As far back as I can remember, I’ve watched every second of every Ohio State/Michigan game. Whether it was during the John Cooper era (tears), or the current, Michigan ass-kicking regime of Tressel, I’ve seen them all.

Today, the streak ends.

I am an Improv Olympic student, taking the Saturday class from 12-3. I love the class and everything about it. However, it’s not college football friendly, given it’s afternoon time frame.

Thankfully, Michigan is an embarrassment to turds everywhere (once again), so I shouldn’t be missing much of a game. In any case, I’ll be listening to the game online for the hour before class and wear my Ohio State hoody with pride.

My brother just texted me “O-H!”, so that must mean the game is about to start.

Michigan, you are an insult to festering turds everywhere and I hope you boil in piss. Now sing it with me…

We don’t give a damn for the whole state of Michigan!
The whole state of Michigan
The whole state of Michigan
We don’t give a damn for the whole state of Michigan
We’re from OHIO!

GO BUCKEYES! O-H!

Last night I was waiting outside the train station on Southport. Courtney had gotten out of class early and we were going to head on over to Justin’s for 0.25 wing night, Blue Jackets hockey and Buckeyes basketball. As I was waiting, I noticed some loud voices approaching in the distance. There was one woman of a the larger variety and two guys.

After some screaming and angry faces, the woman stormed off. The guy, probably a failing boyfriend, started to chase after her after giving his friend a glance that said hah, chicks.

The woman, now on the other side of the street, was having none of her boyfriend’s appeals for peace.

“No! I’m not doing this tonight! I’m not doing this! I’m not doing this!” said the broken record. Meanwhile, the boyfriend, whose stock was rapidly plummeting, shot his buddy still on my side of the street another look as if to finish his earlier thought, Can’t live with ‘em! Can’t live without-

“Stop laughing!” she said, interrupting his thought. Apparently she literally had eyes in the back of her head, because she was already stomping down the street at that point.

The boyfriend finally caught up with her at the corner of Southport and Roscoe, across the street from Justins. I was still waiting for Courtney at the train stop, which was about half a block away. The guy’s friend was standing a few feet away from me, now arbitrarily pushing buttons on his phone, probably feeling awkward as all Hell.

“I don’t care! Go out with him!” she screamed.

Ah-hah! Apparently the boyfriend was caught in the classic girlfriend wants to go home and snuggle against best friend was to go drinking dilemma. If only he saw the Flintstones episode where Fred was able to please both Wilma and his buddies. Alas, the two continue to argue, the woman hilariously swatting at her man’s hands whenever he raised them, hoping for some sort of peace.

Then, in the midst of Theatre On Southport, Courtney arrived. I quickly summarized the events to her and we watched the couple continue to argue via our superb peripheral vision. Unfortunately, it would’ve been a tad bit noticeable if we stopped outside of Justin’s and stared. The affair was becoming a bit melodramatic for my taste anyhow, so I didn’t mind skipping out on the ending. The Blue Jackets game had started already anyway.

Two things came out of this for me.

1.) Don’t argue in public. You always look like an ass.

2.) I’m glad Courtney and I aren’t that couple. We’re actually quite awesome, I say as I give Courtney a fist-bump.

Click here to read about the Chicago Fire experience and here to see the game via pictures.