Gather ’round, children. Let me spin you a yarn. A tale of disquiet and shocking alarm. The story of two young women who chose to wear the colors of their undergraduate institution, while current students at their graduate institution, in the student section of their current institution, and had a bad time. The first young woman, fair of face and sturdy of purpose, awoke the morning of January 23, 2013, with a sparkle in her eye. She stretched her limbs and her toes and she smiled, because she knew soon it would be time to troll. And troll whom, you ask? To troll tweens on the internet or political opponents? To troll old racists or credulous vegans? No, not this comley lass. It would soon be time to troll her present friends and colleagues, and to relive the past. She donned her old colors and smirked in the mirror. I’ll show them, she thought, my purpose couldn’t be clearer. She then walked with her friend and fellow troll to the BankUnited Center.
I f-ing kid you not, the Dean of Students and the Vice President of Student Affairs stood between us and the stadium, allowing dozens of people to pass us in line as they lectured us on our apparently deplorable and wildly unacceptable desire to show support for our home team.
This young woman from Durham, NC, site of her “home team,” was shocked that her present friends and colleagues could be so mean. But she bravely carried on, tear in the corner of her eye, to troll on and troll more, on the inside.
…the immaturity and spite exhibited by the administration and the mascot was only amplified among the student body. About 1,300 students were in attendance, and I’m sure 1,200 of them had never watched a Miami basketball game in their entire undergraduate careers. Uninspired expletives, homophobic slurs and limp references to genitalia were the only “cheers” I heard from Miami students the entire game. They did not cease during the national anthem, nor during a moment of silence for a deceased member of their own coaching staff. Pause for a second and imagine that scene in Cameron. That’s OK—we couldn’t either.
‘Twas then, there, in full view of these brave trolls, that dook got shelled up inside their own assholes, before the final horn blow’d. The final score read 90 – 63, but dook’s true win was trolling, blissfully.
Obvious pose off deadspin.
Documented troll here.