Kentucky’s men’s basketball team won it all a couple days ago, and I’m still in mourning. Not because my bracket was shot to hell this year and I was just bitterly boycotting the final. Not even because of my personal dislike for John Calipari — though he really is not my favorite person…too much evidence that he doesn’t care whether his guys make good decisions or not (see: UMass and Memphis).
My fellow alum blogger Jasmine Marcus wrote last week about the limits of Ivy-wide pride, how we Cornellians just can’t bring ourselves to root for other Ivies like Cameron Crazies would root for other ACC teams. I’m going to take it a step further…
Once you have slighted my team, Ivy rival or not, you’re dead to me. And Kentucky became dead to me on March 25, 2010.
For those of you who have been living under a Red-free rock, that was the day Coach Cal and his one-and-done Wildcats (that is, Eric Bledsoe, John Wall, and DeMarcus Cousins) stopped the Cornell’s record-breaking Tourney run at the Sweet Sixteen, 62-45. I remember being on Spring Break my senior year, watching Cornell get scorched in the first half but get it within six with less than six minutes left. I remember thinking this Wildcat team didn’t deserve to win it all. And there you go, they ended up losing in the next round. There’s your karma, Calipari.
Maybe this vengeful attitude borders on the irrationally narcissistic; I know that everything in the (sports) world doesn’t revolve around me and my teams. But that’s my approach to life—nothing halfway. Red Sox, pure hatred; Ryan Seacrest, can’t listen to his voice without cringing; almost all of the Lannisters on Game of Thrones, burn baby burn.
Kentucky basketball, I will always hate you, but nothing personal. Some fans just can’t forgive.
See you next March Madness, where I will be prepared to hate you Wildcats all over again.