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John Wilkinson’s “The Meaning of Hate”

When the final buzzer sounded last night at the end of regulation in the Kentucky-Coppin State matchup, our inner Louisville Hate was finally set free again.  We no longer have to pretend to care about tune-up games like Winthrop and Coppin State, or holidays, school closings, and family members.  Now, all of our focus is on that filth we call Little Brother.

Sadly, the official KSR Louisville Hate Day is only one day out of the year and it’s reserved for football season.  (If I had my way, it would be a 365-day event.)  But that doesn’t mean we can’t look back on its greatness as we get ready to infiltrate the Yum Center and eat all of their fried chicken on Friday afternoon.

So in preparation for the annual domestic violence on the basketball court, I’d like to share with you one of my favorite Louisville Hate Day posts.  It was written by a fallen KSR brother, John “Intern” Wilkinson, and it paints the perfect picture of the Louisville fan base.  Enjoy…

The Meaning of Hate by John Wilkinson

(September 2, 2010 – Louisville Hate Day)

A friend once asked me, not long ago, “What does the University of Louisville mean to you?

I stopped, peered westward to a setting sun, and briefly pondered the unlimited boundaries of this unrestricted question.

“Well, my friend, since you asked…

It means, having a chip on your shoulder. It means drowning in a sea of discontent. It means not getting accepted into UK. It means failing to grasp the meaning of sports. It means failing to grasp the meaning of life. It means growing and maintaining a line-beard that is perfectly symmetrical and no more than 1.4” in width. It means playing on Thursday nights and coordinating Black Outs, White Outs, and Affliction Outs. It means driving a Chevy Cavalier with an Acura logo and Eurolights. It means taking road trips to places like Piscataway, NJ and Storrs, CT and pretending to be excited about it.

It means caring more about UK’s affairs than those of your own. It means painting a beak on your face. It means obeying the word of Tom Jurich, bowing before his eminence and not taking his name in vain. It means hosting a UK call-in show one year, then a UofL one the next. It means being fat. It means tailgaiting in an asphalt abyss surrounded by the ruins of the industrial revolution. It means Edgar f-ing Sosa. It means ironing your flat bill every morning. It means commuting from your parents’ house every day. It means ugly girls who look like Mr. Kool-Aid in a sundress. It means how my shit smells. It means somewhere in your life, you were touched inappropriately by an uncle in a UK hat. It means having a KCTCS campus with a Big East affiliation. It means wearing Curve. It means cargo jean shorts. It means not getting ‘it.’ It means playing cornhole at tailgates, and craps too.

It means a glorified sense of entitlement normally reserved for narcissists and teenage girls. It means getting more enjoyment out of being the loud minority than you do from sports. It means supporting a coach who cheats on his wife, takes care of pregnancies and arranges marriages between crazy whores and school employees in an effort to save face. It means bringing Crown Royal to a tailgate. It means putting your “L’s” up. It means C-A-R-D-S Cards. Seriously, what the hell is that? It means playing the National Anthem (Feat. Lil’ John and Ludacris). It means clever nicknames like T-Will, Sam-Sam, and E5. It means getting tasered at graduation. It means a Papa John’s football stadium and a Pizza Hut basketball arena. It means Ron Cooper. It means you don’t even know who that is which means you just proved my point. It means L-yes, L-no, L-ton John, and shut the L-up. It means being a whitehead on the ass of a greater cause. It means wearing jerseys with “The Ville” and embarrassing an entire state. It means having less class than Jackson Co. Schools in the winter. It means picking your nose, and eating it. It means asking for seconds. It means looking at yourself in the mirror and hating what you see.

That, my friend, is what UahL means to me. Does that about cover it?”

Let that hate out.

Only 44 more hours…

Article written by Drew Franklin

I can recite every line from Forrest Gump, blindfolded. Follow me on Twitter: @DrewFranklinKSR