FSU’s time as a certified Basketball School™ was thrilling, to say the least. Local ball boys gathered at Township and pinky promised their friends that even though they haven’t ran more than a mile in the past two years, they were once almost scouted for some Division I colleges in high school. Trendsetters dreamt of wearing their best outfits courtside a là Miss Rihanna under the warm embrace of Donald L. Tucker’s high indoor ceilings, which didn’t require them to dress sensibly at all for the weather. Unfortunately, much like Moritz Wagner’s attempts to deny that his dad was in fact the evil Lord Voldemort from Harry Potter, you can’t always get what you want. As the final buzzer went off on Saturday and the prophecy claiming that only one basketball team could live while the other must die was fulfilled, it seemed that only some sort of wizardry could lift our spirits.
Rising senior and habitual optimist Aberforth Horowitz saw the loss as an opportunity to rise in the campus ranks. “Hey, you like Harry Potter?” He whispered into the ears of bar-goers, turning to reveal his super irritated and splintered thighs, which he would later tenderly rub with his travel-sized Lubriderm in between quizzing random patrons about the order in which Harry destroyed Voldemort’s horcruxes. “Much like a Mandrake if you wear the proper ear plugs, the FSU Quidditch team will never hurt you. Unless, of course, a house elf curses a bludger to target you, thereby breaking your arm, only to have a wiley professor turn your arm bones to jelly! Haha! Anyways, come to our match this weekend if you wanna see our absolute unit of a Keeper block those nasty Chasers from Michigan. It’s gonna be sick. Plus, our Seeker used to be on the cross country team. She’s so fast and hot, but don’t tell her I said that.”
“First, I laughed in his face and started recording him on my Insta Live Feed, but then I realized he might be my only shot at truly fulfilling the wild college tailgate experiences that my dad promised I'd have,” said local socialite Reed Ruckus, while marking himself as “Going” to six separate Facebook events taking place on the same night. “Now that we’re not good at football anymore and basketball is over it seems the only sport I can get drunk for is Quidditch. What else am I supposed to do, rally behind our women’s teams? That would be as silly as not studying for your OWLS!”
Ruckus certainly has a point. With football injuries, the uncertainty of a new coach and the misogyny surrounding supporting women in athletics propagating an institution of male-domination in most sports, chances to day drink are looking slim. Despite our female athletes being able to simultaneously out-bench every man in Greek life, maintain a 3.7 GPA and not be a total fuckin’ asshole, we’re simply out of options, much like Harry when he realized that he was the final horcrux. It’s time to finally invite the kid with the Deathly Hallows tattoo to your pregame, throw on your best garnet and gold knit scarf and prepare a few counter-curses in case Michigan tries to illegally knock one of our players off of their broom.