“Sadusky, I’m still not against you. But I found door No. 3, and I’m taking it. [Jumps into the Hudson River]” – Nicholas Cage, National Treasure
Nick Cage, Jameis Winston: A brilliant man masquerading as a thief, and a brilliant thief masquerading as a college quarterback. What do they have in common? Absolutely nothing.
Welcome to the Hater’s Guide Volume III: The Bandwagon Fan’s Guide To Hoping The Most Hated Team In America Loses To Boston College This Weekend; As Narrated By Nick Cage As Ben Gates. Alternately titled: This Is What A BC English And Communication Double Major Gets You: Critical Thinking, My Ass. Sorry, Mom, hope my sister pans out.
They say the third one’s the toughest to pull off. Twice now, I’ve taken a break from my usual #sprots fearmongering and slandering to bring you these guides—I protected you from electrocution and taught you about the World Cup, then I returned to warn you about the dangers of snakes and prepare you for the school year. Now it’s time for one final, significantly less enjoyable run at it. Through an ongoing campaign of wins, coverups, collusion, New York Times-bashing, general idiocy, and specific stupidity, FSU’s become the most despised football program in the country. So without further delay, here are some quick hits to help you get behind the Eagles—take it away, Nick.
“[Walking out] Stop talking. Start the van.”
The name’s Murphy, Tyler Murphy. If I had a dollar for every positive tweet or glowing line I’ve written about BC’s graduate quarterback over the last two months, I would have gone to Vegas, made a few hundred dollars on the blackjack table, convinced myself God was on my side, lost it all in hours, and wound up beaten to a pulp, staring at the ocean through a pinhole in a cargo container bound for Chile. Luckily, though, I don’t get paid, and neither does Murphy (cough, cough … Jameis), because I want to be north of the equator for the last games of his college career. If we take his four-pick Louisville game as an anomaly—and even if we don’t—Murphy unquestionably remains BC’s best player. Murphy leads the nation in rushing yards among quarterbacks and is 27th overall, but it’s the way he runs that makes him so purely enjoyable to watch. Like a Gumby sent from hell to torture hulking defensive backs, Murphy possesses the fifth-dimensional power to move in four-to-six directions at once and make everyone—cameramen, linebackers, oddsmakers—miss. Cut off his arms and give him two more feet—he’d only get better. Louisville was the low point, that’s for sure, but the Seminoles still look ripe for the picking, and Murphy isn’t done yet.
“We don’t need someone crazy. But one step short of crazy, what do you get?”
Assuming the atmospheric conditions were adequate, if Jon Gruden crashed a flaming 18-wheeler filled with bowling balls and nails into the cardiac unit of a hospital while an AC/DC cover band blasted on the radio, you could synthesize another Steve Addazio. Other than that, BC’s head coach is the special type of half-man, half-Vine caricature that comes around once every blue moon. Watching Addazio lose his mind on the sideline, annunciate arbitrary phrases, slam press conference tables, and occasionally stare through the great void directly at his own mortality has been a wonderful part of the 13 wins (and counting) in his first two years at BC. For the Eagles’ sake, it’s a good thing Will Muschamp got himself canned before Addazio could really build up steam and become a totally enticing candidate.
“[Looking in mirror] Not bad.”
Pour one out for the punter. BC’s secret weapon, Alex Howell—the Matt Saracen of bad-kickers-turned-great-punters—is averaging five boots a game and 43 yards per punt. From drilling kicks wide right and into the line of scrimmage to pinning offenses deeper than the Vredefort crater, the kids and your grandma can get behind that heartwarming redemption story.
“Oh bad! Bad, bad, bad!”
You’ve got to respect a team that does things the old-fashioned way. Team dinners, family values, grit, Blockbuster rentals—all that good stuff. That’s why BC’s tendency to avoid complete passes is so darn admirable—commitment to the pre-Teddy Roosevelt days of football is pretty rare these days. Josh Bordner and Dan Crimmins are leading the team with 22 receptions on the year apiece, but they both drop a few passes per game to keep that gilded age spirit alive and well. Screw the Bull Moose, man.
“So we find a way to make sure the status quo changes in our favor.”
Sherman Alston, BC’s 5-foot-6 monster of a game breaker. Roadrunner-fast, slipperier than a greased-up dolphin, and already obliterating ankles and pinging team’s radars as a true freshman with just 11 receptions and 30 carries on the year. The kid was born to live in the age of GIFs, and he makes Rutgers sad. What’s not to like?
“You know, Agent Sadusky, something I’ve noticed about fishing? It never works out so well for the bait.”
Perhaps the most compelling aspect of this BC football team is the conspiracy theory festering at its core. To some, Joey Launceford is a bad kicker. To me, Launceford is a twisted genius. For every extra point or field goal made on an Allstate Good Hands field goal net, Allstate donates to the school’s scholarship fund. Does Launceford have a kickback deal with the insurance giant—is it dishing him half of what it would have had to pay per PA? Writing’s on the wall, folks.
“[Searching through his wallet] That’s umm … 32 … 57?”
Final score prophecy from Nicky C?
“Do you trust me?”
[Slams laptop shut, fires up National Treasure 2.]
Featured Image by Emily Fahey / Heights Editor