(ED. NOTE: We don’t write these ourselves! We aren’t insane! This is part of a recurring series in which we compile actual posts from NDNation’s flagship forum, Rock’s House, into a semi-coherent narrative. Original post and explanation is here. We do this every week. Thank you for not yelling at us on Twitter anymore.)
Everyone is fat and happy, and while shell shocked now, the fanboys will be back at it in no time, regurgitating the Prister/Sampson/Hansen talking points, and all will be fine. What if NDNation crowdsourced a fact sheet of Brian Kelly’s records, so to speak. Keep it up to date, make sure it is accurate, but it need not be “fair.” Something those lazy sports talking heads could access and spout off? It needs to be seeded to national writers on twitter. Maybe NDTrump?
Does anyone think another ad campaign is worthwhile? Were we really off base 3 years ago with the billboards? I would donate again tonight. I am sick of passively watching everything I loved about ND just get repeatedly shit on for this smarmy, mediocre, purple-faced fuck. I guess we can troll Swarbrick a bit. Have ND Trump reach out to Urban Meyer on Twitter and ask him if he is interested in the Nd job. If he is interested ask him to say it publicly like he did with the Cowboys job. I would enjoy watching Meyer signal an interest in the job while Swarbrick’s boy continues to misstep.
Urban would take the ND job in a nanosecond if offered. what did Urban do so bad? Priests have done worse. There comes a time where consistent losing trumps some questionable ethical behavior. Im at that point. Every year I attend at least one game. I refuse to this year and until Kelly is gone I will NOT.
Most on this board knows Kelly’s record, despite ND’s continued pimping of our gridiron heritage, is fool’s gold. i feel like i want more losses now. We’re stuck in Shitsville. To any decent team, Kelly’s program is a laughingstock. An also-ran led by a sissy-glasses guy & Father Milquetoast. This guy is a giant steaming turd on a stale Walmart hot dog bun with a side of chips that have been urinated on by a cat.
wish we would have lost to virginina now. It’s time for ND to join the Ivy League. Quit the charade of pretending to be serious about winning at football. It’s a joke. No one believes you. Just end it already.
Would this make the Greatest Hits album of Kelly’s most ignominious losses? Blowing Mud. The Brown Album. Brown II: Splurts of Rage. When you have laid as many turds in the punch bowl as BK has over 10 years, you need to give the fans their money’s worth. This one has special meaning. It laid bare the foolishness of the PootND cluck clucking. It made the coaching clinic cognoscenti who predicted a record setting offense look like the assclowns they are.
FUCK KELLY. Where was Kelly’s purple face? No f/u’s for his coaches or players? Just stood there like a blob. why can’t someone simply drive bk up to the northern peninsula of Michigan, and just abandon him in the wilderness without a swiss army knife and canteen? Has anyone put a “for sale” sign in his yard yet today? Or, shot his dog?
You should adopt my approach. I didn’t watch more than a play here and there. I was at a party. As in to swing. There is always something better to do. It is a low bar. Perhaps therapy?
I am most disappointed in myself. At the season’s outset, I said to myself, “don’t get too excited–you’ll just set yourself up for another fall”. And, yet, I did get excited like I do every year. I’m 73 years old for chrissakes, a 73-year-old, fucking Charlie Brown. A big fat sucker. I hate myself.
We have all heard enough of his bullshit and are focused on what the ceiling fan lights look like with our eyes closed. Then open. And closed again. Then we all flap our arms and run around the room and make duck quacks and pretend like we are WWII fighter plane ducks and make machine gun noises and all collapse on our places on the sofa and easy chairs and yell, “One! Two! Three! FUCK YOU KELLY, YOU HOSER.” And flap our lips and make “Brrr” sounds until Kelly goes off screen, and then we resume our normal conversation and start hitting ourselves in the face with bricks.