A Modern Deflategate: The Tale of My Dick
We’ve all been there. Feeling flat because you’re sitting in your isolating Gillette single alone (thanks COVID), mindlessly texting anybody and everybody because you’re desperate for an ounce of real human interaction. That’s when it hits you: invite a girl over from high school that goes to a nearby college. The game plan is not just good, it’s great: have her park illegally and pray that Vandy Parking doesn’t throw a flag on my play (spoilers: they gave her a $50 ticket and that was 100 percent not the worst part of her night).
After talking about nothing for the first quarter, you finally spit out some words that somewhat resemble “Uhhhh, you like Netflix?” Suave, right? Then, like a gentleman, you wait approximately 28 seconds into the Pilot of The Office before dropping back and throwing your self dignity directly into the arms of the other team for roughly six and a half minutes of mediocre pussy.
Sounds like an average Tuesday for all Pike guys, but for me, shit goes wrong roughly the second I open my eyes, when I am reminded of my undying hate for the Patriots as I create the second coming (no one did) of Deflategate. Afterward, I promptly checked to make sure my balls were regulation, but came to the conclusion that I should be suspended from the game nonetheless. Comeback SZN will come one day, but for now, I am on my own in that regard.
In my thoroughly depressing film study following the game, I discovered that only 10 percent of guys have experienced this issue at my age. Hey, at least I’m finally in the top 10 percent of something. Telling myself that stops the constant imposter syndrome from tackling my frighteningly fragile mental state. The moral here is that odds are, you’re going to embarrass yourself, so do it with someone whose face you’ll only see on Snapchat for the rest of college, not in the Randwich line.