Friday, November 19, 2010

I'll be pepped up when I'm damn well ready to be.

Blat - Blat - Blat, Blat-Blat. Blat - Blat - Blat, Blat-Blat. Blat - Blat - Blat, Blat-Blat. BLAT BLAT BLAT!

Yeah, that little rouser. The staple of every pep band that plays incessantly at almost every sporting event in the country. Over, and over, and over. Make it stop! It must be royalty free, otherwise someone is making a container ship worth of money or else is getting screwed out of beau coupe royalties. I'm not a fan of the 'Deeeee-Fence Deeeee-Fence' chant either. I've heard enough of 'Here we go DickHeads, here we go.' I will not obey the command flashed on the scoreboard to "Make Some Noise." And, by the way; fuck 'The Wave.

Last night's Pacer's game had a band that only knew about 5 rah-rah songs, recorded organ music playing every other Pacer's possession, and of course the hired cheer squad from Roy Hibbert's Area 55 was in good form. A little bit of atmosphere is always welcome to warm up the crowd. Last night's barrage of pep was intrusive. It was the Los Angeles Clippers who were in town. It was Thursday night. Both teams were missing a few key players. It was a blowout win for Indiana. I cheered when the situation called for it and I enjoyed watching this young team improve each game. Pardon me for just wanting to view the game in peace and quiet.

Call me Waldorf.

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