Budget Cuts Force NU Football Program to Give Players Old-Timey Motorcycles with SideCars

First, they came for the PWILD budget and I said nothing because I did CUP. Then, they came

for the ice rink and I said nothing because who looks hot while ice-skating? Finally, they came

for the football team and there was no one left to speak for me; the girl who hates to see them

leave, but loves to watch them scoot away.

Beep Beep!

After research expansion and the construction of the new Ryan Fieldhouse, President Morty

Shapiro has ordered expense reductions of 5-10% across the Evanston campus. In times of

disaster, not even the mightiest of our heroes remain untouched. The Northwestern football team,

now Big10 West Champions #GoCats, has been just as diminished as the rest of us.

Sleek and sexy bikes have been replaced with vintage, rusted motorcycles, each equipped with a

sidecar and a pair of leather goggles. Just yesterday, I saw Clayton Thorson scooting around with

his white scarf flapping behind him in the wind. A small beagle, wearing goggles and a helmet

yapped at me from the side car. Honestly it was kind of hot. .

What is a girl to do! No, I’m not a football player - rest assured I could be, these thighs don’t

quit- but I am a blood-thirsty little slut who loves nothing more than to ride cowgirl on a shining

motorcycle all the way North to BoneTown, with some toothsome linebacker named Trace, or

Chaz, or something.

How am I supposed to be attractive riding in his sidecar, my hair crushed under his leather bowl

helmet? How am I supposed to be attracted to him as the bike putters black fumes behind us as

we toot along, 10 miles an hour? Where’s the sex?? Where’s the danger??

When the greatest of our warriors fall, who are we, the common people, supposed to look up to

in these troubling times? Who are we, the lowest common denominators, supposed to admire as

they ride past us on their black chariots of 2 cylinder wonder?

NU has single-handedly crushed my libido and sense of security in this period of economic

security. If I don’t get some pigskin this winter, it’s Morty’s fault.