A Red-Letter Day

So I'm sitting around early Christmas morning, when I remember about the North American Aerospace Defense Command's ability to track Santa Clause. "Hmm..." I thought to myself. "I wonder where he is."

So we load up the Santa tracker to find out his exact position...

INDIANA??!!

For those of you not familiar with the Earth's spin, Santa, if he had any hope of visiting an estimated 91.8 million homes under the cover of Christmas Eve night, would have to travel east to west, and, unfortunately, last time I checked, Indiana is west of West Virginia.

Santa had passed us by! He hadn't left anything. Flew right over.

I was panicked.

NORAD had a telephone number to contact them in case of Santa issues, so I grabbed the phone and called.

Busy.

Apparently he missed more than one household, one could assume.

I finally got through and got a generic computer message of where Santa was, but my issue was of much higher consequence. I frantically mashed 0 to reach an operator, and the system obliged by putting me on hold and then hanging up on me.

I tried to call again, but with no success. Santa was gone and there was nothing I could do about it.

Maybe I was on the naughty list...

So while I'm definitely a terrible person on paper, I do have to say I didn't feel like I had any good alternatives, and in the end, think I did what was best. Le sigh.

In other news, Justin 2:16 wants to remind everyone that the Official Girlfriend Application is still available online.

So having just finished watching the Survivor: China reunion show that I DVR-ed from last night, I came to the conclusion that I typically come to after watching every Survivor reunion show:

"Dang, most of those girls look hotter after spending 39 days in the middle of nowhere."

Maybe it's just that I'm used to seeing them in their wilderness state, or that girls on national television tend to overdo it in the makeup and outfit design areas, but something is going on. Seriously, though, every season, without fail, at least 3/4 of the girls look crazy at the reunion show despite looking good on whatever God-forsaken island they were left on in the previous months.

Or maybe it's just me.

So today I went to Armageddon, and, oddly enough, that name fit quite well with how the day went.

First, I find out Rich Rod left WVU for Michigan. Gee, thanks Rod. Screw us over in the one game we need to win to head to the national championship, and then run off to Michigan (cause apparently we're Michigan's farm team now) with your tail between your legs. Oh, and take all your assistants with you. And any recruits looking to come to WVU. Oh, and leave a nationally ranking team heading to the Fiesta Bowl (making sure not to coach them in said bowl) for an unranked team who lost to a AA school.

Classy. Real classy. I hope you lose every game for the rest of your life.

Next, Beth ran the tank into a guardrail. Yeah. Oh yeah. Apparently her and Tina were cruising down Cove hill a little too fast and skidded off the side of the road. Into the guardrail.</rant> Now, first off, thankfully they're both OK. Run off that road in the wrong spot and it's a long way down.<rant> Yeah. So now the van has a huge, guardrail-shaped imprint down the entire right side and neither of the right blinkers work. This also means it won't pass inspection next year, so it's lifetime is quickly counting down.

This also meant another type of Armageddon for myself, though. By this point the roads were getting pretty bad (hence why Beth ran off the road), and Joe and I were getting ready to head up to Pittsburgh for Armageddon. Well, I was planning on driving, but that was up in the air since Beth kissed guardrail. But as we all know, Joe doesn't exactly have the best driving record around (I count at least 3 near death experiences), so driving up with him (to an event called Armageddon none the less) was not on the top of my list.

So the last minute decision to drive up in the newly crippled tank was made (for my own safety). I have to say, upon arriving at Melon Arena, Joe and I quickly discovered that we were the most normal people there. I guess that should have been expected, being it was a wrestling pay-per-view and all. Oh well, we had our signs ("Pittsburgh Is Jericho" and Joe's ever demeaning "Your Face Is Jericho") and were ready to rock and roll. Unfortunately for us, there were no matches that involved anything remotely cool, including, but not limited to, steel cages, elimination chambers, hell in a cells, Punjabi prisons, tables, ladders, chairs, bras and panties, announce tables, infernos, caskets, knockouts, bleeding, and/or The Rock. There was Chris Jericho and Mickie James, though, so the night wasn't a total loss, but since they both lost, it was only a small consolation. It was still really cool, though, since we got to see the whole setup and such. And... We might have even made it on TV... Look for the only freaking guy with a Pens jersey on.

Oh, they faded me alright...

Saturday's game was the worst football game I've seen in recent memory.

I walked out of the stadium stunned... Stunned and pissed. It was everything I could do not to kick over every trash can I saw on the way back to Chris's house, let alone the self-control needed to not beat the snot out of any Pitt fans...

That anger somewhat quickly subsided into sadness (Funny, it's usually the other way around...), and by the end of the night I found myself in my room in front of a fair-sized chocolate cake I bought at Krogers to drown my sorrows in.

Well it worked; it's been two days and I'm fairly over it; we certainly need to talk about things first, though. After listening to plenty of talk in between classes (And maybe a little during class... *looks around*) and at meals today, there are a few things that need cleared up.

First off, this is in no way Pat McAfee's fault. Yes, we all realize that the 6 point differential matches the field goals he missed, but let's be serious: That shouldn't have mattered. We were playing Pitt. Dave Wannstedt's crippled butt managed only 4 wins up to that point, one of which was the joke of a Big East team Syracuse coupled with 2 nobodies (Ever heard of Grambling State?). We should have been up 30 points at half... If we weren't retarded, six points wouldn't have even made us flinch. Now, that doesn't mean he gets a free pass... McAfee should be held accountable for those misses; I've sung his praises for the last two years, and he definitely let me down. I watch the man nail kicks from the 50 during warm ups, so when he's missing kicks like he did on Saturday, it raises questions. He did not lose the game for us, though.

What did?

The Rod way.

I could have called better plays by closing my eyes, flipping through the playbook, and randomly picking something. Better yet, we could have booted up our copies of NCAA Football 08 and "Ask[ed] Corso" before each snap. Screen pass and run it up the middle only work for so long before the other team figures your game plan out. Mix it up a bit. Instead, Rich was so stubborn that his way would work that he made no adjustments and let Pitt trounce all over our national championship dreams. I could have done a better job coaching. It was downright horrible. He and the rest of the coaches let us down, not the team. They only ran the terrible plays that were called.

That was the first loss of a Mountaineer team I've ever seen in person. It's pretty depressing.