Wednesday, February 25, 2009

Meet The Candidate – Kyle Madsen

As you obviously know by now, the most important election in recent memory is quickly approaching.  Kyle Madsen and myself are campaigning to win the title of “Whitest Guy on the Team.” In case you don’t remember this or in case you are curious as to why people such as Danny Peters, Jon Diebler, B.J. Mullens, and the rest of the team aren’t up for the title, refer to this entry that explained everything.

I have decided to keep the polls open until March 2nd at 11:59 p.m., so all of you who read the blog at work still have a chance to vote on that Monday.  Don’t be afraid to actually do a little bit of work before or after you vote, though.  I don’t want Obama’s economy-saving plan to include shutting down my blog so all you twenty-somethings who just graduated college and had no idea how boring a 9 to 5 is will be at least semi-productive. 

Anyway, I gave you my campaign post two weeks ago and it’s only fair that I give Kyle a chance for a  rebuttal.  I will now turn it over to the other candidate in this race, Kyle Madsen.


The Shark Attack

After reading Mark’s campaign post, I have decided that now is the right time to address some of the issues he has brought to the forefront. Most importantly,  I view a Titus win in this election as the equivalent of Gusalina actually being able to throw 92 with movement. (For real, though, who are you Gusalina?)

Secondly, my opponent claims NASCAR is white. That’s cool. I’ll agree. He grew up ten minutes down the road from Jeff Gordon. That’s nice. I don’t know a single thing about NASCAR and I don’t care to. However, I do know that I grew up five minutes from Jack Nicklaus and probably two minutes from the statue that stands in his likeness on the main road through my hometown of Dublin. Name a sport whiter than golf and I’ll tell you why its not.

The last beef I have with The Shark’s whiteness claim is this—Mark knows the word to nearly every single 2Pac song ever made. While I admit that this is actually quite impressive, the fact that he owns Pac’s poetry book, “The Rose that Grew From Concrete”, takes it one step too far. I understand many white people know and love 2Pac, but honestly, the whitest of whites (like me, for example) only know this Pac song and would never consider purchasing a book consisting only of 2pac’s poetry. How about something with real substance, like Shel Silverstein’s “Falling Up”?  I respect 2Pac (RIP), but I don’t understand America or Titus’ obsession.

Moving forward, I have decided the best way for you, The Trillion Man March, to become informed and cast your ballot fairly and knowledgably is to summarize my life in the same five categories (Music, Sports, Recreation, Appearance, and Heroes) the Shark did. This way you all will have something concrete with which to make comparisons.


I want to be honest. I can’t sit here with a straight face and type I hate country music. It’s just not true. I, like the Shark, enjoy sitting down and listening to Garth Brook’s “Callin’ Baton Rouge” just as much as the next white guy. One of the saddest moments of my life was actually when Garth closed his concert series in Kansas City. He always will be more than a memory and his career is something I am thankful for everyday.

Besides country music, my other musical tastes lie on a spectrum ranging from the Counting Crows all the way to the Counting Crows. In my opinion seeing the Counting Crows live and in a small intimate setting is the only thing halfway comparable to Garth. Lead singer Adam Duritz doesn’t get the credit he deserves and the band’s album “New Amsterdam: Live at Heinken Music Hall” should have gone platinum trillions of times over. One of music’s greatest travesties remains that it did not. Just ask these guys.


Most of you probably already realize that basketball is my sport of choice. I guess you could say the alley-oop is not exactly my strong point. While I have thrown a few down in my day, I’ll admit, I’m no LeBron. I play the game with my brain and my arsenal of moves from 0-17 ft. I’m guessing most of you have seen me play at some point so I figure you already know what I do in this arena (and if you haven’t, then I suggest you stop turning on the OSU games only in the final minutes to see if Titus gets in).

My other favorite sport is golf. In fact, I am proud to say that back in the 8th grade I was a member of the KMS golf team. I should also say that in the 7th grade I was cut from the KMS golf team after I posted close to a trillion in tryouts. The day I was cut was the second saddest day of my life, next to Garth signing out in Kansas City. Fortunately my golf game has improved drastically since 7th grade, but I’m still nowhere close to my hometown hero Jack Nicklaus.


The only recreation currently in my life, with the obvious exception of basketball, is basically playing Pro Evolution Soccer on PS3. This game was recommended to me by one of our foreign teammates, Nikola Kecman and we play each other frequently. Perhaps the biggest goal in my life right now is to beat Kets in PES. This could be challenging, considering that in Serbia, apparently all they do is play this game. My team of choice is AC Milan. You may know them from the recent David Beckham saga. Kets plays with Classic Brazil. I’m having trouble explaining to him (in Serbian) that this is not fair.  Something seemingly always gets lost in the translation. For those of you who do not understand, this would be like the Oklahoma City Thunder without Kevin Durant playing a team full of superstars.


I guess you could say I look like the typical white guy minus my 6’9 stature. I’ve got baby blue eyes and an awesome buzz cut to match. I own a solid collection of Polos, and will pretty much rock any of them with a pair of blue jeans when I don’t know what to wear. If the weather gets a little colder you might see me wearing a sweater and North Face jacket. I have come to find that the North Face Jacket is a signature white guy move.  In fact, if I lose the election for any other reason than my wearing a North Face, I’ll accept it.


My heroes are guys like Brian Scalabrine, Mark Madsen (no relation), Chris Quinn (fellow Dublin-ite), and Wally Sczerbiak. I love the guys who when you look at them you think, “Wait? This guy is in the NBA? And he has been for years? What? Why?” Those guys are my heroes. The ones who may or may not sneak through the cracks and create a role for themselves by hitting wide open jumpers and setting vicious screens. I like these guys because while what they do for there respective teams rarely gets them any credit or attention, they continue to do it and do it so well they get paid millions of dollars. I know somewhere right now they are laughing there asses off for basically stealing money. That’s why they are my heroes. I guess my idea of heroes are those who are the underappreciated underdogs who have continually proven they are worth more than a ten day contract.

Now that you have had the opportunity to become familiar with what I stand for, I hope it is clear who the better choice for whitest guy on the team is. I hope that I did not waste my afternoon writing this only for the Shark to win by a landslide because this is his blog. That’s not fair, and that’s not white. Please take your time and consider both our resumes equally. After all, that is the only way to have a democratic election. And last time I checked, this is America, where democracy is king (I guess “president by way of a vote of its citizens” is a more applicable title, but you get the idea).


The Illinois game over the weekend garnered a single one-arm embrace from Bubba Chisholm, who I know reads the blog.  Call me stereotypical, but something about Bubba makes me think that he would win this election with ease if he were in the running.

The Penn State game produced a donut in the one-arm embrace department. 

One Armed Embraces: 8 to date (0 last game)

Bone-Crushing Screens: 1 to date (0 last game)


I bypassed all the fan submissions for awesome YouTube videos for this post because of a couple obvious reasons.  The first being that this is Kyle’s campaign post and this video features him getting buckets.  The second being that this video took place last night.  Enjoy.

Your Friend and My Favorite,

Mark Titus

Club Trillion Founder

Saturday, February 21, 2009

Never A Dale Moment

We lost our second game in a row to Northwestern on Wednesday night. The entire road trip was a disaster, mostly due to the Super Nintendo not working on the hotel TV because the input channels were deactivated. Beyond that, my fingertips are cracking from the cold weather, which made my usually wet jump shot a little bit drier than normal. I honestly couldn’t throw the ball into the ocean during warm-ups. Keep in mind that we were over 800 miles away from the ocean, so really my inability to throw a ball that far kind of makes sense. Maybe if I could throw 92 with movement it would be a different story.

To make matters worse, we didn’t end up getting back to Columbus until about 3:15 in the a.m. and I didn’t go to sleep until around 4. This wouldn’t have been a problem if not for the fact that I had a test Thursday morning. I went into the test with about four hours of sleep and ended up having Bob Seger’s “Against The Wind” stuck in my head the entire time. Part of me thinks I should have just wrote the lyrics to “Against The Wind” down and turned in the test. Wait, did I just say part of me? Yeah, scratch that thought. I definitely should have just wrote down the lyrics and been on my way. Probably would have gotten the same grade anyway.

Since the road trip was as successful as, well, my college basketball career, I’m thinking I should just put it behind me and move on with my life. Instead, I’m going to use this post to re-introduce you to undoubtedly my favorite fan out there. No disrespect to the rest of the Trillion Man March, but Dale R. “Woody” Thornton III is one of the finest Americans with whom I’ve ever had the pleasure of conversing. Even though I’ve never met him, I give it about a 90% chance that Dale looks pretty much identical to the lead singer of Ram Jam.

For those of you who don’t remember, Dale Thornton was one of my original fans who would send in easily the most entertaining e-mails I ever get. That’s not to say I don’t get other entertaining e-mails, it’s just that Dale’s always seemed to stand out for being so bizarre. Because the blog was in its infancy and virtually nobody wanted a shout-out, I promised Dale that if he kept churning out these entertaining and question laden e-mails, I would keep publishing them on the blog and answering them as best I can. But for whatever reason, he suddenly just stopped e-mailing me and I didn’t hear from him for a few months. Until I got this gem in my inbox last week. Enjoy.


“What’s up college boy? Me and my cousin Conrad were wondering if you could talk about our classic rock blog on your blog. Give us a holler if you can.”

Sorry, Dale, but I can’t make a comment on whether or not I like your blog. I’m forced to be impartial on this one, but I will say that you update your blog less than I update mine and even less than Keller updates his, which is pretty impressive. Until you prove that you have a legitimate blog and actually update it at least once every three months or so, I’m not going to link anybody. I trust you understand.

“Did you see the HORSE competition during All-Star weekend? Nobody used my go-to shot, which is where I shoot a three pointer and chug a PBR before it goes in. I think I could take you in HORSE, but I first want to know what your five best HORSE shots are.”

I feel bad for you, Dale, because you seem to not have any idea what you would be up against if you played me. My HORSE shots, in order of what letter they would give you, are as follows:

H --- Layup off the shot clock (provided the shot clock is attached to the basket support within a reasonable distance from the rim). When you see how easy I make it look, you will nonchalantly throw the ball up there, forgetting to account for the fact that the ball doesn’t bounce off the shot clock like it does off of the backboard. But don’t feel bad, Dale, cause I’m a little bit of a master when it comes to this shot. For those of you scoring at home, I once hit 14 shots in a row off the shot clock at my high school gym. Apparently this shot has no practical use in an actual game, though, which is a lesson I had to learn the hard way.

O --- Bank it in from the top of the key. Utilizing the glass is something I strongly believe in for any game of HORSE. If you can’t use the glass, you truly have no chance whatsoever when playing me. The thing about the bank shot from the top of the key is that it feels really awkward. You have to shoot it straight, but also shoot it about three feet longer than your eyes are telling you to shoot it. There is a pretty solid chance you will miss off the back of the rim and not even make contact with the glass.

R --- Nothing but net from one foot away. At this stage in the game, I’m shooting shots that after you miss, you will legitimately question your function in society. This shot always feels like it’s going to be easy, but nearly everyone draws iron for one reason or another. There’s really no guarantee that I don’t draw iron to be quite honest with you. Eventually, though, I will hit it and you will find a way to mess it up. That’s how it always works.

S --- Bank in a three from an impossible angle. Remember when I said using the glass is a must when playing me? I wasn’t lying. To line up this shot, I get in the dead corner and slowly start making my way around the arc until I can barely see the glass. After I sink it, I will stand still and wait for you to come stand in my exact spot, making sure you don’t cheat and get a better angle and thus make the shot infinitely easier. But you will slyly get a better angle anyway, and I will let it slide because I know you still won’t be able to make the shot. And you won’t.

E --- Half-court shot. I like to put the nail on the coffin from half court, mostly because it is demoralizing. After giving you a steady dose of fundamental shots, I hit you with a shot that will make you think about how bad you are at HORSE as you walk from underneath the basket all the way out to half-court. Then, when you airball it, I will verbally remind you how bad you are at HORSE as you walk from half-court over to your wallet to pay me for the beat down I just gave you.

Those are the only five shots I will ever need to beat anybody in HORSE. If by some unforeseen circumstance I happen to miss one of these five shots, I will keep trying it until I make it. And if you do happen to miraculously beat me, Dale, I’ll personally paint your name next to mine on Brownsburg’s water tower. After all, your win would undoubtedly go down as the biggest upset since the guy from “Honey, I Shrunk The Kids” beat Al Bundy in the Urbania pee-wee playoff game. But because my jumper is typically wetter than Billy Madison’s pants on field trip day, I can’t possibly envision a scenario where I get a letter at all.

“What would that Danny Peters do if you hid that t-shirt he wears under his jersey before a game? Why don’t you play more pranks on that guy?”

I’m not too sure what Danny would do if I hid his shirt. I’ve seen him wear a shirt under his jersey so much that I’m not fully convinced that his jersey doesn’t have sleeves sewn onto it. I tried a couple of times to pull pranks on Danny, but I just didn’t feel the sense of accomplishment that I feel when I prank Evan “The Villain” Turner. There truly is no greater feeling on this Earth than annoying The Villain through a series of juvenile pranks. I can guarantee you that.

By the way, I’m calling on the Trillion Man March to extend my nicknaming of Evan as “The Villain.” You know how in “Old School” everyone Mitch Martin would see would call him “The Godfather” and he would be visibly upset with having a nickname that he doesn’t endorse? That’s what I’m picturing here. I know that this really isn’t that great of a prank, but I can assure you that The Villain loves his self-imposed nickname of “The Kid” just a little too much. Calling him The Villain will definitely frustrate him a little bit. Besides, every time I call him “The Kid”, I feel like he jacked the nickname from Shawn Michaels somehow. And last time I checked, Evan doesn’t dish out Sweet Chin Music and he certainly isn’t a sexy boy (I understand that having a link titled “sexy boy” could be a little sketchy, but I promise there’s not a half-naked picture of Channing Tatum, or any other heartthrob for that matter, waiting for you. Sorry, ladies).

I’m definitely voting for you in the whitest guy on the team thing, but Conrad thinks you’re a fraud. He wants to know if you could ride along with any NASCAR legend, who would it be, what track would it be on, and what classic rock songs would you be listening to?”

I feel like I might be upsetting you with my choice of driver, but hopefully I can redeem myself with my choice of track and rock songs. I would want to ride along with Jeff Gordon, for the simple fact that we grew up ten minutes apart. I fully understand that Gordon is the pretty boy of NASCAR and really doesn’t epitomize the culture of the sport like Bobby Allison does. By the way, Bobby Allison would be my second choice of driver for the smackdown he laid on Cale Yarborough at the 1979 Daytona 500.

To complete my answer, I would want to ride around Darlington while rocking out to CCR’s “Up Around The Bend.” Throw another favorite song of mine in there for good measure and you got yourself quite the two song playlist. Come to think of it, Gordon doesn’t fit this particular fantasy all that well. I’m giving Bobby Allison the nod to drive me around Darlington while jamming to Credence and Journey. I dare you to come up with a better NASCAR related fantasy than that.

Would you rather have your sister marry the starting quarterback at Michigan or never be able to eat those peanut butter and chocolate Buckeyes that me and Conrad love ever again?”

Ladies and gentlemen, Dale Thornton…


Obviously none of the Northwestern players read the blog because they are too busy either trying to split the atom or watching “PTI”, hoping that Michael Wilbon will drop a shout-out to his alma mater. Pair that with the fact that Northwestern’s entire team makes me look like Flava Flav and it’s no wonder why my one-arm embraces did not go over well with these guys. I’m genuinely surprised they didn’t look me in the eye and say “thank you sir” as they shook my hand. Apparently, Manners 101 isn’t a prerequisite for taking Saving The World 750.

One Armed Embraces: 7 to date (0 last game)

Bone-Crushing Screens: 1 to date (0 last game)


Your awesome YouTube was sent in to me by Brian H. There's your shout-out, Brian. And here's your video.

Your Friend and My Favorite,

Mark Titus

Club Trillion Founder

Sunday, February 15, 2009

Newfound Love

Last night we lost to the Wisconsin Buzzcuts in game that featured only 105 points, none of which were contributed by me. Calling Wisconsin the Buzzcuts isn’t meant to be an insult (mostly because I rocked the buzzcut for most of this past summer/fall and the first half of this season), but rather an observation of fact. As long as I’ve been at Ohio State, seemingly every white guy on Wisconsin has had a buzzcut. Maybe Bo Ryan is comfortable with players with buzzcuts and recruits accordingly. I legitimately wonder if he’s ever recruited someone who had a little less talent than the other guy, but had the nice looking buzzcut that the other guy didn’t. Something to think about.

Because the game was on Valentine’s Day and because a certain someone from my past was going to be at the game along with the College Gameday crew, I was a little nervous. All my nervousness immediately subsided at shoot-around in the afternoon, though, as Erin approached me and insisted that we talk some things over. I assumed she wanted to talk about the dozen roses I had sent to her hotel room, but she assured me that she never got them. It turns out that I accidentally sent them to Digger Phelps’ room, which probably explains why Digger felt the need to wink at me about thirty times too many. Anyway, I planned on sending Erin the roses as a way to say “Even though we had a falling out, true love won’t desert you.” She was overwhelmed by my generosity and essentially begged that we get back together. Maybe it was because she was so convincing or maybe it was because I didn’t want to be a heartbreaker on the day of love, but I somehow found myself agreeing with everything she said. It may come as a big surprise to the Trillion Man March, but I would like to announce that Erin and I are now back together. To make it official, she even made me go change the sign on her dressing room to reflect our rekindling love.

Erin Andrews-Titus

Pictured: A fresh start

Despite the fact that we lost to Wisconsin, I clearly didn’t come away from Madison as a complete loser. But my victory with Erin wasn’t the only mega victory I scored. I also managed to make my roommate Danny Peters question every aspect of his life using nothing more than a Super Nintendo and a little game called NBA Jam.

Before you get all worked up and start littering the comment section/my inbox with the same questions, the answer is no, I don’t own the Tournament Edition and yes, I fully understand that you think the Tournament Edition is far superior. I’m talking about the original NBA Jam. You know, the one that left out the best players in the league at the time. No Jordan, no Shaq, no Barkley, and no Bill Cartwright (Note: apparently Barkley was in the game. I was looking for him on the 76ers, but he was on the Suns at the time. The point is still valid, though). It’s a wonder why I even bought the game in the first place.

Every time we go on the road (and especially the last road trip since the tip wasn’t until 9 p.m. EST) we have pretty much nothing to do in the hotel all day. Surprisingly, Coach Matta doesn’t just turn us loose and tell us to be at the gym sometime before the game starts. Because we are usually bored out of our minds and because doing frog splashes on my bed is only entertaining for about two hours, we are forced to think of alternative ways to entertain ourselves. That’s why I decided to start bringing my Super Nintendo on the road trips.

I usually bring Super Mario World, Super Mario Kart, and NBA Jam, but we almost always end up playing only NBA Jam. We got to Madison on Friday night and had a nice steak dinner and headed back to our rooms. It was at this point that Danny decided to get the party started with a little NBA Jam session. He felt like he was on top of his game and the time had come for him to beat me. It was then that I realized that Danny clearly mixed some sort of alcohol in his drink at dinner, cause the Shark was not about to lose on this particular night.

If there’s one certainty in my life, no matter what the circumstances may be, it’s that I will always put my trust in the hands of Clyde “The Glide” Drexler whenever an NBA Jam game breaks out. Simply put, when it comes to NBA Jam, Clyde Drexler is murder in the form of a pixelated and balding basketball player. Danny thought that the Knicks, featuring Patrick Ewing and John Starks, would be able to handle the Blazers. In case you didn’t notice, Danny, the Knicks don’t have Clyde Drexler. Strike one.

So the game gets going and I’m giving Danny a steady dose of The Glide jumping from the free throw line and throwing down on Ewing’s nostrils paired with the tenacity of Terry Porter on defense. My game plan consisted of Porter absolutely plowing over John Starks (there are no fouls) and dishing it off to The Glide, who would then make Ewing look like a guy who gets dunked on a lot.

We traded baskets to start the game, but I managed to get a few more stops than Danny and led the entire first quarter, with the score at 24-20 at the end of one. I continued this pattern in the second quarter and went up by six at halftime, with The Glide having all of my 46 points. By the time the third quarter came around, it looked like the game was getting out of hand as I took a commanding fourteen point lead. Then, Starks decided to man up and began punking Terry Porter. By the end of the third, the score was 64-58, with The Glide still having every point (and shot attempt for that matter).

Apparently, the artificial intelligence in 1993 was much more advanced than I ever realized because the computer decided to make it closer than it ever should have been. Despite the fact that I set a personal record for quickest shattering of the backboard (it came with 2:42 left in the fourth), Danny managed to tie the game with a minute and a half left. I wasn’t sweating it too much since I had the ball and knew that we could just trade baskets the rest of the game. However, Danny hit a three with Starks with 37 seconds left to take his first lead of the game. We maintained our trading of baskets (and consequently, the lead) for the next couple of possessions until I was clinging onto a one point lead with ten seconds left and Danny took it to the rack and threw down hard with Ewing. I was left with four seconds, down by one, and The Glide taking the ball out of bounds. Clearly way too much time. Strike two.

Now, normally I don’t let Terry Porter do anything but play defense and pass the ball (so basically what I do every day in practice), but in this particular instance, I knew I had to make an exception. Porter’s 3 point ability is much better than The Glide’s and I knew I would have to throw up a prayer, so I made the decision to let Porter shoot. As I inbounded it to Porter, Danny went after the steal with Starks, leaving me wide open to take a couple dribbles and heave up the miracle. Strike three. You’re out.

Porter shot it from beyond half court as the buzzer sounded and the ball bounced on the rim for literally two seconds. As the ball rolled in, I dropped my controller and started celebrating like I was a world class soccer player. I ran out of our room and proceeded to yell as I made my way up and down the hotel hallway, totally disregarding the fact that it was after midnight. I chestbumped a housekeeper, kissed a random bald man’s head, and knocked on Evan “The Villain” Turner’s door before making my way back to my room. When I got back, Danny had his face in his hands and was repeatedly saying “Why me?” Don’t worry, Danny. It’s not you, it’s me.

I now have a much greater appreciation for Terry Porter, something that the Phoenix Suns apparently don’t have. Maybe I should write a letter to the Suns explaining to them exactly what they are giving up. I love Terry Porter so much now, that I have decided to order all T-Bone steaks I get from now on as “Terry Porterhouse” steaks. I can’t recall too many moments in my life that caused more excitement than winning NBA Jam on a half-court shot, which either shows you how seriously I take Super Nintendo or how miserable my life has been thus far. I’m crossing my fingers that you interpret that as being the former, but I guess that’s a decision I have to leave up to you.


After the game was over, I was so disappointed that we lost that I didn’t remember to do the hugging hand shakes with Wisconsin. My memory was jarred by the Buzzcuts, though, as five of them gave me the one arm embrace. I’m convinced that either most of the guys on their team read the blog or they are just really friendly guys who like to hug it out more than Ari Gold. At any rate, five of Wisconsin’s players gave me the one arm embrace. Good work, Buzzcuts.

One Armed Embraces: 7 to date (5 last game)

Bone-Crushing Screens: 1 to date (0 last game)


Your awesome YouTube was sent in to me by Sean H. There's your shout-out, Sean. And here's your video.

Your Friend and My Favorite,

Mark Titus

Club Trillion Founder

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Meet The Candidate – Mark Titus

For those of you who just jumped on the Club Trillion bandwagon, you may have missed when I outlined how Kyle Madsen and I are currently campaigning for the title of "Whitest Guy on The Team." This is an award that focuses on personality/culture and not on actual skin tone. As a reminder, the poll on the side of the blog will open whenever I decide to wake up on March 1st and will close at noon on March 2nd. Here is the first campaign opportunity for one of the candidates. Mark Titus The Blogger will now turn it over to Mark Titus The Politician.

I feel like I should first use my campaign opportunity to respond to the claims Keller made about me in his guest post.  After I defend myself, I will clearly explain why you really have no other choice in this election.

I never watched TRL

I’m not going to deny this claim because it is 100% true.  However, my reasoning is absolutely justified and is surely your number one pet peeve with the show.  For whatever reason, TRL decided that listening to unsupervised pre-teen girls scream at the top of their lungs for Sum 41 (or whoever Carson Daly’s one painted finger nail decided to interview on that particular day) was a much better idea than showing the entire duration of the top ten videos.  If I remember correctly, TRL would show about thirty seconds of each video and cut the video off as soon as it fully captured your attention.  This means that every time I watched the “Hero” video, I would be left wondering whether Enrique or the bad guy won the fight, and more importantly if Enrique ever made it to second base with Jennifer Love Hewitt (not to mention the fact that I would have missed Jenny Love rocking that wet t-shirt at the end of the video).  It’s unacceptable to tease America with clips of music videos, especially considering that some music videos can’t have their complete greatness captured in a thirty second segment.

I hated WCW

This isn’t entirely true, but I understand why it was brought up.  I was a closet wrestling fan because my parents insisted that I not “pollute my mind with that junk”, meaning I had to do my wrestling watching in secret.  My dad used to always say that if he caught me watching wrestling he would perform on me whatever move was being performed on TV, which would have been funny if he wouldn’t have actually lived up to that threat.  Nonetheless, when the WCW became relevant, I was faced with a crisis.  Following the WCW and WWF doubled my opportunity to get a DDT from my dad, so I was forced to choose one or the other.  When it came time to make my decision, I went with the WWF with the sole reason being that it was broadcast on USA, which  is the country I love.  So fault me for not entirely following the WCW, but if you fault me for loving this country I will be forced to join Toby Keith in his efforts to put footwear up your rectum.  It is, after all, the American way.

I know rap music – lots of it

Find me one person who has played basketball for more than five years of their life who doesn’t know some rap songs.  That’s what I thought.  Next topic.

I gave myself a nickname

After Evan Turner successfully nicknamed himself “The Kid” (because “Evan Turner is chillin”, I suggested “The Villain” but it didn’t stick), I was enthralled.  I wanted to see how hard it is to nickname myself.  Apparently, it’s actually not that hard at all.  Consider this my prank on The Trillion Man March.  I wish I could defend myself on this one but I can’t.  I not only nicknamed myself, I came up with about as unimaginative of a nickname as possible.  I would apologize if I hadn’t already embraced the nickname.

I look like K-Fed

I’ll let you decide if I look like K-Fed or not, but while you are figuring that out, consider this.  K-Fed went from a nobody to marrying arguably the biggest sex symbol of my generation and becoming filthy rich in the process.  Plus, his overall lack of contribution to society is exactly what Club Trillion is all about.  When you consider that K-Fed pulled off a trillion in the entertainment industry while being romantically involved with pre-crazy Britney Spears, I kind of envy the man a little bit.


Now that I’ve addressed Keller’s attacks on my whiteness, it’s time for me to charge forward and convince you that I not only represent white culture very well, I AM white culture.  My life as a white man can be summarized into five categories—Music, Sports, Recreation, Appearance, and my Heroes.


Close your eyes as you read this and consider this scenario.  Country music never happened.  Now open your eyes.  Pretty scary thought isn’t it?  This is a recurring nightmare I have that always ends up with me in a puddle of sweat belting out the chorus to “Country Club” by Travis Tritt.  It’s the only feasible way  for me to remind myself that country music lives.

To fully understand my love for country music, you have to turn back the clock.  When I was in fourth grade, I was invited to the first boy-girl party of my life.  I was unsure of what to bring to a party of this magnitude, so I did what any smart young boy would do in my situation—I brought my John Michael Montgomery CD and insisted on playing it at the party (I honestly wore cowboy boots on a regular basis at this period of my life).  When “I Swear” came on, I practically had to just snap my fingers and the beautiful babies of South Elementary were lining up to slow dance.   It was in that moment that I knew I would always turn to country music in the clutch situations in my life, and thus far it has yet to let me down.

My passion for the greatest music in the world inspired me to ask for an acoustic guitar a few Christmases back.  Even though I have no idea how to play it and I swear I am tone deaf, I actually plan on forming a country band someday.  The only thing holding me back at this point is that I am yet to think of an awesome band name.  Oh, and the fact that I can’t play the guitar.   My idea for a heavy metal band name, “Razor Burn on My Private Parts”, would totally be frowned upon in the country music world, so it’s back to the drawing board for the band I have yet to form.  (For the record, “Razor Burn on My Private Parts” would be the sweetest heavy metal band to ever come out of Brownsburg, Indiana.  That’s a guarantee.)


If you watch me play basketball for more than five minutes (so basically take my entire career at Ohio State), you will quickly realize that I am the stereotypical white player times a trillion.  I fake a pass to make a pass, I have range to at least 30 feet, I will not hesitate to sacrifice my body/life for a possession, and I keep Windex in business with the amount of hand prints I put on the backboards throughout America.  At one point in my basketball career, I honestly wore (out of necessity) two ankle braces, two knee braces, and an elbow pad.  I am everything you would ever associate a white basketball player with, sans the Rec-Specs.

Beyond basketball, I have a burning passion for all things auto racing and professional wrestling related.  I grew up ten miles down the road from Jeff Gordon and about ten minutes from the Indianapolis Motor Speedway.  If there is one thing all (white) Hoosiers love besides corn, basketball, and Rik Smits’ hair, it’s auto racing.  It is a statement of fact that I suffered second degree burns at the Indy 500 last year because I forgot to put on sunscreen with my wife-beater.  As far as the wrestling is concerned, I shouldn’t need to explain my love at this point.  I spent $300 for Wrestlemania 22 tickets, I dressed up as Shawn Michaels for Halloween my senior year of high school, and I routinely Ric Flair chop anybody who is out of line.  That’s all you really need to know.


Besides blogging about absolutely nothing of any importance whatsoever, I like to kick back and play video games from time to time.  The greatest testament to my whiteness is that I own many games that are not made by EA Sports, something absolutely zero un-white people can claim [citation needed].  My game of choice is any of the Tony Hawk games.  I have actually caused people I’ve played Tony Hawk against to want to throw down in fisticuffs, as if I am supposed to apologize for their inferiority at landing the Christ Air with Rune Glifberg.

Other than video games, I amuse myself by doing laps in Wal-Mart with the kids bikes,  fishing with my bare hands, and chest bumping anyone and everyone I see at the Indy 500 with a mullet.


I have a pretty simple look to me.  During the season, I usually let the hair grow out (switched it up this year) and keep a little stubble beard so the ladies know what level of man they are dealing with, yet Coach Matta doesn’t get upset with me for looking like a hippie.  The off-season, though, brings out an entirely different animal.  I will grow out just about any kind of facial hair anybody wants me to, mostly because I can.  I plan on rocking a solid mustache during this off-season because it’s been awhile since I’ve just gone with the plain ‘stache.  But I’m open to just about any ideas.  And when I say any ideas, I mean any ideas.

I’m known to rock tank tops/throwback basketball jerseys/wife-beaters during the summer months and most absurd looking faux fur hat ever made during the winter months.  I do nearly all of my shopping on eBay and am currently looking for any Ohio State clothing with Looney Tunes on it.  If you have anything, I will be more than happy to make you an offer.  Simply put, my fashion sense is that of a man who knows what’s important in life—a nice set of tan lines and an appreciation for all things vintage.  It’s hard to get that perfect farmer’s tan when you are constantly wearing a cashmere sweater isn’t it Kyle?


An obvious choice for heroes would be God or my parents or that one teacher who half-heartedly told me I could be an astronaut if I really wanted to be, but I’m a man of deep thought and therefore want to share with you the heroes in my life that nobody else would ever think to classify as heroes.  First and foremost, Tux Burke is everything any and all Americans should strive to be.  With nothing more than a cowboy hat and a karaoke machine, this man pumps out classic country covers like you wouldn’t believe.  Tux, if you are reading this, I am begging you to come to the Ohio State athlete talent show in May and tag team “Mamas Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Cowboys.” I’ll even let you pick whether you want to be Waylon or Willie.  There is no way we don’t win.  Just let me know, Tux.

Another hero in my life is none other than Rod Farva from “Super Troopers.”  The movie is easily in my top five comedies of all-time, mostly because of the genius of Farva.  With his perfectly sculpted mustache and his ability to pull off the flawless prank of putting a bar of soap in Rabbit’s coffee, Rod Farva is one of the fine Americans of our time.  (I can’t stress enough that if you are under 30 years old and haven’t seen “Swingers”, “The Big Lebowski”, “Super Troopers”, or “The Weatherman”, you are cheating your life.)

Other heroes who just missed out on getting a paragraph written about them include Chris Mullin’s chest hair and flat top, Stone Cold Steve Austin, Happy Gilmore, Kenny Powers, Bryant Reeves, Hank Hill, Marv and Harry from “Home Alone”, Burt Reynolds, and Wilford Brimley.


I honestly don’t see how I can’t win this election.  I trust that the Trillion Man March will make the right decision on March 1st, because you all are intelligent people who know a white man when you read about one.  America needs to see Kyle Madsen win this election like I need to see another person make their Facebook profile picture a picture of them making out with their significant other.  Election day is coming shortly.  Do the right thing, America.  If I get elected, I vow to do absolutely nothing of significant importance and I’ll do it the best way I know how.  That’s what a vote for Mark Titus will get you, America—a continuation of the Club Trillion way of life.

By the way, Kyle’s campaign entry (should he choose to write one) should be coming in a short period of time.  We will then do another bipartisan rundown of the candidates in the days leading up to the election.  I want you to be fully informed when you make your decision, so that I don’t feel like my victory is tainted.


I’m sure a lot of you have been itching to know how the handshake thing went down.  Since I introduced my new counter/prank/another dumb thing that I do that will probably upset a few people, we have played games against Purdue and Minnesota.  The Purdue game yielded one solid embracing handshake from a semi-member of the Purdue chapter of Club Trillion.  Bobby Riddell (or as the Purdue fans like to call him, “Bobby Buckets”) fully engaged himself in the handshake like a true champion.  But before you get excited, understand that Bobby and I have a history.  We played in the same conference in high school and have a mutual respect for each other’s trillion obtaining abilities.  Also, I’m pretty confident Bobby reads the blog and there is a decent chance that he read it before the game, so he may have known the whole time what I was about to do.  Nonetheless, I’m counting it. 

As far as the Minnesota game, the Director of Basketball Operations for Minnesota, Joe Esposito, hit me with the one arm hug/handshake/what do you call that thing? right after the game.  As I mentioned in the classic “Love In An Elevator” entry, Joe reads the blog, so like Bobby he probably had a heads up about my antics.  Again like Bobby, I’m counting it.  This brings our total to two in two games.  Not bad really.

One Armed Embraces: 2 to date (1 last game)

Bone-Crushing Screens: 1 to date (0 last game)


Your awesome YouTube was sent in to me by Paul S. There's your shout-out, Paul. And here's your video.

Your Friend and My Favorite,

Mark Titus

Club Trillion Founder

Monday, February 9, 2009

Before You Give Mark Your Vote - Keller's 500,000 Post

I'm sure everyone has been wondering why I haven't posted in awhile. It's simple. We crossed over 500,000 hits, which meant it was time for me to step aside and let Keller provide you with way too many obscure links that probably none of you will click on. As it turns out, Keller encompasses the Club Trillion ideal of doing the bare minimum much more than I could ever dream of doing. This time around he was only about a week late, and only finished because I was constantly nagging him. He felt like it was necessary to voice his opinion on the "Whitest on the Team Election" coming up. It wasn't necessary at all, but since I'm a good guy, I figured I'd let him amuse himself. I'll probably post my next entry (which coincidentally will be my campaign post) tomorrow at some point, provided Keller's lack of motivation isn't contagious. I promise to give my update on the post-game handshakes in that post as well. Until then, please try (I know it's hard, but just try) to enjoy the handful of links and insider jokes that Keller decided to barf all over this blog.


I'd like to apologize to the 4 people who look forward to my posts on Club Trillion - I spent the majority of last week with no computer access after my laptop decided it would be a great time for Windows to stop working. 500,000 views arrived and I was still checking Club Trillion on my PS3 browser. We're all good to go now, so here's my post:

As we sit a mere three weeks away from what Mark is calling the most important day of the year (more important than National Chipotle Day? I think not, but it's his blog so I'll let him go with it), the time is coming where Mark and Kyle will be making their final pleas for your "Whitest Guy on the Team" vote. As Mark's best (and more than likely, only) friend, I have the distinct ability to corroborate his claims, as well as call BS on others. It's going to be Mark's responsibility to establish his whiteness, and he will be doing so in future posts, so I'm not going to spend a lot of time backing up those statements. Though he does have a pretty solid base. For example, Mark and I have had a serious and heated conversation over who has a better overall "Greatest Hits" album - Diamond Rio or Lonestar. Mark took the side of Lonestar while I took the side of Diamond Rio. He obviously failed to remember the greatness of "That's How Your Love Makes Me Feel Inside." If an argument like that doesn't show whiteness, I don't know what does.

You'll be hearing a lot of these things from Mark in the coming weeks - his fear of dancing, the fact he owns an acoustic guitar, the striking similarities between himself and Randy Marsh - but it's my civic duty to inform you of the things I've learned over the years that might tarnish Mark's campaign. While there are countless things in my eyes that strike me as not "white," I've decided to limit it to a top five of sorts. In no specific order, this is what I came up with:

He never watched TRL

As mind-boggling as it is, it’s absolutely true. The fact that Mark never learned proper sideburn growth from Carson Daly is not only a serious blow to his whiteness, but it also means that apparently Mark was never in junior high. Seriously, how can someone who claims he connects so well with his fellow whites not be able to tell the significance of a video’s 65th day on TRL (hint Mark: it gets retired) or know that Damien Fahey absolutely sucked as a host?

So much of my formative whiteness came from begrudgingly learning the words to “I Want It That Way” after seeing it 65 straight weekdays, hoping 3LW seriously didn’t make the Top Ten, and pitying the people who stood outside the Times Square studio in hopes that Carson and the cameras would turn to the windows and show the people who weren’t cool enough to get into the studio. Mark never watched the 65 days of awkwardness of Carson Daly introducing “The Real Slim Shady,” which made direct references to him and Christina Aguilera doing things of an inappropriate nature, and he will never be able to tell his kids that he was watching the glorious day in 8th grade when Brownsburg High School ballers Scott Garrard and Jared Reeves (the original Mark Tituses) were not only in the crowd of TRL, but actually were interviewed by Carson Daly. It’s sad. And not white.

He hated WCW

It should have been obvious that I wasn't going to make a list without making a relevant reference to professional wrestling. And I'm not even going to make the obvious reference to John Cena's hip-hop appeal. As much of a fan as he claims to be of wrestling, it is of my opinion that he never really liked WCW. This isn't to say that he didn't like certain things about WCW - I don't know of a single person who doesn't like the nWo, Ric Flair, or Diamond Cutters - but Mark never really liked the classic WCW of the late 80s/early 90s. I'm talking the Sting/Rude Clash of the Champions '91 type WCW, the Great Muta/Lex Luger Starrcade '89 type WCW, the War Games '89 type WCW. When asked who Tully Blanchard is, he would probably answer "construction worker" and not "member of the greatest stable of all time, the Four Horsemen." The fact that Mark didn't like the NWA/WCW of that time is quite disappointing in terms of his "white trash" cred, because the roots of the promotion at that time represented the down south, white trash roots to an almost painful level. Seriously, our buddy Dale Thornton would be disappointed with you, Mark.

He knows rap music - lots of it

I met Mark for the first time in 6th grade. When I walked into Ms. Baggarly’s class, staring me in the face was a 6 foot tall kid sitting in a high school desk amongst all the normal-sized (for 12 year olds) desks. We didn’t talk much (I spent most of my time having an awesome mop of bleached blonde hair) until our class trip to Bradford Woods. Before that point, the only things I knew about Mark were that he was in our smart class because he was actually 15 and taking the material for the third time (later found out to be untrue) and that he shaved his mustache every day (this part was true), but sitting in the back of the bus, we struck up a conversation over the important things in life – our mutual crush on Megan Miller, the awesomeness of Reggie Miller, and the music of the now defunct Indianapolis radio station RadioNow 93.1. Since my musical knowledge to that point in my life consisted entirely of Weird Al and “Don’t Take The Girl” I was sufficiently confused when Mark semi-melodically posed a series of questions to me - “Wanna be a baller? Shot caller? 20 inch blades on the Impala?” With those words of Lil’ Troy, I was introduced to Mark Titus, rap music fan.

While he is indeed a very large country music fan, he is also a more than he would like to admit fan of rap music. If he doesn’t own every 2pac album, it’s only because he doesn’t consider “Loyal To The Game” to be a true work of Tupac Shakur. He blared Eminem’s “Lose Yourself” before every high school football game, which I’m not sure whether that’s an indictment of his whiteness or a commentary on the fact that he played high school football in 2004-2005.

I could go on and on with similar anecdotes. Mark has asked me to download multiple Jagged Edge songs for him, he can recite the words to R&B songs that aren’t “The Thong Song”, he will vigorously defend the importance of Loon in “I Need A Girl”…you get the idea. While he’s not alone in his love of these songs as a white man – I personally find Next’s “Too Close” to be the best song about getting an erection on the dance floor, for example– it is not a quality that enhances his whiteness.

He gave himself a nickname

I can say with absolute certainty that nobody before the invention of this blog has ever called Mark “The Shark.” Mark tried making the nickname stick a couple times in high school with absolutely no luck. It is incredibly comical to me now to see people address emails with “Dear Mark The Shark” or even “Hey Shark” when no person Mark has known in his life had ever referred to him as such, pre-November 2008. If there’s one thing white people don’t do, it’s give ourselves nicknames. Nicknames are given to you by others, whether it’s from your aging boxing trainer, your high school football teammates in North Carolina (edit: Virginia), or Vince McMahon. The assigning of your own nickname is something limited to rappers and Brazilian soccer players. Of course we all think up nicknames for ourselves (my own would either be the Hoosier Bruiser or the Red Scare - depending on my wrestling character, obviously) but to take the next step and pass it off as given to us by another person is not right, and it’s not white.

He looks like K-Fed

I’ve tried to reconcile with this thought. I’ve tried to talk myself out of the resemblance. I’ve tried to convince myself he’s really just prepping himself for some new MMA love story movie that has just been greenlit. But I can’t. I’ve finally resigned myself to the fact that for a good period of time, the buzzcut/stubblebeard combo that Mark rocked made him look like Kevin Federline. Is this such an awful thing? It’s debatable. Federline managed to be awesome enough that the mere notion of separation made his wife go just a little bit crazy. Something must be working for the guy. But his whiteness? Not so much. The tale of the tape shows Federline to be a hip hop dancer and rapper, two things completely devoid of the whiteness Mark is trying to convince you he possesses. I guess Mark might be able to claim he only sported the look in the hopes of getting an FU (now renamed to The Throwback, apparently) from John Cena, but with something as important as the distinction of Whitest Player on the Team at stake, do you really want to risk your vote on someone who might unleash Popozao at any moment? Think long and hard, America.


On to a little bit of serious business. Every day we get somewhere in the range of 5-10 people emailing Mark and asking us to check out and/or plug their blog, website, business, etc. While we do tend to look at most of the ones we get sent, we can’t give any kind of promotion to your site. It’s nothing personal, we just can’t monitor or control the content of your site, so we can’t put it up. The only way to get your name mentioned in the blog is to send in a basketball YouTube and have Mark use it, or send in a sweet picture of yourself as a member of the Trillion Man March and have it put on the site. Other than that, I can’t think of a way. If you have a YouTube or a Trillion Man March pic, pass it along to us at


Finally, to the most serious business of my post. We are a short 5 days away from Valentine’s Day and as fate would have it Mark currently does not have a Valentine. Simply put, this is unacceptable. It is so unacceptable that I will pay for a nice steak dinner for Mark and any girl who changes his Valentine’s Day fate. If you are an attractive female that likes Longhorn Steakhouse, and you like Mark Titus, and you’ll be in the Columbus area ~2 days before and/or after February 14th, consider submitting yourself or someone you know that fits the criteria (pic included) to

The reason the dinner will need to take place at Longhorn is simple. When we graduated from high school, instead of having his parents give me money at my open house, Mark insisted that his parents give me a gift card to Longhorn so I could ask the girl I took to prom out on a date. I was slow playing the situation and had it completely under control until Mark decided to intervene. He not only gave me the gift card and constantly annoyed me to ask her out, he actually told her that he bought me a gift card and that I was going to ask her out in the coming days. Yet another reason for me to question my friendship with Mark. Needless to say, I didn’t end up using it that summer, and when I brought it to Arizona I found out there were no Longhorns west of Missouri. It’s been gathering dust ever since, so I feel it’s only right for Mark to make use of it.

We have already had one potential Valentine submitted. Her sister actually emailed us the other day submitting her as a potential suitor for Mark, and she passed the initial Andy Keller approval test when her sister said that she used to dish out Diamond Cutters to her younger brother. Congratulations, Julie Guiler. You are currently the best candidate to be Mark's Valentine.

If you think you know someone who (or you) can top Julie and her Diamond Cutters, then don’t hesitate to submit them/yourself to I’ll let you guys know what comes of this, or if Mark nixes the whole thing because he is the fun police. Until then, I’ll leave you with a ridiculously “Perfect” wrestling YouTube.

Until 750,000


Tuesday, February 3, 2009

Let’s Shake on It

I know that you come to this blog to read about college basketball-related happenings, so please forgive me for making this the second entry in a row in which I talk about the Super Bowl. If you bear with me, though, there promises to be a nice little treat at the end. ___________________________________________________

I took away three (and only three) things from Super Bowl XLIII, despite the fact that it was by far the most entertaining Super Bowl of the year—Journey without Steve Perry just doesn’t cut it, the stubble beard is more powerful than I ever could have imagined, and I officially hate Roman numerals.

Steve Perry-less “Journey”

I’ve gotten a few e-mails asking about my thoughts on this Arnel Pineda character, because “he sounds JUST like Steve Perry.” And after watching the Super Bowl pre-game show in which Journey was performing, I admit he does sound similar to Steve. But as far as I’m concerned, Journey without Steve Perry might as well be an amateur Mariachi band. This is the equivalent of bringing back “Seinfeld” with a cast consisting of Stephen Colbert as Jerry, Frank Caliendo as George, Tina Fey as Elaine, and Will Ferrell as Kramer. Sure it would probably still be funny, but you simply cannot recreate perfection using different ingredients.

By the way, since Journey had so many members over the course of its existence, I decided I’d figure out the members that got the trillion equivalent during their tenure with the band, which would consist of being with the band for a short period of time and doing virtually nothing important. My original thought was Randy Jackson, but after doing a little research, it turns out that he helped put together the “Raised on Radio” album, which features at least three songs that blow my mind. Instead, I went with Stevie Roseman. According to Wikipedia, he played the keyboard for one album, but only did so in the studio and didn’t go on tour. Also, he’s the only past or present member of Journey to not have a Wikipedia page, meaning his existence in the band should legitimately be called into question. Congratulations, Stevie, for your irrelevant contributions to Journey.

I Tried To Warn(er) You

(How about that cheesy play on words for the header? After giving it some thought, I honestly someday want my only contribution to society to be the guy who comes up with those headlines for that always seem to be puns. The headline after the Steelers won said “Great Sixcess!” I envy the creative mind that conceived that.)

As I’m sure you remember, my Super Bowl prediction was based solely on one thing—Kurt Warner’s stubble beard. Most of you undoubtedly bet your first born that the Cards would win because of my brilliant analysis and I really can’t blame you for doing so. But hopefully you realized before the game started that Warner shaved the mystical stubble because his wife suggested it. And in case you missed it, the Cardinals lost. This furthers my claim that women should never intercede with their opinions of facial hair. It’s a surefire way to ruin dreams.

If you take a look at the history books, you will notice that nearly every starting quarterback with a stubble beard in Super Bowl history came out victorious. And even in the rare instance that the stubble-bearded QB didn’t win, he ALWAYS finished in at least second, which is pretty respectable really. Let this serve as a lesson to all you men—never, under any circumstances, take facial hair advice from a woman (unless it’s the librarian I had in elementary school with the full blown goatee).

(I’m not sure if anyone noticed, but during the pre-game show Bob Costas asked Warner what he planned to do about the “growth” on his face. I lost all respect for Costas at that moment. I wasn’t even paying attention to what was on TV, but when I heard Costas say that Warner had a growth on his face, I quickly glanced up in hopes of seeing an arm coming out of Warner’s chin or something. Growth, Bob? Really? Even if you don’t support it, at least show a little bit more respect than liking the defining aspect of my lifestyle to a mutilation.)

When In Rome

Does anybody know for sure what Super Bowl was played on Sunday? My original guess was somewhere in between 35 and 50, but I grew up in America where we use numbers for numbers and letters for letters, so I really had no idea. Maybe the NFL (which coincidentally is the Roman numeral for twelve) thought there would only be seven or eight Super Bowls and the Roman numeral thing would be a nice little gimmick. But at this point, it’s getting out of hand. Is it really too much to ask for Sunday’s game to be referred to as the 2009 Super Bowl?

Let’s not forget the Super Bowl from 1996, better known as Super Bowl XXX. Because of the whole Roman numeral thing, parents all over America wouldn’t let their kids watch the Super Bowl because they thought that NBC (Roman numeral for six and a half) was airing a porno. Because my parents wouldn’t let me watch it, I’m still not fully convinced that that Super Bowl wasn’t a porno. Either way, I knew that whatever was being broadcast on NBC featured…yeah, I’m going to go ahead and just let you pick out your favorite football-related euphemism and apply it here.

(Personally, I can’t wait for Super Bowl L for the sole reason that it will always look like a typo.) ___________________________________________________

I apologize for diverting away from the events in my life that pertain to basketball, but after watching the Super Bowl on Sunday, I felt like I needed to get those three things off my chest. Besides, I haven’t really been doing much with basketball because my foot is still bothering me. I actually dressed in our game against Indiana on Saturday, but that was only because I ran out of dress clothes and I refuse to repeat an outfit. My foot still hurts much more than it should and I am honestly losing hope on my chances of getting a trillion this year. But enough with the negative. I promised I’d give you a treat if you made it to the end of this post and that’s exactly what I plan on giving you.

I have been scratching my head for awhile about some type of ongoing thing I could keep track of, as well as a prank type thing I could do. The Bone-Crushing Screen Counter, while near and dear to my heart, has stagnated with my injury and I’ve been left scrambling for something else to count. I’ve also wanted to do pranks of some sort, but my teammates have a high sense of awareness because they constantly hear about my blog from people on campus. I think I’ve found the solution to both of the problems.

I’ve noticed in my two and a half years of college basketball that nothing demonstrates the caste system on a basketball team quite like the post game handshakes with the opposition. In case you don’t quite follow, consider this. The only people that are allowed to do anything other than slap hands with the opposing players are the star players for each team. The star players always go through and do that handshake that looks like they are about to thumb-wrestle, followed by the leaning into each other to touch shoulders and then wrapping their arm that isn’t involved in the handshake around one another. If you still don’t know what I’m talking about, watch the post-game handshakes after any college basketball game and prepare to be blown away.

People like me who didn’t play or had very little to do with the game are nothing more than a stepping stone to that big embrace with Evan Turner at the end of the line. I plan on changing that. Starting tonight with our game against Purdue, I plan on going through the line and making it awkward times ten for everyone I shake hands with. I am going to do the regular handshake, but hold it for a moment too long while I do that one arm wrap around thing that the superstars always do. I will keep track of how many people give me the one arm embrace in return. If the player I am shaking hands with thinks “Who does this guy think he is?” then I have successfully done my job. Hopefully I can average at least one a game, but I honestly have no idea what to expect. I’m just anxious for the inordinate amount of respect I will undoubtedly get. ___________________________________________________

Bone-Crushing Screens: 1 to date (0 last game)
Your awesome YouTube was sent in to me by Stephen L. There's your shout-out, Stephen. And here's your (incredibly disturbing, yet absolutely awesome) video.

Your Friend and My Favorite,

Mark Titus

Club Trillion Founder