#someone asked me ''why is he dressed like that when his climate is this insufferable''

[bondsmagii]

Hi! So I just finished reading The Secret History after putting it off for ages (I put it down for nearly a year, but your blog helped me follow through). I was wondering if you could talk about why you like it? And just generally what your take is on it? (Particularly re. Julian??? Like he is such a significant figure that looms over everything yet he is actually in it less than random secondary characters and it blows my mind coz I haven't seen that done effectively before in other books)

[rubs hands together] I hope you’re prepared for something very disorganised but my god I have a lot of thoughts.

what I like about it is simple enough. I love the way it’s written, I love all the descriptions and the settings, I love all the characters even if they’re all absolutely insufferable, I think the moral questions the plot forces you to ask yourself are pretty intense. like deadass by the time they killed Bunny I was happy to see his ass go, but then Richard’s realisations at the funeral, where it really sunk in that they had actually honest to god killed a man? fucking harrowing tbh. I also loved how extra the book was, and how it didn’t take itself too seriously in a lot of places (it reads quite pretentiously, but under the veneer of classical studies and champagne in fine china teapots there’s like... snorting cocaine in a Burger King parking lot, and smoking weed at a wake -- not to mention its narrator is a character within the story who literally admits right away that his fatal flaw is that he romanticises absolutely everything). it’s just raw college student chaos, but like. taken to the extreme, and absolutely horrific. it really is an impossibly fun read, and the aesthetics are on point. I see a lot of people talk about how it apparently encourages people to think murder and drugs and alcoholism are cool or whatever, but I think that’s just Tumblr being Tumblr -- i.e., people clutching their pearls every time somebody likes a character or story that isn’t pure and 100% good. all the people I know who have been influenced by The Secret History’s totally extra aesthetic have just started dressing cooler and throwing themselves into deeper and more varied studies, which is only a good thing. I know it’s made me a lot more productive and really helped me just commit to being a little over the top here, a little dramatique there... and all with absolutely no drug abuse or murder!

my general take on the novel differs from most people’s. I’ve seen near everyone say (usually while ridiculing those who like the aesthetics of the book) that The Secret History is a satire... I disagree. I don’t think it’s satirising anything. I think it’s just a straightforward “here’s what would happen if...”, and the fact that it’s set at a rich, prestigious college isn’t because Tartt is trying to show how awful rich people are but rather because Tartt herself attended such a place, and the college is directly based on Bennington College right down to the layout and the surrounding grounds and the social atmosphere at the time. I mean, it’s literally the same place with the serial numbers filed off. she based all the characters on people she knew, and then I imagine she just went nuts with the plot. same as most authors, really -- I know many who say they think of a what if question and then just run with it. of course people are going to disagree and say it’s a deconstruction of how rich people get away with everything, blah blah blah, but really the fact that so many of the characters are rich is necessary to the setting. if I was going to write a story set in 1980s Cambridge University, most of my characters would be rich as well -- they’d have to be, or they wouldn’t even be there to begin with. then it’s just convenient to the plot, because they have money to make things happen, and you can’t murder people and throw a bacchanal if you have to do backshift at Burger King, you know? even if it was meant to read as a satire and Tartt herself was like “bro I literally wrote it as a satire” I’d have to say she didn’t do a very good job, because the only satire I saw was perhaps regarding the social climate and atmosphere at Bennington while she was there, and not a deconstruction of class and wealth. it’s just... a good story. with interesting, flawed characters. it doesn’t have to be any deeper than that, and to be honest I don’t read it as such.

as for Julian... oh man. Julian. this is another place where I differ from 90% of the opinions I see. a not-insignificant amount of people seem to think that Julian is this evil mastermind who’s pulling the strings and leading the group towards their doom, and then they seem undecided when it comes to Henry. some people think he’s just another person caught up in Julian’s manipulation; others seem to think he’s Julian’s man on the ground, working with him in order to ensure his dastardly plan comes to fruition. I, however, am of the opinion that Julian is an idealistic dumbass, who allowed himself to be caught up in the romantic, idealised version of things and did not realise half of what was going on. I think he’s a man in love with the image of himself -- self-centred, slightly narcissistic, and very charming as he is, he’s in love with being the centre of the show. The Secret History’s alternative title was something along the lines of The Master of Illusions (I believe that’s still its title in the French translation), which of course refers to Dionysus but could also refer to one of the characters. many people think Henry, but to me it’s quite clear it’s Julian. when is he ever not putting on a show? everything he does, from his elite classes to his strange stories about his past to his lavish dinners... it’s all a show that he’s the master of. he’s curating the image he gives to other people and he loves doing it. everything he does is carefully selected to fit into his idealised version of himself and his life, including surrounding himself with brilliant students who share the same passion as him -- and who lack any real parental figures for various reasons. is it appropriate behaviour? absolutely not. but is it malicious? I don’t think so. at times Julian can seem almost childishly naive -- he’s stuck in this pretend game and he’s quite happy to be there... so long as he’s in control. the second he’s no longer in control, he bolts. he was on board with the idea of the bacchanal because I sincerely think he didn’t believe it would actually work; he probably thought there would be some kind of strange experience, but I don’t think he thought it would summon a god/induce psychosis (whichever you believe happened during that scene). he encouraged Henry a) because he didn’t think there was a risk and b) because how cool that his students are trying to throw a bacchanal! that’s the exact kind of thing he loves! that commitment, that throwing oneself into one’s studies, that academic fervour -- he loves it. and he saw this as just part of that. then someone ends up dead and then another person ends up dead and Julian has to face real life consequences, and he’s scared. he never planned for this because he never saw it coming. and above all he’s a coward, and a vain one at that. all of these qualities that he so loved teaching about in his classes -- stoicism, responsibility, honour -- fall by the wayside, and he runs. and that’s why Henry kills himself -- because he has been let down by his mentor, and he feels like someone should uphold those values so lovingly, apparently sincerely taught to them over the last few years. without this interpretation of Julian, I wonder how anyone made sense of Henry’s death.

in some respects, I think people are trying to look a little too deeply into this book. perhaps its subject matter -- being all about dedicated, talented scholars -- makes people think they’re reading a highly intellectual book, but while it’s wonderfully written and absolutely captivating, it’s not difficult to interpret. at least in my opinion it seems straightforward -- it’s just a story about a lot of things going wrong because of a lot of decisions; it’s about how things can so quickly get out of control no matter how much a person tries to control themselves. a man has no influence over the world around him, and things are rarely what they seem.

[gwyvian]

Resistances and Dalliances

Chapter 5: Tears of the Sky

Ryder woke with a start, drowsily wondering what had possessed her to sleep in a place that made every muscle in her body burn and knot in the worst way possible, and she groaned and rolled onto her back to try to ease at least a little bit of her discomfort. The last vestiges of a contented dream were still clouding her mind like a gentle fog, but it didn’t take long for her to remember where she was and what had happened when her eyes began to bring the world into focus again and found Evfra beside her, sitting against a leg of the table with his chin propped speculatively in one palm, eyes staring broodily at the wall across from them.

He was also not wearing a stitch, a fact which simultaneously fascinated her and made her feel a little awkward for looking. Despite the flustering memory of being in his arms as she drifted off to sleep coming into her mind unbidden, she couldn’t help but feel that she was intruding on his privacy, especially considering how grim he looked; it wasn’t an encouraging expression right after intimacy.

“So… where do we go from here?” Ryder asked as casually as she could and felt her cheeks flush as Evfra’s eyes touched her.

“You’re awake,” he said, avoiding the question.

Ryder averted her eyes and began to search around for her clothes; she still felt cold inside and the floor wasn’t exactly warm, despite the heat of the lamp bathing everything in its orange glow. She sincerely hoped she hadn’t embarrassed herself by falling asleep at the wrong moment when sheer exhaustion overtook her and she was beginning to feel increasingly self-conscious the longer Evfra didn’t commit to an opinion on what they had shared. Most importantly, she felt too exposed at that moment, vulnerable in a way that she did not like being while there was still this tangible uncertainty between them.

Evfra seemed to sense her unease, because he added, “I suppose I see what some others see in your kind.” His eyes went back to the wall.

Ryder dressed hastily, beginning to shiver, and let the silence stretch until she had almost all her clothes and armor back in place. Every inch of her seemed to have suffered from their earlier ordeal, her hands and arms were crisscrossed with cuts and she found a few bruises on her ribs and legs that were beginning to purple. All in all, she didn’t feel particularly attractive at the moment, which did not improve her mood, but she was proud of how she managed to avoid dwelling on thoughts of slapping Evfra silly for his idiotic lack of feelings when he had practically swept her off her feet earlier, or the ringing absence of admiration or displays of affection to soothe her nerves, or the casual dismissiveness with which he ignored her now, or his backhanded compliment, or…

Their eyes met again as she strapped the last piece of equipment in place and he very obviously noted her state of dress, as if surprised by it. Well what did he expect on a planet undergoing an ice age? she thought irritably, but nevertheless his look made her almost regret not waiting a little longer. Almost. Cold or no, she felt a little too damp this close to the lamp with all her armor on to trap the moisture in, but at least she no longer felt like her soul was bared before the insufferable man. She wished she didn’t have flashbacks of tender kisses along her neck or his almost rough, passionate embrace every time she looked at him. Clearly he didn’t feel at a disadvantage in his undress, nor did he seem to be plagued with such memories as he continued to just sit there without even a hint of embarrassment.

“Angara choose partners with serious intentions usually,” he said finally, and for a wonder he sounded uncharacteristically hesitant. His eyes were still like glaciers, though the more she studied them the more she realized that there was something different in the way he looked at her. It wasn’t warmth, but it was… a familiarity?

Ryder thought she knew why he sounded that way, though. Relief surged in her, but she was startled by how much his unspoken rejection hurt. She hastily composed her face and tried to let go of the inevitable feelings of inadequacy, irritated at herself for feeling them in the first place. It wasn’t about her personally, she was sure; it still stung that apparently he didn’t find her irresistible enough to forego this part of the conversation, though. Not that she had expected anything else; she just couldn’t imagine it going any other way.

“I cannot have a family again,” Evfra continued. Not exactly the gentlest way to put it, but it at least it was some consolation that there seemed to be a definite hint of regret in his eyes. Or maybe that was wishful thinking on her part, fulfilling a need to mend the laceration his words striped across her ego.

“It’s fine,” she replied stiffly, pressing her lips together to keep the building lump in her throat from putting a betraying quaver in her voice. She didn’t want him to misunderstand and think that she wanted more from him, after all. After a deep breath, she felt it was safe to speak again. “It was a one-time thing. You needed an outlet, and I suppose so did I.”

“Good,” Evfra said, finally standing. He stepped closer to her and unexpectedly ran a tender finger down her cheek. “Do not mistake this as a lack of desire for you,” he continued, bluntly as ever, “I know your heart is elsewhere and on my part I cannot let myself be distracted. The Resistance needs me. They are my only family and I cannot, I will not, give them anything less than my whole being, for the sake of my fighters and for all angara everywhere.”

Ryder quivered, fighting sudden hot tears of mingled despair and rage and she pulled away from him, turning her face away to hide it and he didn’t try to stop her. Why did he do that? It was bad enough that she was reacting like a schoolgirl turned down by her first crush; she wasn’t even sure if she liked Evfra at all in the first place.

“I think you made that pretty clear already,” Ryder replied stonily, though she tried to moderate her tone. She grimaced, concentrating on one spot away from him as she struggled to regain control over herself, trying to blink the tears back without letting a single one fall while keeping up the appearance that she was just fine with it all. She was fine with it all, she didn’t expect or want a… relationship with him; she did wish he would stop talking about not wanting it, though.

Well, perhaps it was a lie that she didn’t like him; he had put notions in her head before anything happened between them – but they had all been harmless fancies with no possibility of realization. Now that they had crossed over that threshold, she found she had no idea where they stood or how she was supposed to act. How did you keep a professional tone with someone you experienced cathartic passion with and ignore how unexpectedly fulfilling it was? No one had ever needed her like that before and even if what had happened was just a physical thing, the fulfillment had certainly been an emotional one. At least, that’s what Ryder felt she had poured herself into.

“Take me back to Aya,” Evfra said, “I’ve been away long enough.” He began dressing and, despite herself, Ryder couldn’t help but watch out of the corner of her eye. She was ready to admit she was a little taken with the way his shirt hung off his shoulders, crumpled and half-donned as it was. She felt a little calmer now that it seemed their conversation about what had happened was conclusively over; if he was changing the subject, there was nothing more to say.

“Any chance the Resistance could lend us a shuttle to get back to the Nomad?” Ryder asked, trying for briskness. She really didn’t relish the idea of braving Voeld’s climate again so soon after escaping it and though their brief time in Techiix was restorative, her body definitely had a ways to go before she could push it again.

“Those shuttles have important work to do, not carry you around for your leisure when you can walk,” he replied disapprovingly.

Ryder smiled. It was comforting to hear him his old, gruff self. “I had to try,” she said and the remark provoked a grunt from him.

When their eyes met again though, she saw again that familiarity, only now it struck her as an unquenched thirst for connection when he looked at her. Something profound had changed between them irrevocably and no light-hearted jabs at him would take that away. She wasn’t sure if she regretted that or not. That look did make her a little angry at him, though; if he was going to keep his distance, he should moderate his eyes and not make her squirm with uncertainty every time they met hers.

They left the room behind and from the moment they stepped outside Evfra’s whole manner changed. He radiated calm confidence and he seemed to have regained an ineffable equilibrium she hadn’t seen in evidence since they left Aya behind and their misguided ‘mission’ began. He acknowledged everyone that called out to him, but his long strides did not leave room for conversation, for which Ryder was thankful. She wasn’t prepared to face angaran honesty if any of them happened to notice and ask why she and Evfra had been closeted together for such a long time.

“Evfra,” Ryder broke the silence, “before we go back to Aya, maybe we should track down that Roe—uh, the angaran who lead us to the cave,” she amended hastily, partly not wanting to be overheard and partly not wanting to antagonize the Resistance leader. She remembered that he didn’t believe that the man they had met was a Roekaar, though she herself was convinced beyond a doubt. Evfra would see reason, but she didn’t think she had the leverage to convince him otherwise just yet.

“We’re done with that. You stay if you want to, but I am needed on Aya,” Evfra said with a finality that left no room for debate.

Ryder went on anyway, undeterred. “Isn’t it worth it to just check? He was poking around the very device which led us into a trap, you can’t call that coincidence. Not to mention that he was the one who shouted that name to you.”

Evfra sighed vexedly. “Very well, I will send a team to find him. Do not ask any more than that.”

“Fine,” Ryder said with relief. “I guess I’ll just… hang around headquarters to hear the results of that then,” she glanced at him sideways to catch his reaction, but beyond an ever so subtle twitch, he did not react at all.

Ryder thought the time of day must have changed, but to her eyes Voeld’s bleak skies were perpetually the same grim shade of gray no matter what hour it was. At least there was light enough to see; the road to reach the Nomad wasn’t exactly treacherous, but her footing was still far from steady. Somehow she managed not to slip every five steps and be faced with coming into physical contact with Evfra again and again; it did happen a few times, and each occasion left her trembling worse from memories than the cold. She wasn’t sure she could bear much more of that without tossing dignity to the winds and admitting that she wasn’t sure she was through with him yet, and as soon as that thought occurred to her, she decided that the man or the cold, or both, had simply addled her brains. It certainly was an uncomfortable realization.

They made the journey in silence and at least on Ryder’s part, she spent the time mulling over how to convince Evfra to pursue the investigation of the Roekaar, especially to clear the Inititative’s name beyond any doubt. She thought she must have helped the Resistance leader dodge the emotional harm intended for him by helping him release those feelings – thinking of it that way made her giddy, pleased and mortified all at once – but she was sure that there was more to this scheme than what they had encountered already. Besides, she truly wanted to punish the one responsible for using his own mother as a tool to break him in the first place.

Absorbed in thoughts of how to phrase her argument to Evfra and the brief, wistful daydreams of their time together which intruded into those thoughts, it seemed like no time at all that they were climbing into the Nomad and heading for the Tempest. The way her knees trembled and almost buckled as soon as she bent them to climb inside was a rude reminder that she was far from recuperated. In comparison to their trek across the almost seamless white expanse to where they had parked what seemed like an age ago, the portion of the journey travelled in the Nomad felt almost unreal as they glided effortlessly to the ship. When they finally rolled aboard the Tempest and climbed out, it occurred to Ryder that Evfra hadn’t barked any lurid instructions at her about hiding his presence; she wasn’t about to bring it up, though.

Being home again was sweeter than she expected, as if somehow the universe righted itself and she could properly sort out all the experiences she had gathered planetside. She immediately instructed Kallo to take them up and set a course for Aya over the comm, already immersed in fantasizing about a shower. The blood and sweat lost its charm very quickly, although she rather enjoyed Evfra’s lingering moonkissed scent clinging to her here and there, as if he had laced ambrosial snowy flowers through her hair and across her skin, masking everything else; perhaps getting rid of that reminder of their time together would help soothe the inexplicable hollowness she felt knowing it wouldn’t happen again.

Everything seemed to be going remarkably smoothly and she was almost sure she would be able to reach her quarters and seclude herself from everyone without having to talk to anyone – maybe even sort out her feelings if she was lucky – but as fate would have it, no one was where she expected them to be; their passage did not go unnoticed.

“Welcome back Ryder – Evfra!” Suvi said in feigned surprise, emerging from the Med Bay and passing them by. “It is a pleasure to have you aboard. I had no idea you were on Voeld.” She exchanged a smirk with Lexi over her shoulder, who was standing behind in the Med Bay’s doorway.

Ryder groaned, closing her eyes.

Evfra nodded to the science officer in sour acknowledgement without saying a word and Ryder wasn’t sure if he caught her mocking tone or not; she couldn’t tell by his reaction, since that expression seemed to be the default one he greeted everyone with. Then, to her horror, he headed straight for her quarters. Ryder practically scampered after him, hissing for him to stop, which he ignored. As they passed Lexi, she gave Ryder a friendly smile and a very speculative look and Ryder could feel her inquisitive eyes on their backs as they disappeared into the Pathfinder’s quarters. Evfra stopped once he was inside, examining her furniture disapprovingly, eyes travelling from couch to bed and everything in between.

“Evfra, you definitely can’t stay in here,” Ryder said as soon as the doors shut behind her, mortified.

“Why not?” he asked, crossing his arms.

“Well, they’re my quarters. I want to change and…”

“We have been intimate, there’s not much more to hide.” He frowned at her, clearly not understanding what the fuss was about.

Ryder gaped at him. “Uh, well,” she stammered, running a harassed hand through her hair. “You’re not hiding anymore, you could go anywhere on the ship, but if you spend your whole journey here they’re going to get the wrong idea.” Especially if she walked out of here fresh and clean; she dearly hoped her face wasn’t nearly as crimson as it felt.

“How is that the wrong idea?” he asked, frown deepening in confusion. “That’s exactly what happened.”

Ryder covered her eyes. How could she explain? He wanted to keep things professional – she didn’t think he was capable of ‘friendly’ – but didn’t seem to realize that even rumors of a possible dalliance would completely change their relationship in ways he probably did not want to experience, if only he knew about them.

“Look, Evfra, you said you don’t want anything between us,” she said awkwardly, not looking at him. “If you start flaunting that you bedded me,” the wording made her blush, but she wanted to drive her point home firmly, “no one from the Initiative will believe that we’re not in relationship. Everything we do will be scrutinized under that microscope, they’ll drag you into conversations because they think I have influence over you and I wouldn’t be surprised if your own people started to think of you differently.”

Evfra made a noise of disgust. “Your people have a strange way of going about this. What more is there to it than an expression of feeling? Even I have them, if I don’t share all of them with everyone.”

Frustration built into prickles of anger; the man was stubborn as an ox. “I would very much like to be alone for a time,” she said coolly, crossing her arms.

Evfra gave her a flat look. “You have an AI in your head. You are never alone. And you don’t have time to sit around here, I need to get back to Aya,” he said forcefully.

“You’re not very subtle, are you,” Ryder gritted her teeth before finally letting out a slow breath, giving up. “Fine, stay. I’ll be on the bridge.” As she was leaving, she rolled her eyes to the ceiling when Evfra immediately made himself comfortable on her bed, nodding in what passed for approval for him.

If anyone asked… she realized a simple denial would not work, but maybe if she just kept her distance and behaved as if nothing were out of the ordinary she might get away with it. Feeling angry, grimy and increasingly desperate for some time alone, she stalked through the ship to find a secluded corner and Evfra’s haste be damned, but Kallo’s urgent voice over the comm stymied that plan.

“Ryder, we’re receiving a distress call. Aya is under attack, the message isn’t clear but it sounds like someone is trying to perform an orbital strike!”

“What?” Ryder gasped. “Under attack by whom?”

“The reports say… it’s the Initiative,” Kallo said anxiously. “It could be the exiles, but they’re definitely our weapons.”

Ryder cursed, punching the wall. “On my way,” she said grimly, flexing the hand she had punched with painfully. She tried to focus on the anger she felt, it seemed to rejuvenate her, but a cold knot was building in her stomach as her thoughts kept straying to how she would explain this to Evfra; and whether she could continue to believe that her people hadn’t been behind it all from the start after all.

[flauntpage]

A Guide for Who to Root For in This Trash-Ass Super Bowl

At long last, we know John Wick’s impossible task: picking the more likable team in a Super Bowl involving the New England Patriots and the Philadelphia Eagles.

Wick is a New Yorker and definitely a Giants fan, so you know this to be true.

Every year, those of us who are fans of the loser teams not playing on Super Bowl Sunday prefer to have an easily identifiable villain to root against and an underdog hero we can pin our hopes on. Last year, it was easy, as the beautiful Atlanta Falcons dominated the vile Patriots for two and a half quarters before proceeding to puke all over themselves and fall into quicksand while trying to hold up their sagging pants.

The decision this year is much more difficult.

That’s why I’m here, to break down everything about the teams and help you choose your new favorite team for three hours. Patriots? Eagles? Let’s look at this logically and solve the riddle of Super Bowl LII.

QUARTERBACKS: Tom Brady vs. Nick Foles

Brady: He was brought into existence in 2001 when a scientist stuffed a football into a jar of mayonnaise and buried it in radioactive waste. While some people can be stupid in a charming way, Brady’s idiocy is more dangerous. He’s Forrest Gump if instead of chocolates and running Forrest enjoyed highly expensive potions that give sick people false hope and cheating at football with near total impunity. Brady has so completely shed his human form that he can’t answer a simple question about which Kendrick Lamar songs he likes after saying he likes Kendrick Lamar.

Foles: No idea. Is he lefty? “Nick Foles” sounds less like a quarterback and more like a strategy created by evil hunters. He’s blond, I think. Who is the last blond quarterback to win a Super Bowl? John Elway? That was like 20 years ago. Foles would have to be the blondest since Terry Bradshaw, right? Apparently he has a gigantic shlong, but that’s going to make half the people jealous and half love him. He probably can’t name a Kendrick Lamar song, either.

Advantage: Push

COACHES: Bill Belichick vs. Doug Pederson

Belichick: He’s cold, calculating, and ruthlessly efficient at cheating. If they ever make a Horrible Bosses 3, he needs to be a character that’s stalked by Tiquan Underwood. This guy either dresses like he just got done with a three-hour biceps session at the YMCA or he’s traveling back in time to participate in prohibition. He’s a man of few words where the media is concerned because he prefers to save them for love letters to Donald Trump.

Pederson: Wasn’t this the name that Cameron Frye is always using in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off? “Doug Pederson, Chicago PD!” How is this team in the Super Bowl? Before becoming head coach in Philadelphia, he spent three seasons in Kansas City as offensive coordinator and guided the Chiefs to no better than 21st in total offense in his time there. Don’t you dare say the NFL isn’t a meritocracy! He got a Super Bowl ring as holder with the Packers in 1997, which is like telling people you won an Oscar for Saving Private Ryan because you played a corpse on the beach.

Advantage: Push

CHAIN RESTAURANTS: Dunkin’ Donuts vs. Wawa

Dunkin’ Donuts: Bostonians’ years of defending the watered-down piss coffee they serve turned out to be great practice for defending an indefensible football team. “There’s something about the Dunkies in Boston that’s just different!” No, there isn’t. Someone in 1948 spilled sewer water into a coffee machine in Quincy and nobody had the heart to say they were serving garbage juice. This would be the perfect #brand partnership for Brady if he didn’t think coffee beans contained ligament fiber thetans or some shit.

Wawa: It’s a 7-11 that’s not self-aware enough to realize it’s just a place to get beef jerky on a road trip or a pre-cooked hot dog when you’re drunk. Wawa is to Philadelphians what music is to people when they’re teenagers—it was there in your formative years so you think it’s better than it actually is. “Oh, but they make sandwiches!” Holy shit, sandwiches? Can you get sandwiches anywhere else in the world? It’s a fancy rest stop named for how babies say water. Get lost.

Advantage: Push

RECENT HISTORY: Patriots vs. Eagles

Patriots: This is the Patriots’ eighth Super Bowl appearance since 2002. The Patriots have won no fewer than nine regular-season games since 2001 and have a record of 209-63 over that time. With Belichick and Brady at the helm, the Patriots have become the model franchise across all sports.

Eagles: Donovan McNabb puked on the field during a Super Bowl. From 2001 to 2003, the Eagles lost three straight NFC title games, the last two occurring at home. When they finally got to the Super Bowl in 2004, they lost to the Patriots. They would go on to lose one more NFC title game in 2008, which makes them a less successful version of those Buffalo Bills teams that lost four straight Super Bowls.

Advantage: Push

FOLLOWING RULES: Cheating vs. Not Cheating

Cheating: The Patriots have been caught cheating on two occasions, Spygate and Deflategate. It’s doubtful a team with a history of cheating only cheated twice, so we will likely never know the full breadth of the Patriots’ cheating but it’s probably wild. If you told me Belichick would get nude and oil himself up so he could slide in air ducts above the visiting team’s locker room with a recording device, I would believe you and hate you for making me picture that image.

Not cheating: The beauty of being a franchise without a Super Bowl is there’s no way anyone can accuse you of cheating. Or trying. Or being good. Man, maybe cheat a little, huh? That town needs it.

Advantage: Push

FANS: Insufferable Pricks vs. Volatile Assholes

Insufferable pricks: The one thing I truly appreciate about the douchebag core of Patriots fans is their unapologetic nature. “Everyone fucking hates you!” “Good. I don’t give a shit. Go Pats.” You have to respect it. There’s never any, “Not all Patriots fans are like that!” nonsense. They know the team cheats and the players and coach are trash but all the winning is so orgasmic they go with it. Bill Simmons is a 50-year-old man who probably has a “hate us because they ain’t us” tattoo on his calf and it’s damn admirable.

Volatile idiots: Now with Eagles fans, you never know. You could wear a Giants jersey to an Eagles game and either engage in witty ribbing and banter with good-natured fans or have your throat slit while waiting to buy a beer. And unlike with Patriots fans, there are still Eagles fans who play the “every city has bad fans” card. Sure. Every city has people who intentionally puke on children, throw batteries at players, punch police horses, craft large signs that say “FUCK MILLIE” because 100-year-old people should eat shit too, throw snowballs at Santa Claus, boo the franchise’s best quarterback when he was drafted, cheer because Michael Irvin may be potentially paralyzed on the field, throw a beer bottle at the best first baseman in franchise history, or climb into a penalty box to fight Tie Domi. You’ll find all that in every sports town, absolutely.

Advantage: Push

TELEVISION SHOWS: Cheers vs. It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia

Cheers: Really funny show about 1980s people in Boston who don’t care about anyone but themselves, hanging out in bar. It stars Rhea Perlman, who is married to Danny DeVito.

It’s Always Sunny: Really funny show about 2000s people in Philadelphia who don’t care about anyone but themselves, hanging out in bar. It stars Danny DeVito, who is married to Rhea Perlman.

Wait, should I be writing a TV show about a bar in … New York?

Advantage: Push

MOST FAMOUS FAN: Mark Wahlberg vs. Mark Wahlberg

Seriously, this moron from Boston—who claims to be a huge Patriots fan even though he left in the middle of the Super Bowl comeback last year and blamed his child for it—says he doesn’t care who wins this year! Why? Because not only is Come Awn Come Awn Feel It Feel It a huge Pats bro, he once portrayed some shitty player who only made the Eagles roster because the team was so damn shitty.

Can you imagine this idiot being asked about global warming? “I’m really rooting for humans to survive climate change but I was in a movie where trees and plants killed people, so I’ve got a special place in my heart for leaves. I’ll be happy no matter who wins.”

Advantage: Push

It turns out the lesson here is don’t root for anyone. Don’t even watch the game. There’s a decent chance John Wick 2 will be on one of your HBOs. Watch that and don’t look back at NBC until Monday morning.

A Guide for Who to Root For in This Trash-Ass Super Bowl published first on https://footballhighlightseurope.tumblr.com/