"" bshawise: TigerPumpkins

Friday, August 28, 2009

TigerPumpkins

Sorry Cincinnati, I love you, like a lot, but I hate your football team. Always have. I went last night to the pre-season game and noticed that there are a lot of positives (+) and negatives (-) about the Bengals. Here's a short list.

- The color scheme. Combining orange and black in fashion is like combining poison and pre-schoolers. They don't go together. They're toxic together. Those mothers that are mad about DD need to get mad about the Cincinnati TigerPumpkins. The uniforms and the inspired fashion disasters fans feel compelled to wear are a tragic crime against our retinas

+ If you're one of those weirdees who love Halloween then your beloved holiday comes around every Sunday. Lucky you. Break out the dry ice and jump out of coffins you freaks.

- Mike Brown. The guy bamboozles everyone. The city and NFL lets him run around doing whatever he wants cuz his grandpa (?) invented face masks. Letting Mike Brown run a football team would be like letting a poisoned pre-schooler be your shrimp boat captain.

+ Lots of cops earn lots of overtime. I imagine these cops have families. I bet these families like coney dogs. Overtime buys coney dogs. The Bengals are feeding cop families coney dogs. They're practically the Make-A-Wish Foundation.

- Bengals fans. They assault all five of your senses. 1. sight- see the above point about orange and black fashion. 2. hearing- they relentlessly scream inane things like Who Dey. 3. taste- i'm not sure how they offend this sense but they do. 4. touch- they spill beer on each other like it's part of the game. 5. smell- they reek of beer, menthol cigarettes, and goetta.

+ Each game the fans adopt Milwaukee as their sister city by buying/drinking enough Miller Lite to get 500 whales sloppy drunk.

- The parking lot trash cans the stadium get bombed by 500 million Miller Lite cans and throw up all over the sidewalks.

+ Entrepreneurial homeless men and women have the chance to turn a bag full of cans into $0.37.

- Grown men in face paint. Women wearing furry tiger tails from their jean skirts.

+ Chad Ochocinco. He's Cincinnati's Dennis Rodman sans the transgender leanings. Fans try to hate them but they wanna marry him.

- That one time a few years back when the TigerPumpkins made the playoffs. Fans turned into crazy people. It was like a bunch of blind people could finally see and they ran around talking like they've been watching sunsets for their whole life. Figure that metaphor out.

+ Lots of short buses have been recycled into PartyPumpkins. That's good on a number of levels.

- I saw one broke down on the highway as I drove to work today. It was like seeing a moustachioed-man in a Members Only jacket strolling the playground. There's a place where it's ok to be mustachioed and rocking exclusive windbreakers. A playground is not that place. Same with PartyPumpkins. They're pretty sweet when they're blasting Guns N' Roses and grilling sausages among other Pumpkins down by the stadium. But when they're all alone on the highway miles away from their friends, it's just sad. I want to say it's creepy in order to continue my metaphor, but that would be forced. Much like this entire post. Bottom line is I hate the Bengals.

10 comments:

Daniel Kalbach said...

I'm just happy that other teams haven't adopted the same animal-print helmet motif. Somewhere Elizabeth Taylor is smiling... in a creepy, overly Botox'd kind of way.

Daniel Kalbach said...

... and I'm loving the return of da bear.

bshawise said...

it's all for you, Daniel. i learned it from watching you.

steg stories said...

Dont sugar cote it--tell us what you really think about the Bengals

Steve Fuller said...

You are dumb.

bshawise said...

You are a Bengals fan.

Jason Boys said...

Stupid post.

bshawise said...

Classic Bengal behavior.

Brad H said...

I would like to add a -. The fan's constant need to yell "Who Dey." Perhaps the most ridiculous cheer in all of sports.

bshawise said...

hoffy, it's in there. under the fans assaulting all senses.