I am so absurdly proud of being a Jayhawk that it’s a little gross. I wouldn’t say that I alone help to give Jayhawk fans a bad name (I know some of my friends affiliated with less-sweet universities would beg to differ), but when your team and school is as badass as Kansas, it’s very hard to be modest. However, I will say that after this past basketball season, I will never EVER talk even 1/10th the amount of shit during a season as I did last year. Boy did that bite me in the ass. But, one of my favorite things in life is to run into a random Jayhawk while out and about. Here’s a little story about that:
My favorite crazy Romanian and I are driving down a busy street in Denver behind a brand new silver Range Rover Sport. There in the bottom right hand corner, about the size of a quarter, is a baby Jayhawk. Being the obnox KU fan I am, I demand that my Romanian pull along side him immediately. To my extreme pleasure, he’s very fit, very black, and very good looking. A bit taken aback, I almost forget my mission until I start yelling “ROCK CHALK JAYHAWK GO KU!!” into his window and ear drum.
He looks at us for a moment like we’re crazy, then can’t help but hide his huge smile. “YOU KNOW IT GURRRRRRRRRRRRRL!” and with a snap of his fingers the pretty gay boy in his pretty car with a pretty sticker took off. As the Romanian and I tried to compose ourselves while fighting the giggle fits we notice that our Black Stallion has returned and is furiously shaking something out of the window trying to get me to take it. I crawl halfway out of the window to make the perfect handoff.
Alas, no phone number but something even better: a sheet of little quarter sized Jayhawk stickers.
Rock Chalk Jayhawk, keep spreadin’ the love.