version of him is every bit as good as the real version, as Kaka would easily be the best player on just about every other team than the one he’s actually on. Unfortunately for him, he will have to settle with his role as sidekick because he’s teammates with Cristiano Ronaldo, who is without question the greatest player on a sports video game since Jeremy Roenick on NHL ‘94 (more on Ronaldo later on in the preview).

Other than being the best sidekick on FIFA, I think Kaka is the most versatile player on the game as well. His default position is in the midfield, but I’ve literally played (and dominated) with him at every position except goalie. I’ve also discovered that he’s a master of finishing rebounds that come from Ronaldo rocketing shots off the goalie’s nuts. I’m not sure what that has to do with anything, but I swear if there was an attribute for “being in the right place at the right time to score the goal and get all the credit, even though your teammate did all the hard work,” Kaka’s rating in that particular attribute would be at least a 96.

Pro Wrestling: Scott Hall (Razor Ramon)

On paper, Scott Hall had it all: legit size, loads of charisma, awesome shirts that make you consider spending $200 to get on eBay, a finishing move that you could easily break someone’s neck with, the list goes on. The only thing he never had was a world title. For someone with arguably the greatest stubble beard of all-time and the ability to make a full denim outfit look cool, you’d think that Hall would have spent the better part of the 90s as the heavyweight champion. But due to unfortunate timing and his inability to not get drunk and party six nights a week, Hall would settle down into a role as the quintessential second banana.

As Razor Ramon in the (then) WWF, Hall would consistently earn cheers like a main-eventer, despite the fact his only push to the main event scene came when the Ultimate Warrior did what the Ultimate Warrior did best (besides being insane and gay-bashing, which for him are mutually exclusive) and left the company without any advance notice, leaving Razor Ramon as an emergency replacement to lose to Bret Hart. Instead, Hall spent much of his time in the Intercontinental title scene, having matches that remain legendary to this day. He stole the show against Shawn Michaels at Wrestlemania X by defending his Intercontinental title in the very first ladder match, which both males and females will excitedly remember as “the match where you got to see HBK’s bare ass.” The Intercontinental title would be the peak of Hall’s run in the WWF, excluding the time he made a couple of young kids’ dreams come true on the Jerry Springer Show. In ’96, Hall signed with WCW and continued his career living a real-life version of “always a bridesmaid, never a bride,” albeit he was a bridesmaid with some pretty awesome chest hair.

Despite being the first member of the New World Order to invade WCW’s shows, Hall was quickly pushed down the pecking order due to Hollywood Hogan’s heel turn and his own failure to power bomb announcers through the stage. For the second time in as many companies, Hall would win the second highest title (this time the WCW United States title), but never make it to the top. At first, Hall was stuck behind legendary WCW title moments like Hollywood Hogan and Sting’s feud that culminated at Starrcade 97 (a pay-per-view I’ll never forget, because for the first time in my life I convinced my mom to let me order a pay-per-view, only to have the signal be scrambled and the show ruined. Scrambled Spice channel I could deal with, scrambled Starrcade I could not.) and Goldberg’s 173 match win streak. Eventually though, Hall’s actions behind the scenes started costing him opportunities. His excessive drinking began spiraling out of control, with Hall even performing in the ring under the influence. At this point, you would have been more likely to find an attractive girl with a shrine to Jerry Orbach than a WCW executive who would ever have faith in Scott Hall being a main eventer. He would never again get past the midcard. Instead of trying to get Hall help, the brain trust at WCW decided to exploit Hall’s problems by incorporating them into an angle, as the last few memorable moments of Hall’s time in WCW revolved around him pretending to be drunk in the ring. While he never made it to the top in either company, Scott Hall is arguably the greatest wrestler ever in a supporting role.

(Note: I choose to ignore Hall’s time after WCW, because I refuse to believe that he would end up looking like he did)

Suddenly the stubblebeard isn’t as cool as it used to be

College Basketball: Nolan Smith (Duke)

It is a well-documented fact that Duke sucks. Since they’ve won a ton of national championships, I obviously don’t mean this in a “Duke isn’t good at basketball” way, but more of a “Duke fans are insufferable and the white guys on the team who slap the floor on defense make me lose all hope in humanity” kind of way. Duke fans think that people hate them because we are jealous and secretly want to be just like them, which is the same ass-backwards philosophy that made LeBron say, “They boo you because they like the way you play basketball.” No. We boo Duke/Duke fans/LeBron because they act like entitled pricks and think that the game of basketball couldn’t exist without them. Why is it that there are college basketball programs all over the country that have historically had more success than Duke, yet Duke is really the only team that is the bane of America’s collective existence? The answer is simple – because Duke sucks.

But despite the hatred we all have for Duke, there’s no denying that they historically are always a juggernaut, they have one of the greatest coaches of all-time, and they are probably the favorites to win back-to-back titles again this year. Now that Scheyer Face has graduated, Kyle Singler is the undisputed leader and best player on the team, but Nolan Smith is a senior NBA prospect in his own right who will be the Blue Devils’ leading scorer on many occasions this year. Like Kaka and Scott Hall, Smith is good enough to be the star on pretty much any other team, but he still embraces his role and knows that Duke wouldn’t be nearly as good without him. So, if you get the chance to watch him play this year, be prepared to be impressed with his skills. And if you do appreciate the way he plays, please remember to have the common courtesy to boo him as loudly as you possibly can. It’s the least you could do.

EVENT THAT’S A WASTE OF TIME
This category was developed in protest to the absurd number of tournaments and events that are held in the world of sports every year. The truth is that nobody cares about the non-BCS bowls (except when the MudDogs won the Bourbon Bowl), the non-majors in golf and tennis (or even the majors in golf and tennis), or any race of any kind that isn’t the Daytona 500 or Indy 500. These things are meant to wet our whistle while we’re waiting on the important tournaments, but in reality they pretty much just get in the way.

FIFA: FA Cup (England)

Wikipedia tells me that the FA Cup has been around since 1871 and is the oldest soccer competition in the world, which would be impressive except “nobody gives a s*** because soccer is gay.” In reality, this tournament is probably a very big deal to people in England, not so much because it’s really old and has a lot of history but more because England sucks in the World Cup and this tournament at least guarantees English people that a team from England will win the thing. All that’s fine and well, but I’m not concerned with real soccer. I only care about virtual soccer and on FIFA, this tournament does nothing but get in my way.

When I play manager mode on FIFA, I play with Manchester United, only because the Premier League is the only competitive league and I kinda like Wayne Rooney’s game (I also like his soccer game). My only goal on manager mode is to win the Champions League or whatever they call it on the game. I have no interest in anything else. The only reason I even play regular season games is to finish in the top of the league so I can qualify for next season’s Champions League. At no point in time have I ever cared about winning the FA Cup, which is why I used to simulate those games. The only problem with this is that FIFA would sometimes screw me when I simulated the FA Cup games and I would get upset by a scrub team in the first round. When this would happen, my coach’s rating or whatever would plummet, I’d get fired, and I’d be stuck managing an MLS team the following season. Therefore, I have no choice but to play these FA Cup games and win some tournament that I literally could not care any less about.

Pro Wrestling: Women’s Wrestling (WWE)

Quick: can anybody name their favorite women's wrestling match of all time? I've been a fan of pro wrestling in some capacity since 1990, and I can still only remember four things about women wrestlers – that Alundra Blayze showed up on WCW Nitro and threw away the WWF women's title on live TV in a move that seemed extreme before the nWo showed up, that Mae Young gave birth to a hand, that Chyna has some not-so-womanly bodily features that the world saw in her sex tape with X-Pac (as has previously been mentioned in this blog before...Google at your own risk), and that I first learned how to clear my internet history to hide the Playboy pictures of Sable I had looked up. After scanning through my Wrestlemania, Royal Rumble, and SummerSlam anthologies, not a single women’s match listed on the cards brought back a memory, and I'm the same guy who can still tell you the home phone number of a girl I had a crush on in the 9th grade, despite never having the balls to actually call her. Even a Google search to help jog my brain instead produced results that were split between fetish female wrestling porn and sites completely dedicated to moments where a female wrestler's top came undone and their breasts were exposed on live TV.

And that's what seems to be missing on Vince McMahon and other people who run wrestling companies. The only time a male fan is going to watch a women's wrestling match is in the hopes that a boob pops out during a suplex. The unfortunate reality is that there is no amount of technical proficiency that can take place in a women's match that will make it compare to a men's match. Many women’s matches are filled with hair tosses and kicks when the fans want to see finishers like this, much like many WNBA games are filled with set shots and missed lay-ups when the fans want to see, well, men's basketball (I'm only slamming the WNBA because they can't slam things themselves!!!). And since, according to a site that I cannot even think about linking to because of the content, there have not been that many nipple slips in women's matches, that they're even happening at all is a waste of time.

College B-ball: Cancun Challenge (Preseason Tourney)
Note: The teams playing in this year’s Cancun Challenge are LaSalle, Missouri, Providence, Wyoming, Morgan State, North Florida, Prairie View A&M, and Western Illinois.

I can’t tell if these “preseason” tourneys (by the way, calling them preseason tournaments is both deceiving and dumb – kinda like calling this a college basketball preview although the season has actually already started) have been going on for awhile and I just recently started noticing how many there are or if they are a relatively new fad in college basketball. My guess is that the success of the Maui Invitational gave the higher-ups the idea to create more of these things than any one person could possibly keep track of. Either way, I’m pretty confident that when it comes to preseason college basketball tournaments, the Cancun Challenge is the cream of the crap.

Cancun is one of the few places in Mexico that Americans can visit right now without being 100% sure that they will die (there’s only an 85% chance you’ll die), so the Cancun Challenge was probably created as a way to give these college athletes an opportunity to experience a different culture for a few days. Unfortunately, the organizers of the tournament failed to realize that the Cancun Challenge is really nothing more than a cocktease to the players. As cool as a free trip to Cancun seems, it’s not like these guys are going to be sipping margaritas and sexing senoritas the whole trip. For the most part, all of their time will be spent either practicing, playing, or falling asleep in film sessions, which means their trip to Cancun would essentially be the same as a team trip to Detroit in the middle of January.

As for the fans who are crazy enough to travel to the tournament, it’s a similar story. They pay ridiculous amounts of money for a vacation to Cancun, only to get down there and realize that their vacation is being ruined by subpar basketball games that are being played in a hotel ballroom (yes, the games really are played in a hotel ballroom). Throw in the fact that absolutely zero neutral college basketball fans are going to pay attention to games like North Florida vs. Prairie View A&M and Wyoming vs. Western Illinois, and it’s easy to see why this will be the biggest waste of time event in college basketball this year. __________________________________________________

Because it’s Movember and nothing else matters more in my life right now than growing my mustache, I’ve decided to substitute the awesome basketball YouTube video at the end of the blog posts this month for a little history lesson that I will be calling “Great Mustaches In American History.”

Today’s Great Mustache In American History is brought to you by Teddy Roosevelt.

Teddy Roosevelt is without a doubt the most badass president (and quite possibly human being) in the history of America. I could honestly write 10,000 words about how awesome this man is, but I’ll just provide you with three bullet points that tell you all you need to know about the guy.

In 1912, former-president Roosevelt was the target of an assassination attempt and was shot in the chest shortly before he was scheduled to give a speech in Milwaukee. Instead of being rushed to the hospital like everyone suggested, Roosevelt kicked common sense in the balls and proceeded to give his 90 minute speech as planned. He even opened the speech by telling the crowd, “I don't know whether you fully understand that I have just been shot; but it takes more than that to kill a Bull Moose.” After he gave the speech, Roosevelt finally went to the hospital, but the bullet was never removed and he lived with it in his chest for the rest of his life. What a badass.
Teddy Roosevelt was awarded both the Medal of Honor and the Nobel Peace Prize. Try wrapping your mind around that for a second. The only possible explanation I can think of for this is that he was such a badass that people decided to play nice because they were so terrified of what he was capable of.
Roosevelt eventually died of a heart attack while sleeping when he was 60-years-old. The US vice president at the time, Thomas Marshall, had this to say about his death: “Death had to take Roosevelt sleeping, for if he had been awake, there would have been a fight.” Let it be known that I want that exact quote put on my headstone when I die, even if I don’t die in my sleep and even though my last name isn’t Roosevelt. If it weren’t for Nathan Hale, that would be the greatest quote in American history (by the way, I’m not going to explain the Nathan Hale reference to those of you who don’t know his quote – that’s something that should be common knowledge for anyone who loves their country).

Proud To Be An American But Even Prouder To Be A Buckeye,

Mark Titus

Club Trillion Founder

Movember

2010-10-27T19:17:00.004-04:00

One of my favorite things that happened on a routine basis with my teammates at Ohio State was when they would start sentences with either the words “real talk” or the much more entertaining and hilarious phrase “on some real s**t.” By starting their sentence with one of these phrases, they are basically telling everyone, “I was just messing around with everything else I have ever said in my life. That all means nothing compared to what I’m about to say, so please give me your undivided attention because I’m going to talk about something that is more serious and more important than global warming, AIDS, and Wrestlemania combined.” What made this so funny to me was that each and every time one of my teammates led with one of those phrases, they always would inevitably follow it up by saying something that couldn’t possibly be more irrelevant. Because of this, it was common for one of them to walk into our locker room after practice, get everyone’s attention, and then say something along the lines of, “Real talk, Martin had me rollin back in the day.” Sometimes, if they really wanted to drive the point home, they’d even throw in “and that’s on my momma” for good measure. Some people just know how to eloquently present an argument.

Having said all of that, it’s time for some real talk. My favorite month of the year, Movember, starts on Monday, which means on Monday it’s time to quite literally separate the men from the boys. Those of you who have been members of the Trillion Man March for awhile surely remember Movember from last year. If you’re new to the party, though, and don’t know about Movember, check out my blog post from last year that explained everything. Here are a few important paragraphs for those of you who are too lazy to simply click on a link:

It was brought to my attention by a few members of the Trillion Man March that the month of November marks a very important time for lovers of mustaches and haters of prostate cancer. That’s because November has been dubbed “Movember” by a couple of Australians, which may initially sound like a month-long tribute to GUTS announcer, Mo Quirk, but is actually an event that was started to raise prostate cancer awareness (apparently “mo” is an Australian slang term for mustache). I thought Movember was just another event started by guys in high school who wanted an excuse to grow out their peach fuzz without upsetting their moms, but as it turns out, Movember is actually the biggest charity event in the world that is targeted exclusively for men, having raised over $47 million to date. It’s like the men’s equivalent of Race For The Cure, except instead of using your legs all you have to use are your upper lip hair follicles.

Even though one out of every six American men will get prostate cancer at some point in time, it should be noted that I can’t think of anyone close to me who has ever had the disease. I’m not trying to get you to care because prostate cancer has personally destroyed my life by inflicting the people around me. It’s not like that at all. I’m just trying to get you to care because Movember provides a great opportunity to have an excuse to grow a mustache and also provides a great opportunity to raise awareness for a good cause. You can become a better person simply by growing out your mustache. Call me crazy but I think this might be the epitome of a win-win situation.

In short, Movember is an initiative to raise awareness and money for prostate cancer research. Prostate cancer is to men what breast cancer is to women, only more people care about breast cancer because, well, breast cancer affects boobs and everybody loves boobs. Since there isn’t as much of a focus on prostate cancer in this country as there is on breast cancer, the main goal with Movember is basically to show people that a man’s prostate can be just as sexy as a nice pair of hooters. Naturally, this is done by growing mustaches.

So here’s the plan. Since statistics say that at least 500 people reading this will end up getting prostate cancer at some point in their lives, I’ve decided that the Trillion Man March needs to do its part to kick prostate cancer in the nuts and give it the fiercest powerbomb of all-time. This can be accomplished two different ways.

Most of you are either in high school/college or have recently graduated college, which is another way of saying that most of you are ridiculously broke. Shoot, there are probably some of you that have been out of school for years and are still broke because you either have spending habits like my former OSU teammate, Daequan Cook (I heard rumors that he bought 13 flat screen TVs for just his living room immediately after signing his first NBA contract), or you have more likely fallen victim to the terrible economy. This first way of helping out doesn’t apply to you, so you can stop paying attention for a second. But, for those of you who have somehow found a way to successfully pay off all those student loans that went towards countless Trapper Keepers and Lisa Frank products, this first way of helping out just might be for you. The ultimate goal with Movember is to obviously raise money for prostate cancer research, so if you are in a financially stable place, you can help make this happen by donating whatever your heart desires. One member of the TMM, Matthew, took it upon himself to make a group on the official Movember site, so if you do want to make a donation, please click on this link, fill out the information to join Matthew’s group, and donate like your life depends on it (because it very well could someday).

As for those of us who aren’t rolling in the benjamins (the cool kids still say that, right?), we get to take on prostate cancer in a much more exciting way by growing out our mustaches for an entire month (it goes without saying that it’s perfectly fine to both donate and grow a stache). I’ve already pointed out that a majority of the Trillion Man March falls into the “dudes who are broke, man” demographic (myself included), which means that a majority of you will probably be taking part in Movember just by growing your stache. And since mustache growing will be the main way the TMM participates in Movember, I’ve decided to have a contest to establish who in the TMM is the manliest man of all. The only rules are as follows:

You must shave your entire face (excluding eyebrows) down to the skin on October 31st. This is on an honor system. If you know you can’t grow an awesome stache, it’s ok. Just do the best you can. But whatever you do, don’t be a jealous doucher and cheat.
Your stache can’t connect to itself or your sideburns anywhere on your face. If this happens, you have either a goatee or a beard, which means you no longer have a stache.
The best mustache doesn’t necessarily mean the longest mustache. Creativity is taken into account, so doing something like this is every bit as impressive as growing a Sam Elliott stache (ok, so not really but you get what I’m saying here).
Send me pictures of your stache throughout the entire month of Movember and I’ll post them on the blog as we move closer to judgment day on November 30th.
The ultimate winner will be decided by a TMM vote and will win a case of Barbasol shaving cream for being so manly, as well as a free shirt (your choice between either CLUB TRIL or FUNDAMENTALS MONTAGE!!!) for being so awesome.

Just so you’re mentally prepared, this is what you’ll be up against:

“Who wants a mustache ride?”

Based on past experience, I know that many of you work for companies or bosses who suck and won’t let you grow out facial hair of any kind for any reason. The unfortunate reality about the world we live in is that some people just don’t get it. If the economy was better I would coerce you all to participate anyway, but getting fired seems like an awful idea right now, so I won’t give you too much trouble for not participating. I truly am sorry. Fortunately, most of the TMM is comprised of college-aged guys whose only responsibilities are to skip class and get drunk, so they can pick up the slack.

Obviously the women of the TMM also can’t take part in the mustache contest because you all can’t grow mustaches (unless, of course, you’re an elderly librarian or lunch lady). If you have your heart set on doing something for Movember, I suggest you make a pledge to yourself to only party with guys who have mustaches all month. If you’re a high school girl, refuse to give your class ring or go to the school dance with any guy who doesn’t at least have a little peach fuzz. If you’re a girl in college, take a stand and only let guys with staches do body shots off of you (that would probably feel better for you anyway – not that I’d know or anything). You get the idea.

Finally, I thought I would address something that might be giving a few of you cold feet. Some of you might be asking yourself, “How exactly does growing out my mustache for a month do anything to help prostate cancer research?” Good question. Your mustache serves as a walking advertisement to raise awareness for prostate cancer. A lot of men don’t know all that much about the disease, so half of the battle is just spreading the word. Here’s an example of how your mustache can achieve just that:

Friend: “Dude, nice mustache. You look like a pedophile that molests little kids.”

You: “A) I’m trying to raise awareness for prostate cancer by celebrating my manhood, and B) Your redundancy makes it obvious to me that you have no idea what the word ‘pedophile’ means.”

Friend: “Oh my bad, I didn’t know you worked for the grammar police. And who cares about prostate cancer? Getting rid of breast cancer is obviously much more important. Last time I checked, I’ve never gotten a pants-tent from looking at Pam Anderson’s prostates.”

You: “You are the single dumbest person I’ve ever met in my life. You should care about prostate cancer because it is the most prevalent cancer for men and affects millions of guys all over the world. It should be more important to you than breast cancer since, ya know, you’re a guy which means you actually have a chance of getting prostate cancer. Sure breast cancer research is important, but you’re never going to have to worry about getting breast cancer since dudes don’t have boobs. Well, except for Tony over there.”

(NOTE: I know that guys have breasts and can get breast cancer. Just go with me on this one.)

Tony: “Ha. Ha. Real funny. Dick. For your information, I’ve started a new diet that is actually working really well for me.”

Friend: “Oh really? What do you call it? The FATkins diet?”

You: (laughing) (high five your friend) “Good one, dude. Yeah, Tony, sitting on your ass playing Halo every day and falling asleep to anime porn every night isn’t much of a diet.”

Tony: “You guys are jerks. I’m offended and I’m leaving.”

Friend: “I would say, ‘Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out’ but chances are you actually need that to happen cause it will help you get unstuck after you get your enormous hips wedged in the doorframe.”

Tony: “I hate you both. While I’m gone, I suggest you both go die.”

You: “Tony. Got. Served.”

Friend: “Yeah, we totally served him. What a doucher. Look. He left his Halo game paused. We should go play it and ruin it for him. And maybe you can tell me more about this prostate cancer thing you were talking about earlier.”

You: “Deal.”

Real talk, Tony sucks. And that’s on my momma. __________________________________________________

After I called out the walk-on community with my last blog post, tons of walk-ons around the country emailed me to sign up for The Belt. This is very encouraging, but I still think we need more guys. So again, please email me if you are a Division I men’s basketball walk-on. Even if you aren’t eligible for The Belt, you can still help out by writing a Facebook message or something to the walk-ons for your favorite basketball team that will let them know about this awesome contest.

(I know that paragraph was copied and pasted from last time but it still applies, so shut up. Plus, I’m pretty sure it’s perfectly fine to plagiarize your own work. If it’s not, I should probably give back my college degree.) __________________________________________________

Your awesome YouTube was sent in to me by Evan T. (no, not The Villain). There’s your shout-out, Evan. And here’s your video.

Proud To Be An American But Even Prouder To Be A Buckeye,

Mark Titus

Club Trillion Founder

The Cage, Volume III

2010-10-17T16:46:00.008-04:00

I was watching ESPN last week and I saw an interview they did with Ben Roethlisberger, who was suspended by the NFL because he apparently used a bathroom stall for a number other than 1 or 2 (hint: it was 69). During the interview, Roethlisberger completely jacked Magic Johnson’s concept of having an alter ego created from fame and money. In an HBO documentary that aired earlier this year, Magic explained that it wasn’t actually Earvin Johnson who routinely cheated on his wife and got HIV. It was “Magic.” Magic was the leader of the Lakers who threw behind the back passes, oozed all sorts of charisma and personality in interviews, and put his tallywhacker where it didn’t belong. Earvin was a shy kid from Michigan who was humble, respectful, and could apparently grow a kickass afro. He went on to say something like deep down he was Earvin, but fame and money had turned him into Magic. Basically, he was a victim of his own success. Poor guy.

The crazy thing about Magic’s interview was that I actually ended up feeling bad for him, even though everything he said suggested that I should have felt the exact opposite. The reason for this is because Magic is quite possibly the most likable athlete to ever live, which is why guys like me were listening to what he said and were thinking, “Wow, I never thought of it like that. Magic didn’t want to have sex with all these women, but since he was rich and famous, he had no choice.” I never once questioned his logic, because he’s Magic Johnson, and Magic Johnson could tell me that he murdered my family and destroyed every copy of FIFA ever made, and as long as he smiled and let out that hearty laugh of his, I’d probably shake his hand and tell him not to worry about it.

Ben Roethlisberger, on the other hand, comes across as a guy who is as charismatic and persuasive as Brett Favre’s penis. So when he blatantly stole Magic’s alter ego concept and said something like “I stopped being the Ben Roethlisberger who grew up in Findlay and spent his weekends sheltering the homeless, and I started becoming Big Ben, captain of the Pittsburgh Steelers,” I couldn’t help but think of how big of a jerk this guy is and how I don’t feel sorry for him at all. Sure he used the exact same excuse as Magic, but since he’s nowhere near as likable as Magic, I was furious. The excuse works for guys who have an infectious smile (and in Magic’s case, an infectious disease) or at least a likable personality. It most certainly does not work for guys who think it’s appropriate to have the most rapist-looking haircut in the world right after they’ve been accused of sexual assault.

I guess the point I’m trying to convey here is that I’m really upset that Big Ben had to completely ruin this otherwise great excuse for misbehaving. Magic laid the foundation for athletes and celebrities to save themselves with nothing more than a little charisma and an alter ego. I even used Magic’s model to formulate a plan for myself. In five to ten years, when the cops inevitably bust open my door to find a dead hooker in my bathtub and an unconscious me laying in the living room with my pants around my ankles and my face buried in a huge mound of cocaine, I was going to be so excited to tell the judge that it wasn’t me who got into all that trouble. It was The Shark. But no. Ben Roethlisberger has to go and be an unlikable sleazeball and ruin it for everyone. Wait, I got that wrong. It was Big Ben who ruined it for everyone. Ben Roethlisberger did nothing wrong. My bad.

Now that I got that off my chest, let’s open up The Cage and see if I can do my best to avoid answering your emails. Before you ask, the answer is yes – all of these are real emails from real people, except for the ones that aren’t. ___________________________________________________

My email question is: Why do you never answer emails?
- Ann L.

Good question.

Dear Mark, you are my hero. I love you.
-Riley A.

Good statements.

Since you are a mid twenties something man, I am sure that you were excited when you heard of NBA JAM 2010. And since you grew up in Indiana, I was wondering what you thought about the fact that Reggie Miller and Rik Smits didn't make the Pacers legends roster.
- Matt S.

Even though I grew up 20 minutes from downtown Indianapolis, I admittedly have never been much of a Pacers fan. This is predominantly because I absolutely despised the way Reggie Miller played basketball, which is to say that I despised how dirty of player he was and how much he trash talked. I hated all the theatrics that came with his game and I reached my boiling point with him when he pushed off of Jordan to hit that shot in the ‘98 Eastern Conference Finals, and then proceeded to execute the worst game-winning shot celebration in history. That play alone epitomized everything I hated about Reggie Miller.

As I grew older, though, I realized that trash talking and playing dirty were woven into the fabric of basketball tradition just as much as Chuck Taylors and teammates using the N-bomb as a term of endearment. Upon learning this, I gained a greater appreciation for Reggie’s talents and actually respect the hell out of the guy now. He was one of the best clutch shooters of all-time and made the NBA that much better during his playing days. As for Rik Smits? He was always one of my favorite players if for no other reason than he had a mullet and an awesome nickname (The Dunkin Dutchman). I liked him so much that I briefly considered playing for Marist when they were recruiting me in high school, even though I knew absolutely nothing about the school or basketball program other than the fact that Rik Smits played there.

To answer your question, I think this has the potential to make the fine people of Indianapolis the most upset they’ve been since Steven Tyler disgraced our great country with his national anthem at the 2001 Indy 500. Miller and Smits are the Pacers. If you asked all the Pacer fans who will buy NBA JAM 2010 to name the first two Pacers to come to mind, every one of them would say Miller and Smits. How could they possibly leave both of these guys off the game? More importantly, who got the nod ahead of them? Travis Best?

Now that we got Moss how many more years does Favre stay for? 4? 5? 45?
- Nate H.

All of the above. He will retire after four more years, come back, retire again after another year, come back, and then finally retire for good 40 years later. But his final retirement won’t be his choice. It will be God’s. Following the 2055 NFL season, an 86-year-old Brett Favre will have a heart attack, pick up the phone to dial 911, and ultimately die in stunned silence after Tracy Porter intercepts his call.

(I thought that taking an hour-long rape shower immediately after the Vikings lost the NFC Championship last year would get me over the loss. I couldn’t have been more wrong.)

Who would win in a street fight? Mark Madsen or Craig Ehlo?
- Doug P.

This is a no-brainer. I’m taking Craig Ehlo over Mark Madsen in a fight of any kind, whether it be street, MMA, or pillow. This is because I’m 100% sure that he’s tougher than the Maddog. Think about it. Both of these guys are known for one thing respectively. Madsen is famous for setting white people back at least 20 years with his horrendous dancing at the Lakers championship celebration. And by 20 years, I mean that he didn’t set white people back at all because pretty much all white guys dance like that. But still.

Ehlo’s claim to fame, however, is that he was repeatedly abused by Michael Jordan. I’m guessing a lot of people reading this are Cavs fans who don’t need to be reminded, but the rest of you probably only know Ehlo because of the shot Jordan hit over him at the buzzer to knock the Cavs out of the ‘89 playoffs, when in reality he was frequently dominated by Jordan (in Ehlo’s defense, though, who wasn’t?). Along with hitting “The Shot,” Jordan’s career high of 69 points also came against the Cavs in 1990, and while Ehlo didn’t start out guarding Jordan, he certainly guarded him (or attempted to) for a majority of the game. Ehlo got abused by Jordan so much, in fact, that during a game in Chicago, following a play in which Jordan scored on Ehlo even though Ehlo had wrapped him up with both arms, one of the game announcers was in such disbelief at how frequently plays like that happened that he felt compelled to say, “It always happens to Craig Ehlo” (I’m too lazy to look it up on YouTube, but I can just about guarantee that you’ll be able to find it). Jordan obviously had many victims during his career, but nobody got abused on a regular basis by Jordan like Craig Ehlo did. Nobody. Sorry, Cavs fans.

So what does that have to do with fighting? It’s pretty simple, really. People have spent the past 10 years telling Madsen that he sucks at dancing, which is something that I’m sure he’s somewhat proud of. Meanwhile, people have been telling Craig Ehlo for the past 15+ years that he’s Jordan’s bitch. You and I can’t even fathom how much pent-up anger Ehlo is waiting to unleash because of this. That’s why I think if these guys really got into a fight, Ehlo would be like the disgruntled employee who finally snaps and shows up to work with a shotgun, only instead of pumping bullets into his co-workers he would be pumping a steady dose of knuckle sandwiches into Mark Madsen’s face.

I think it's fair to say that I anticipated FIFA 11 just about as much as anyone. And, of course, was disappointed just as much as everyone. My roommate is the only one of my friends to share a love for the beautiful game. We got FIFA 10 last year to start preparing for the World Cup, and it was a great ride. I've even been getting up at 9:55 on Saturdays to watch EPL games. When FIFA 11 arrived we spent the next 2 days playing it and came to the conclusion that indeed it did suck, and maybe we'll just have to play FIFA 10. A few days go by and we give it another chance. Sure enough, I hate it just as much as before, however... he now pulls a 180 and says he likes it better than it's predecessor. I was floored. He read the first paragraph of your latest blog, and closed it. He refused to read, as he called it, “garbage.” So my question is - 1. Is his TMM membership revoked? and B. How do I best handle this doucher?
- Dan W.

As much as I’d like to revoke his TMM membership, the fact is that the only crime he’s guilty of is loving FIFA too much, which obviously isn’t a crime at all. I would be a hypocrite to denounce him for defending FIFA, so I can’t exactly be that upset.

However, anyone who thinks FIFA 11 is better than FIFA 10 is obviously completely out of their mind. These are the same people who probably prefer the first Home Alone, the second version of DX, and the Third Reich. These people are so off-base with their thinking that they can’t be rationalized with. There is no saving your friend. I suggest you knock him unconscious, throw him in the trunk of your car, drive until you reach the depths of hell, and then leave his ass to rot in Ann Arbor, Michigan for being so dumb. Or you could just draw penises on his face the next time he passes out. Whatever works for you.

What are your thoughts on Rufus taking on Brutus?
- Justin B.

I’m kinda split on this particular mascot attack. On the one hand, I’m all for mascot-on-mascot violence because every time it happens, it’s always hilarious to me. Always. Plus, when the kid who dressed up as Rufus was interviewed, he said that the only reason he ever tried out in the first place was because he knew that OU played Ohio State and he wanted to attack Brutus. I completely respect this kid’s ambition and desire to achieve his dreams. But, on the other hand, he kinda took a cowardly approach by springing a surprise attack on Brutus. There is absolutely no honor in how he went about doing it which kinda takes away from the act altogether. If you’re going to start a mascot fight, you gotta do it the old fashioned way – walk up behind the other mascot and give him a nice little shove. When he turns around to acknowledge your shove, you shove him again to let him know that it wasn’t an accident and that it most certainly is on. From there, you wait a second to let him have a chance to process what exactly is going on, and then you unleash hell. That’s the only fair way to go about it that still makes for great theater. It’s Mascot Fighting 101.

When I first read about this mascot fight, I was immediately struck by how awesome both mascot names are. I was sure that a fight between Rufus and Brutus would have to be the greatest combination of mascot names that could possibly get into a fight, but like most things, I was wrong. After doing a little Wikipedia research, I’ve decided that the best possible mascot fight that could ever take place, based solely on the names of the mascots involved, would be if Scrotie (from the Rhode Island School of Design) fought Gaylord (from Campbell University). Can you imagine the headlines if this ever happened? I would actually go buy a newspaper for once in my life, just so I could have a copy of a paper with an inadvertently hilarious headline like “Gaylord Wrestles With Scrotie.” Another element of hilarity is added when you consider that this story is absolutely unGooglable, because Googling “gaylord” and “scrotie” together would result in nothing but gay porn on at least the first 27 pages of results (not that I would know or anything). That really would be the greatest mascot fight ever. I dare you to check out the Wikipedia list of mascots and come up with something better than that.

Speaking of homosexuality…

I played D3 hoops and we always had uncomfortable conversations about why one or two guys would rather hike back to the dorms in the winter weather than get into the team shower mix. Along those lines, were you a shower sandal wearer, or were you willing to take that risk? Did you ever pee on your feet as a faux method to kill fungus? Did your teammates offer to do it for you? Was my locker room just that weird?
- CC

First I’ll answer your questions - no, yes (just to freak out my teammates who apparently never realized that I’d douse my feet in soap after I did it), no, and yes if your teammates offered to do it for you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll address something that should have been addressed long ago.

Locker room shower etiquette is one of the most confusing things in the world to me, right up there with the female anatomy and Three 6 Mafia winning an Oscar. In all my years of playing sports, I’ve never understood it. It’s completely counterintuitive for one fairly obvious reason.

It’s no secret that male athletes (specifically football and basketball players) are some of the most homophobic people on the planet. This is solely because they have an unspoken pressure to be as tough as they possibly can, and doing anything that could ever be perceived as “gay” would completely destroy their macho reputation in their minds. This is why they annoyingly overuse the phrase “no homo” on a regular basis (“no homo but I’m really hungry”), because even the slightest act of “gayness” would destroy an athlete’s reputation among his colleagues. Yet these are the same people who see no problem with packing twelve naked guys into a tiny communal shower area or making fun of a teammate with a small penis. It truly is perplexing.

And then there are women athletes, who are often stereotyped as being lesbians, even though a majority of them aren’t. But even so, anyone who has ever been on spring break can tell you that there are tons of straight girls who are willing to make out with each other if you offer them $20 or simply start a convincing group chant. Women athletes don’t have that macho perception to live up to, which is why they tend to be much less paranoid about being perceived as gay. But if you were to ask women athletes if they use the locker room showers after their games, nearly all of them would say something along the lines of, “That’s disgusting. Why would we do that?” It truly is perplexing.

Speaking of homosexuality…

My bromate named Chris continually bashes soccer for only being for homosexual people. Do you believe that assessment is true?
- Terry P.

In a word, no. In a hyperlink, this.

What is your greatest experience with a Thad Matta halftime or postgame tongue lashing?
- Caleb W.

A little known fact about Coach Matta is that he might be the worst yeller in the history of getting angry. What I mean by this is that it’s completely unnatural for him to yell, so when he does it’s hard to take him seriously. He’s the consummate “players’ coach,” which is why I was able to write my blog and act like an idiot on a daily basis. Because of this, he rarely ever screamed at us and when he did it was always a little forced. Looking back, it was always pretty funny when he yelled but one story involving his yelling sticks out more than any other, even though it wasn’t at halftime or after a game.

During my freshman year at Ohio State, Coach Matta began having back problems that eventually led to him having foot drop in his right foot that still plagues him today. Before his injury, one of his favorite ways of expressing his anger during practice was to dropkick a basketball into the Schottenstein Center stands. When yelling simply wasn’t getting the job done, he’d find a ball laying close to him scream a few four-letter words, and cherry bomb for the upper deck. But when he started having back problems, he obviously couldn’t punt basketballs anymore, so he had to start improvising.

Maybe the funniest moment in my Ohio State career happened at one practice after Coach Matta’s back problems came up. He got upset with the way we were playing, presumably because Ivan Harris was shooting too many fade-away threes and Ron Lewis was smacking his lips at everybody, and stopped practice to unleash a furious tirade. After he thought he got through to us, we started practicing again. But on the very first play back, somebody didn’t do something right (my guess is that Daequan Cook forgot that he had to run to the other end of the floor and play defense after he scored) and Coach Matta lost it. He temporarily forgot about his foot drop as he searched for a basketball to punt into the stands. When he eventually found one, the proverbial light bulb in his head went off telling him that kicking a basketball is right next to swinging a golf club and receiving a powerbomb on the list of “The Absolute Worst Things You Could Possibly Do With A Bad Back.” Upon realizing this, Coach Matta turned to a nearby assistant coach and quickly told him something that was undoubtedly along the lines of “kick this for me.”

The assistant (who will remain unnamed for his sake) was obviously flustered by the request, because it was probably the last thing he expected to hear. Plus, he hadn’t even been that upset that we were playing badly, or at least he certainly wasn’t mad enough to want to kick a basketball. Still, the assistant didn’t want to upset Coach Matta more than he already was, so he quickly wound up to kick the ball. But instead of kicking it, he almost completely whiffed, as the ball grazed the side of his foot and rolled to the other end of the court. When this happened, the assistant was so embarrassed about whiffing that he actually became just as mad as Coach Matta, even though it was for a completely different reason. In a hilarious turn of events, the assistant coach decided that the best way to release the anger that he had just developed was to, you guessed it, dropkick another basketball. He hurriedly grabbed another ball and again wound up to boot the snot out of it. This time he made a little better contact, with “little” being the operative word here. The ball shot off the side of his foot as he shanked the kick into only the fifth row of the stands. I started laughing so hard that I had to bury my face in my jersey, and eventually acted like I had to pee so I could leave the gym without getting busted for not taking things seriously. It was, without a doubt, the worst execution of an angry tirade by a coaching staff that I’ve ever witnessed.

Ok, so maybe it wasn’t the funniest thing to happen when I was at Ohio State. But it’s still pretty funny to think about a pissed off Coach Matta delegating the role of ball-kicker to a flustered assistant coach, who just so happened to be so bad a kicking that he made Ray Finkle look like Morten Andersen.

Just was wondering what your thoughts are on OSU basketball team this upcoming year. Think they will be as good as you guys were last year even with the loss of The Villain? I know they have a good incoming freshman class that will help, especially with Sullinger. So just seeing what your thoughts are on the subject.
- JJ S.

Obviously I could make some wisecracks about how Ohio State is going to struggle to replace me and my record for the most wins in the history of the program. And I could joke about how I brought so many intangibles to the team that I’m just as synonymous with intangibility as MC Hammer. And I could also make some funnies about how screwed the team will be because they’ll have one less silky smooth J to have to keep in check during practice, which means they won’t be nearly as prepared as they should be for games. I could do all those things, but since most of you are probably Ohio State fans who really do want to know how good the team will be, I’ll give you my honest opinion on this year’s team.

I fully expect this year’s team to be every bit as good as our team from last year, even though they lost The Villain. In fact, I think they might actually be better off without The Villain. Obviously, on the surface it seems like I’m saying this just because I want to take shots at The Villain, but the truth is that last year we won or lost based on how he played. Clearly he played well more often than not, but even so, many of our games consisted of four guys standing around watching Evan take over. This became a problem during a few stretches of last season. There’s no way that they’ll be able to replace The Villain this year, but I don’t think they necessarily need to. This team will have a lot more parity, which will force teams to plan their defenses around more than one guy.

On an individual level, I really think Will Buford will be the best player in the Big Ten this year, which may be surprising to hear for some people. I don’t think he has much of a chance to win the Big Ten POY simply because of the fact that the people who vote for these things are unfathomably stupid, but he certainly has the talent to be phenomenal this year. From what I’ve seen over the summer and early this fall, Will has not only improved his basketball skills, but he’s also taken his mental approach to a whole new level. Last year he kinda took a backseat and picked his spots throughout the season, but this year he’s already showing signs of being the undisputed go-to guy on the team. He’s playing his ass off right now and I would say his swagger is through the roof, except I’ve never actually used the word “swagger” to describe anything in my life and I really don’t want to start now. But you get the idea.

As for some of the other guys – Dallas Lauderdale finally gave in to his baldness and shaved his head, which is hilariously awesome to me. Dave Lighty has promised me that since this is his 17th and last year at OSU, he’s planning on making it his best. And Jon Diebler is still the same doucher he’s always been.

Oh, and Coach Matta told me that Jared Sullinger is the best player he’s ever recruited. Ever. And this was when Jared was at least 30 pounds overweight. He’s since lost a lot of weight and is in much better shape. Translation: I’m going to every home game this year.

Which brings us to the next email…

I'm a freshmen here at the great OSU. Basketball tickets go on sale today, and the games I've been to I (and I'm sure you also) have noticed some great fans in the student section such as Red Man Group and the Cowboy. With the basketball fans getting a lot of flack about not being good enough and the reforms they made to the student section this year (behind the bench), do you have any ideas for one person or a group of people to get a 4 year tradition of great Buckeye fanhood? The only idea I have that is decent (or maybe not) would be to have 5 guys all in full uniform behind the bench every game and call ourselves "Second String" or something like that. So let me know if you've got some good ones and you can see your work in action this winter at the games.
- Eric L.

If there’s one thing I’ve always wished I was better at, it’s parkour. But if there’s two things I wished I was better at, they’re parkour and coming up with creative ideas for basketball fans or fantasy football/intramural team names. For some reason I always draw a blank on these kinds of things, probably because I have never actually experienced any of them. I’ve never played intramurals or fantasy football and I was always too busy making it rain to think about creative basketball fan costumes or signs, which is why I think I’m so far behind on the creative curve with this stuff. It’s a lame, copout of an excuse, I know. But I really think this Second String idea is solid. I’d go with that if I were you.

I’m a sophomore in high school. Today I was eating lunch and like we do everyday, we were shooting trick shots into the trash can with our empty Gatorade bottles, the only drink for high quality athletes. I made a behind the back bounce off one table and over our assistant principal. I just wanted a judgment of this shot from a respected, honorable American like yourself. On a scale from 1 to the size of Greg Oden's penis, what would you rate this shot?
- Nathan P.

Without video evidence, I just don’t see how I can give it anything higher than a Brett Favre.

Since there has been a tremendous lack of historical wrestling flavor in your blog save for a few small references, I would like to share with you that two of the all-time legends, Ric Flair and Mick Foley, will battle it out in the upcoming TNA Impact in somewhat of a "Last Match".
Where does this fall in the list of all-time saddest wrestling moments?
- AJ K.

In order, here’s my list of the Top 10 all-time saddest moments in wrestling history:

My parents telling me when I was in 3rd grade that I couldn’t watch wrestling anymore because it’s “filth.” It would be almost five years before I started watching again. An obvious choice for #1.
Owen Hart falling to his death
Chris Benoit murders/suicide
The Montreal Screwjob
Ric Flair and Mick Foley – “Last Match”
Keller showing me a particular zoomed in screen shot from the X-Pac and Chyna sex tape (if you don’t know what I’m talking about, consider yourself lucky – you honest to God don’t want to know)
Earthquake squashing Damien
Mae Young giving birth to Mark Henry’s hand baby (sad because it was an awkward and embarrassingly terrible storyline)
The Rock starring in The Tooth Fairy
The fact that this video doesn’t even have 60,000 views

I know it goes without saying, but just so we’re clear – the greatest moment in wrestling history is without a doubt “The Plane Ride from Hell,” highlighted by Ric Flair trying to get a flight attendant’s attention by spinning his penis in circles while wearing nothing but one of his badass robes.

I've been thinking for some time that you're input could be valuable on this subject. Since last winter my roommates and I have debated what would be the best way to "make whoopee" with Jillian from The Biggest Loser. I guess there really are a lot of excellent options to go about this but the following are the choices for the four of us:
1. My personal favorite: Give her absolutely everything you've got only to have her screaming at you how inferior you are
2. Completely dominate and control her to turn the tables
3. Cover her in all manner of fatty delicious deserts and eat them off each other as foreplay
4. The two of you are “furries.” I think this guy has a fetish b/c I'm not sure how it relates to Jillian.
- Scott C.

Call me old-fashioned, but if I had to “make whoopee” with Jillian I’d just do it the same way I’ve done it my whole life – I’d make her a mixtape full of K-Ci & JoJo to get her attention, I’d give her my class ring to prove my sincerity, and then I’d slip a roofie into her drink and have my way with her underneath the bleachers during the 3rd quarter of the varsity football game. But that’s just me. I’m more chivalrous than most. ___________________________________________________

I also want to take a second to remind everyone about the Club Trillion Halloween costume contest I decided to have. In case you forgot, the only rule for the contest is that your costume has some sort of reference to Club Tril. This reference can be as strong or as weak as you want, as costumes can range from a walk-on basketball player sitting on a bench to my idea of a giant inflatable penis wearing an Evan Turner jersey. Remember: the stakes are high, as the most creative costume gets a free “FUNDAMENTALS MONTAGE!!!” shirt.

Finally, I wanted to let the Trillion Man March know that we will again be taking part in Movember this year for prostate cancer awareness/research. Since this blog post is already long enough, I’ll provide all the details with the next blog post. For now, I just wanted to remind you all to get mentally prepared to start growing your mustaches out on November 1st. Also, I’m planning on having maybe a couple mustache contests and I’m working on getting Barbasol to sponsor everything by providing shaving cream for the winners. Get excited. ___________________________________________________

Your awesome YouTube was sent in to me by John J. and features Mitchell, a member of the TMM, wearing his CLUB TRIL shirt. There’s your shout-out, John. And here’s your video.

Proud To Be An American But Even Prouder To Be A Buckeye,

Mark Titus

Club Trillion Founder

A Little Housekeeping

2010-10-07T17:17:00.003-04:00

As I’m sure many of you remember, I promised in my last blog post that this blog post would be dedicated to the FIFA video game series, or more specifically would be my review of the new FIFA 11 game that came out last Tuesday. After I casually mentioned awhile ago that I love FIFA so much I could write an entire blog entry about the game, a bunch of people in the TMM basically said “prove it” because they were avid FIFA players as well. I thought it would be a great idea since the new FIFA game just came out, but then a few things transpired between then and now that have since made me change my mind. Two of these things include:

FIFA 11 sucks – I didn’t want to write a review about the game because I would have been forced to write thousands of words about how bad it is, which is something I just can't bring myself to do. If you’ve played it, you undoubtedly agree with me and there’s no need for me to get into all the reasons why it sucks. If you don’t agree with me, you’re lying. If you’ve never played it, all you really need to know is that EA set out to make the most realistic soccer game ever, and while they certainly succeeded, they forgot one minor detail – realistic soccer sucks donkey balls compared to video game soccer.
Lack of response for The Belt – As upset as I was about FIFA 11, I was even more disheartened over the fact that only four walk-ons emailed me to register for The Belt (I capitalize the “T” and “B” only because I don’t have a name for the belt yet – suggestions welcome). You read that right - FOUR. I know that basketball isn’t on the forefront of most people’s minds right now and I know this blog is generally uninteresting during the offseason, but I’m still upset that only four people emailed me, especially considering that I know at least 12 walk-ons who are aware of this blog and absolutely should have registered by now (none of which have). Maybe I didn’t make it entirely clear how easy it is to register for this thing, so I’ll go over it again. If you are a Division I men’s basketball walk-on, take a second right now and ask yourself, “Am I a doucher?” If the answer to this question is yes, I suggest you immediately transfer from Michigan, get rid of your frosted tips, and maybe even grow a mustache for good measure. If the answer to the question is no, click on this link, type your name and what school you go to, and click “Send.” That’s it. You are now registered for what will ultimately be the most coveted award in college basketball history. You’re welcome.

The truth is that the main reason I didn’t write a FIFA review is because I don’t want to put down the game for the chunk of time it would take to effectively write it out. Even though I absolutely hate the game, I simply can’t quit it because I think I love it a little more than I hate it. It’s like FIFA and I have the same relationship as Ronnie and Sammi from Jersey Shore, only I don’t have to take FIFA to my smush room if I want to mess around with it.

Now that I’ve changed my mind and decided to not write about FIFA 11, I’m really left with nothing to write about until the basketball season gets here, so I’ve decided to make the next blog post the next installment of “The Cage.” In case you forgot, The Cage is my version of a mailbag, where I pretty much just take emails from the Trillion Man March and do everything in my power to provide completely irrelevant answers to the questions I’m given without actually answering the original questions. So, if you’ve got something to ask/tell me, be sure to send me an email and if it doesn’t suck I’ll address it in the next post.

Another thing I wanted to talk about in this post is the newest contest I’ve decided to have for everyone in the TMM (since, ya know, the contest for The Belt is going so well). This new contest is going to be a Club Trillion Halloween costume contest in which I will be giving out a free shirt to the best Club Trillion-themed costume. The important part about this contest is that “Club Trillion-themed costume” can be interpreted however you see fit. At first thought, it seems like whoever has the best basketball benchwarmer costume will win the contest, when really there are so many more (and better) costumes than that. You can dress like Journey from the “Separate Ways” video. You can rock a mustache, mullet, jean shorts, and tank top combo. You can dress like you think Gusalina would (for those of you who remember Gus). Hell, you can wear a t-shirt that says “Terrorism Sucks” with an American flag draped around your shoulders. The possibilities are nearly endless (Personally, if I were taking part in this contest I’d wear a giant penis costume and get a jersey that says “The Villain 21” to wear over it, but that’s just me). All that really matters is that there’s some sort of connection (no matter how small) to Club Trillion with the costume. I’ll be taking both creativity and execution into account, but mostly just creativity because that’s all I really care about. Take a picture of your costume and email it to me by November 3rd and I’ll post my favorites on the blog and let the TMM vote on the winner or something. The ultimate winner will get a free shirt, but it won’t be the standard CLUB TRIL shirt that all of you should have by now. No, the winner of the Halloween costume contest will be the first to get their hands on the new “FUNDAMENTALS MONTAGE!!!” shirt that will be available to the public shortly and will look a little something like this:

If you think that getting a free Club Trillion shirt isn’t a big deal, take a look at this email from a member of the TMM named Sam, who just sent me this two days ago:

Dear Mark "The Shark" Titus,

I am a freshmen at Wake Forest University, and live in Carmel, Indiana. Just the other day I was procrastinating on the internet and so naturally went to read the new Club Trillion blog. Then I decided to buy a Club Tril t-shirt, since some of the money goes to charity and it never hurts to have extra shirts in college. I remember you once writing something about if you have a Club Tril shirt on there are bound to be plenty of attractive females around but I laughed thinking this was a joke. I wore my t-shirt for the first time today and you were not joking.

First, I saw easily the hottest freshman girl I have seen since Jenny Finch pitched for Arizona. Then one of our basketball players walks by and gives me a shoutout for wearing a Club Tril t-shirt, which triggers two young hotties to walk up to me and ask how I know him. Finally, I am walking back to my dorm pondering if in Indiana Keith Smart is actually more well known than the team he now coaches, when this senior babe starts staring at me. For a split second I fantasize that she is trying to use x-ray vision on me and check out the size of my package, but then she shouts out "Do you like club tril as much as I do?" This commences a five minute conversation on Club Tril in which I use the nugget of info about Billy Mays which makes her crack up. I then realized this t-shirt actually has more game than I do. This t-shirt is golden. Bitches be flockin.

Thank you for your generous help in the fight to get Sam a girl campaign,

Sam S.

I trust you understand the magnitude of this contest now.

So go work on your Club Trillion-themed costumes and send me an email for The Cage. And if you just so happen to be a D1 walk-on, please, for the love of God, email me and register for The Belt before I lose all the hope I had in the future of college basketball benchwarming. While you all do that, I’ll get back to playing FIFA. Ready, go. __________________________________________________

Your awesome YouTube was sent in to my by Darrell B. There’s your shout-out, Darrell. And here’s your video.

Proud To Be An American But Even Prouder To Be A Buckeye,

Mark Titus

Club Trillion Founder

Battle For The Belt

2010-09-24T14:22:00.001-04:00

In case you missed it, summer is now officially over which means that it’s now officially time to break up with that kinda hot chick who you never really paid attention to in high school cause she was a few years younger than you, and you only started dating this summer because you both worked together at Applebee’s in your hometown and you were bored (plus, she was wearing the great Larry Bird jersey 33). Just trying to give you a heads up. If you let your fling drag on for too long, she’s bound to spring a surprise college visit on you and knock on your apartment door right as you are rounding third with that hunnie from 3A. Even though you’d technically not be doing anything wrong, she’s immature and wouldn’t see it that way, which means that she will cry, cuss you out, and might even fake a pregnancy as a last ditch effort to save the relationship that never really was a relationship in the first place. And nobody wants that. So do the right thing and make the call. No matter how far away you now live from each other, take the safe approach and just blame everything on “the distance.” It’s the one excuse that women always accept, probably because it’s the one excuse that they aren’t embarrassed to tell their friends about. Every other reason for breaking up either makes her look like the bad guy or makes her look like a pushover who was used and kicked to the curb. Blaming it on “the distance” means she can tell her friends that it was nobody’s fault and there’s nothing that could have been done about it. Trust me on this. I ~~have experience~~ saw it in a movie once.

Aside from being the official time to break up with your summer fling, the beginning of fall should be a sign of something much more important in your life (get excited about the next blog post if you read that sentence and thought, “Well duh. The new FIFA always comes out at the start of fall”). That’s because, if you’re anything like me, the beginning of fall is an exciting reminder that basketball season is right around the corner. If you somehow aren’t enthused about that, maybe you should consider that this means another nine months of Adam Morrison’s mustache and Brian Scalabrine’s Scalabriness are right around the corner. That’s what I thought.

(By the way, I just realized that “Scalabriness” rhymes with “penis.” I don’t know for sure if I did this on purpose or not. That troubles me.)

This time of year has also historically meant that it’s time for The Villain and me to get our love-hate relationship going again. This usually was accomplished during our first weightlifting workout of the fall, when The Villain would hit me in the nuts while I was bench pressing, and would explain to me after the workout that he was taking my Gatorade because, even though I always lifted more than him, he deserved two bottles for working so hard. This year will obviously be different, though. The Villain selfishly took his talents to the NBA and I, well, I didn’t. For the first time in my life, I will not be playing basketball throughout the fall and winter, except for the handful of occasions I go to the Y and demoralize more middle aged men than erectile dysfunction and gold-digging ex-wives combined. I guess I could pull a George Costanza by showing up in my old practice uniform at the first OSU practice this season and acting like I’m still on the team, but since I never made any significant contributions during practice when I actually was on the team, I doubt anyone would even notice I was there. Alas, as it stands the basketball world will have one less shark in its oceans this time around.

To deal with the depression that comes with knowing I’ll never play competitive basketball again, I decided to do what every other semi-depressed person my age does – I turned to Facebook to somehow make everything better. Any other time, I would do some self-healing by posting lyrics from an applicable song or Bible verse as my status, followed by “OMG SO TRUE!!!!” or something similar, because it’s a well-known fact that this method always works. In this case, though, I couldn’t really find a song that applied to my situation (some Tupac songs were close, but he uses the N-bomb too much) so I instead decided to look through all of my pictures on Facebook, because that obviously makes a ton of sense. After looking at the pictures for a few minutes, I was reminded of a few things. One of these things is that my haircut/facial hair/outfit for this past Indy 500 is one of the proudest accomplishments in my life. Another is that the Trillion Man March is awesome.

Seemingly every other picture on my Facebook was actually a picture of one (or many) of you wearing a CLUB TRIL shirt or “throwing up the shark fin,” or both in a lot of cases. There were pictures of the TMM from tourist attractions in foreign countries, pictures of handfuls of teammates celebrating their victory with shark fins, and pictures of guys in their CLUB TRIL shirts with swarms of babes at their side (obviously). As tacky as it sounds, these pictures made me realize that this blog was never about me. It has always been and will always be about the Trillion Man March and benchwarming in general. Sure I’m the one who does the writing, but the fact is that, for the most part, you all have stories that are very similar to mine because you are either living them right now or you lived them in the past. I’m far from the first benchwarmer and I certainly won’t be the last. Keeping this in mind, if benchwarming will continue after I’m done doing it, why can’t the Club Trillion we all came to love continue as well?

Heading into this basketball season, I plan on making Club Trillion less of a one man operation and more of a community thing, because that’s really how it should be. I obviously can’t fill the role of the walk-on giving a behind the scenes look at the world of college basketball anymore, but there are plenty of walk-ons who can. Maybe they don’t have as strange of an imagination as I do (and I can guarantee that their jumpers aren’t anywhere near as moist as mine), but I’m sure they can offer a different perspective on some of the same hilarious and disrespectful aspects of being a walk-on basketball player. I don’t know yet how things will work when the season does eventually get here, but I do know that I want this blog to be less about one man’s thoughts and more about how awesome the collective benchwarming community is. I’ve had fun writing about celebrities and wiffleball this summer, but it’s time to get back to the fun and relevant stuff (like the FIFA 11 review I’m writing in the near future).

The purpose of this blog entry is to accomplish two things. The first being that I want to call on the Trillion Man March to email me with any ideas you have about what we can do on the blog during the upcoming basketball season. I already outlined in a previous post how I envision quirky player profiles and interviews of different walk-ons around the country, and maybe even guest posting from time to time (from current and former walk-ons/benchwarmers). Basically, anything that can give these guys an opportunity to let their voices be heard while also providing different perspectives of the walk-on role for the TMM. So if you have any good ideas, please don’t hesitate to email me. As always, if your ideas suck please keep them to yourselves.

The other objective with this blog entry is to inform the TMM about the one thing I have decided on for this upcoming basketball season. In the same previous post, I discussed how I plan on eventually having a Club Trillion awards ceremony in the future, where I would give out a scholarship to my favorite walk-on and a custom made WWE belt to the walk-on who recorded the most trillions during the season. Well, as of right now, it’s looking like the scholarship isn’t going to happen this season due to the small problem of not having any money. Rest assured, the scholarship will eventually happen, but probably not until I get a job and spend my first big chunk of money on a SHARK JETSKI/SUBMARINE (HOLY F’ING BALLS). The most-trillions award, on the other hand, is most definitely going to happen and is going to happen in a much more badass way than I ever thought possible. After an hour of searching for the belt to use for the award, I eventually came across a belt that I’m almost positive was conceived solely for Club Trillion.

You know you want one.

The above picture is a rough idea of what the belt will look like, only there will be CLUB TRIL logos and American flags on the sides. It has the potential to be the single greatest college basketball award in history. And by “has the potential,” I mean “is guaranteed.” Unfortunately, though, I do have to lay out some ground rules for this award because it is going to be nearly impossible for me to track box scores for every player in the country. Here they are:

Division I players only – I respect the hell out of all walk-ons, but I’m restricting this to Division I guys for a few reasons. I’m just guessing here, but it seems much harder to get trillions at the D1 level, not to mention that walk-ons are much less likely to get playing time in Division I games. Maybe if enough guys from other divisions/NAIA express interest, we might be able to do multiple awards in future years.
To be eligible, all walk-ons must send an email to clubtrilcontest@gmail.com by January 1, 2011 – This rule is in place simply because I don’t want to have to look at hundreds of box scores every night to keep track of all the trillions in the country. Also, I don’t want the award going to someone who doesn’t know anything about Club Trillion or *gulp* wouldn’t appreciate a custom made WWE belt. All it takes is a simple email that says you want to be considered for the belt. Please make sure you send it to the new email address so I can keep it separate from the normal Club Trillion email. Even if you aren’t a Division I walk-on, I encourage you to find a way to inform the walk-ons for your school/favorite team to email me so they can have a chance at the belt. Hell, they don’t even have to be walk-ons. Any D1 player is eligible. I’m just assuming that walk-ons are the ones who have a legitimate shot at winning. Either way, I’m writing about this now so everyone has ample time to get their names submitted for the contest. Spread the word.
ESPN box scores will be used – To avoid any discrepancies, the ESPN box scores will be the official box scores for the contest. Not all box scores are the same, so to establish consistency, I’ll be looking just at the ESPN box scores.
You can play any number of minutes – The only stat that doesn’t matter for the contest is the minutes played. Everything else has to be a zero, but minutes played can be any number. All forms of the trillion are accepted, including the rare 0+ trillions.

That pretty much sums it up. If any other problems arise concerning the trillion contest between now and the start of the season, I’ll be sure to address them on the blog. As the season progresses, I’ll post the leader board at the end of each blog entry so the TMM can pick their favorite benchwarmers and cheer them on to benchwarming supremacy. Shoot, I even encourage the TMM to gamble on which walk-on they think will take home the title. Also, I’ll talk to the company that makes the belt and put together a more detailed idea of what the belt will look like. In the meantime, it’s your duty as a valued member of the Trillion Man March to inform every Division I benchwarming basketball player that you know about their opportunity to win what will forever be remembered as one of the greatest awards our generation has ever had a chance at winning (second only to the “glowing piece of radical rock” from GUTS, obviously). ___________________________________________________

Before you watch the awesome YouTube for this post, I feel like I should clarify something. It’s true that I find very few things in this life more ridiculous and annoying than awful rappers. But, when an awful rapper happens to be French, it somehow becomes funny to me. And when the awful rapper also happens to be one of the better players in the NBA, it becomes hilarious. With that in mind, here’s your awesome YouTube, sent in to my by Matt B. There’s your shout-out, Matt. And here’s your video.

Proud To Be An American But Even Prouder To Be A Buckeye,

Mark Titus

Club Trillion Founder

The Most Famous Walk-on of All-Time

2010-09-16T15:39:00.003-04:00

I graduated from Ohio State about three months ago, which is another way of saying that society told me three months ago that it’s time for me to grow up. Originally, I was under the impression that becoming a grown-up consisted of making a few less fart jokes and acknowledging that I’m supposed to pay my taxes (yeah, whatever that means). I wasn’t too far off with my assumption, but I did neglect one very important aspect of being an adult – having to constantly tell everyone I meet what I do for work.

Seemingly every non-family member or non-close friend I’ve talked to in the last three months has asked either what I’m doing for work or what I plan on doing for work (part of it, I suppose, is because this blog has blessed me with the opportunity to rub elbows with a few celebrities, which somehow makes people assume that Kimmel is going to bring back The Man Show and ask me to co-host). I give pretty much everyone the same answer by saying, “I’m somewhere in between unemployed and self-employed”, which is my way of trying to be coy and mysterious but almost always ends up making me sound like I’m a drug dealer or a male prostitute (not saying I’m not). After I give my answer, an inevitable look of satisfaction strangely comes across the person’s face. Even though they might not say anything, their look says everything. More specifically, their look says, “This is awesome. You think you’re hot stuff cause you had your fifteen minutes of fame, but I’m the one who has the real job with health benefits and 401k, and you’re the one who is two months away from living in your parents’ basement. I will now pull my waistband down to my hamstrings, expose my butt cheeks, and give you the opportunity to kiss my ass.”

The truth is that I’ve got plenty of money leftover from the hundreds of thousands of dollars an Ohio State booster gave me when I played at OSU (you can take my wins from me, but I refuse to give back my Heisman). But Chipotle isn’t cheap and FIFA 11 is set to come out soon, so I’ve decided to do a few freelance things to have a little more discretionary income (nothing is published/available yet – I’ll let you know when it is). I’ve actually been working on my freelance stuff all week and decided to take the week off from blogging, but as I was doing some research for the freelance pieces, I came across something that needs to be more publicly discussed. In retrospect, I probably should have just tweeted this information, but if I did that I wouldn’t have been able to write three completely irrelevant paragraphs about how I’m unemployed. Also, at least five of you would have complained about how I hadn’t written a blog in forever. So instead, I chose to take something that could have been said in one sentence and I dragged it out into a bunch of paragraphs, just to make sure the Trillion Man March knows that I didn’t forget about you. You’re welcome.

Now that we got the drawn out intro/set-up out of the way, here’s what I discovered with my research – According to Wikipedia (which is my most trusted source for anything and everything), Billy Mays was a walk-on linebacker at West Virginia. I’ll say it again. Billy Mays was a walk-on linebacker at West Virginia. Think about that one for a second and then meet me at the next paragraph so we can break down the implications of this.

The thing that immediately came to mind when I read about this is that Billy Mays is unquestionably the most famous walk-on athlete of all-time, which in turn means that he’s a very big deal to someone like me who writes a benchwarming blog. You could argue that Rudy is more famous because he’s actually known for being a walk-on, whereas Billy Mays is known for selling stuff and having a beard that makes Al Borland look like a pansy. But if you did that, I would be forced to counter-argue by calling you a doucher and punching you in the nuts for being so dumb. Billy Mays had a highly publicized death, was an immensely popular Halloween costume, and had an episode of South Park devoted to him. I’m no expert on celebrities (even though I did write over 5,000 words about them once), but I’m pretty sure that’s the celebrity trifecta. Rudy, meanwhile, only had a movie made about him. Sure it’s one of the best sports movies ever made (Hoosiers being the best), but Joe Montana was quick to point out that it is a movie, after all, and nobody really cared about the real Rudy all that much. In summary, the movie version of Rudy could compete with Billy Mays, but as it stands, the real Rudy couldn’t even sniff Billy Mays’ jockstrap. Especially since he probably routinely soaked his jockstrap in a vat of OxiClean.

Another important thing to consider is that Billy Mays not only walked on, but he was a football walk-on. And played linebacker. This is mind-blowing to me. The guy who was known for looking so welcoming and nice on TV that it was almost uncomfortable spent his college years lighting up wide receivers who had the balls to come across the middle without having their heads on a swivel. I like to think that he came up with his infomercial introduction during these football playing days. I’m guessing that as some scrawny dude tried to run a crossing route through the middle of the field, he yelled “Billy Mays here!” as he took his head off. And then threw in an extra elbow drop to the guy’s groin for free.

Yet another crazy part about all of this is that Billy Mays didn’t just play at any college. He played at West Virginia. This means it’s almost certain that, on at least one occasion, he kissed his sister and was completely hammered off of moonshine. But beyond that, it means that he had to have been relatively good at football. I’m not sure how good West Virginia was during his playing days, but that doesn’t really matter. He was good enough to be a walk-on linebacker for a Division I football team. This means that my aforementioned scenario of him lighting someone up is at least plausible. And that’s enough for me.

You may think that this isn’t that big of a deal and won’t change your life all that much, but I can just about guarantee that the next time someone brings up Billy Mays, you’ll be quick to chime in with this walk-on nugget of information. Personally, finding out that Billy Mays was a walk-on linebacker at West Virginia is life-changing for me, to the point that I would be completely devastated if it turned out to be not true. My perception of the man has drastically changed for the better, which makes it depressing to know that I never respected him as much as I should have while he was alive. I’ve gained so much respect for him, in fact, that as much as I would have wanted to end this blog post by making a ridiculously corny joke about him, I’ve decided that I’ll just take the high road. There’s always a right time and place for jokes and this isn’t it. Any other time, I’d go through with it, but trying to get one more cheap laugh at the end of this blog post by making a corny joke about a guy who recently died would be Mighty Petty. __________________________________________________

Your awesome YouTube was sent in to my by Alex K. There’s your shout-out, Alex. And here’s your video.

Proud To Be An American But Even Prouder To Be A Buckeye,

Mark Titus

Club Trillion Founder

Reflecting on 9/11

2010-09-09T12:34:00.004-04:00

I don’t watch the National Geographic Channel all that much for a variety of reasons. The most obvious of these reasons is because I’m not 11-years-old, which is another way of saying that topless tribal women don’t really do it for me anymore. I mean, don’t get me wrong – if someone tells me that topless tribal women are on Nat Geo, I’ll still change the channel and check it out. I’m only flesh and blood, after all. It’s just that now I casually observe and make a mental note that Charles Barkley’s man boobs will probably look like these women’s breasts in the next 10-15 years (assuming that they don’t already look like them now) and I no longer giggle with my classmates in school the next day about how I saw real life boobs on TV and they weren’t even blurred out.

The reason I bring up Nat Geo is because, frankly, I wanted to discuss topless tribal women, but also because I watched the channel for the first time in a long time the other day after discovering that they were showing a bunch of 9/11 documentaries. I consider myself to be a bit of a historian and don’t exactly know why, but I’m a sucker for any kind of documentary about tragedies. I could watch hours and hours of shows about things like the JFK assassination, the Columbine shootings, or Pearl Harbor (as long as those hours and hours aren’t directed by Michael Bay). But what sets 9/11 apart from seemingly every other American tragedy is not only that I can remember it happening, but also that I could fully understand the magnitude of what was happening as it happened. The only other tragedy I can say this about is the recent futility of Michigan football, which is completely different because it’s a tragedy that I enjoyed. That’s right. Despite what Nick Saban may think, there actually is a distinct difference between college football and the most devastating terrorist attack to ever take place on American soil. Hard to believe, I know.

After watching a couple hours of these 9/11 documentaries, I started talking to my friend Keller on Skype and I eventually brought up what I had just watched. Our ensuing conversation followed my typical 9/11 conversation script. First we discussed how much that terrorist dude who came up with the whole plan (not Osama, but the other guy) looks like a cross between Ron Jeremy and Carl from Aqua Teen Hunger Force. This went on for at least 10 minutes. We then shifted our focus towards hypotheticals and what-ifs, because if my friends and I aren’t playing “would you rather…”, we’re either playing FIFA or we’re discussing hypothetical and often outlandish scenarios (this sentence was supposed to kinda be a joke, but it’s actually frighteningly accurate. I can’t decide if this is a good thing).

We each went back and forth with crazy what-if situations that are completely irrelevant (“if you were on one of the planes and had a parachute, would you have jumped out and saved yourself or would you have tried to stop the terrorists and died a hero like the guys on United 93?”), and almost always lied with our answers to make us seem more badass (“Are you kidding? I would have murdered all the terrorists on the plane, landed the thing safely, and then made my exit like the Jet Blue flight attendant dude. Except I would have done the Stone Cold Steve Austin thing with the two beers I stole”). This macho discussion of random what-ifs went on for an hour before I decided to turn things up a notch and make Keller do some real soul searching. Here’s what I wrote(copied and pasted from our conversation):

“While backpacking through the hills of Afghanistan and whatever countries border Afghanistan, you wander into a random cave to get some shade and you find Osama bin Laden. He’s alone and he’s watching re-runs of Jersey Shore on DVD because his cable went out and he can’t risk telling the cable guy where he lives. Nobody in the world knows where he is, not even the terrorists that he used to work with (you know this because Anderson Cooper just recently broke the news on his Emmy award-winning show, Anderson Cooper 360°, that Osama was overthrown by his people and is now in hiding). He has no weapons on him. All you have in your backpack is a delicious Chipotle burrito and the half-full bottle of green jalapeño sauce you obviously stole from the restaurant because, let’s face it, that’s all you really need.

Your first choice is to engage him in hand-to-hand combat, and hope that all the time hiding out in the cave has made his skills rusty and his aging body a step too slow. Best case scenario: you win the fight, do that one move that they do in movies where the one guy breaks the other guy’s neck and instantly kills him, enjoy your delicious burrito, and become a national/global hero. Worst case scenario: he manhandles you, puts you in a sharpshooter, steals your burrito from your bag, and eats it while you squirm in agony. Oh, and then he does that one move that they do in movies where the one guy breaks the other guy’s neck and instantly kills him.

Your other choice is to give Osama the burrito as a peace offering. He will obviously accept it and will immediately abandon any thoughts of harming you he might have had, because even radical Muslims can appreciate free Chipotle. You make small talk with him and learn that, like you, he also secretly resents his family for never trying to go on Family Double Dare. You leave the cave with his full trust, hike your way back to civilization, and eventually come back to America to inform the military where he is hiding. They then travel to the cave and kill Osama, hopefully after they remember to light a bag of poop on fire, put it by the front door, and ring the doorbell like you suggested. Best case scenario with this choice: Osama gets a rocket launcher to the nuts, courtesy of the red, white, and blue. Worst case scenario: Osama leaves the cave before the military arrives and continues his life in hiding. To make matters worse, you’re out a burrito and your chance at becoming a global hero.

WHAT DO YOU DO?”

We both agreed that we would try to fight bin Laden, mostly because we both think we’re much tougher than we actually are. Some of you might argue that not trying to fight him would be the cowardly thing to do, but others would argue that doing so would be the smart and safe play (plus you could also argue that you’d rather have bin Laden die by getting blown to smithereens than die from a neck-breaking maneuver that would probably take a few attempts). For me, fighting him is a no-brainer because it’s my personal philosophy that any time I have a chance to cement my legacy as an American hero, I’ll risk life and limb to make it happen. Even if I die, I’ll know that I died defending the two things that mean the most to me – my country and my Chipotle. Words can’t even begin to explain how much honor there is in that.

For those who care, here was Keller’s take:

“I’d try to fight him for sure. If he beats me and puts me in the sharpshooter, I’d refuse to tap out, to the point of passing out from the pain like Stone Cold at Wrestlemania 13. Because that’s F-ING AMERICAN. But even if I’m on the brink of death, the pretend Wrestlemania crowd's chants of ‘U-S-A! U-S-A!’ will allow me to summon one last bit of strength and break his neck via a Stone Cold Stunner.”

In case you weren’t aware, the nine year anniversary of 9/11 is on Saturday. Personally, I think it’s important for all of us to reflect on the tragedy and think of ways we, as Americans, can become better people and better citizens of this great country (if you’re reading this and you aren’t American, I wish I could say I’m sorry but I’m really not – love it or leave it). You can accomplish this by watching footage from 9/11 in hopes that it will help you conjure up feelings of patriotism, but reliving the horrors of that day seems pretty depressing to me. Instead of looking at the past, I encourage you to focus on the future or, more specifically, a hypothetical and completely unrealistic future. The what-if scenario I wrote about gives you an opportunity to do some soul searching and evaluate your commitment to this country. There are no wrong answers to the question, as long as you have America in mind with your decision. How you react isn’t important. Knowing that you’d do anything to kill bin Laden if you found him in a cave while backpacking is. So do some thinking Saturday (after you say a prayer for the victims’ families and our soldiers who are currently at war because of 9/11) and put yourself in that situation. Ask yourself what you would do. But most importantly, ask yourself what you would risk for your country – your life or your delicious Chipotle burrito? __________________________________________________

I’m bypassing Trillion Man March YouTube submissions, because this post obviously needs to be properly ended with a patriotic video. Luckily, my favorite national anthem performance of all-time happened to be at a basketball game, so it fits into the basketball-related theme that all the YouTubes at the end of posts have. I’m sure virtually all of you have seen this, but it’s worth watching over and over again. Anyway, without Freddy Adu, here’s Marvin Gaye at the 1983 NBA All-Star game.

Proud To Be An American But Even Prouder To Be A Buckeye,

Mark Titus

Club Trillion Founder