black undershirts: no longer just for 1990s high school students and Ed Hardy enthusiasts
The KSR crack-reconnaissance team went out this week to gather intel on one of Big Blue Nation’s most vile enemies. While this has been done before, we wanted to take it a few steps further and get really creepy by showing up at his house. (Don’t worry – we had no plans to bring torches or weapons.) After a few brief water-boarding sessions with some higher-ups in the UofL Athletic Department, we acquired Thameltoe’s address. Surprisingly, this troll didn’t reside under a bridge or in some sewer. Here’s a detailed report from one of our spies first recon trips to Pete Thamel’s home:
5:00pm — Orange. His house his f-ing orange. The entire thing, too. It looks like someone broke into a Sparks warehouse, force-fed themselves the toxic concoction, then puked the entirety onto a fairly big suburban home. In the backyard, there’s gigantic archery bullseye with a fathead of Coach Cal’s face emblazoned across it. Ten arrows rest right in Calipari’s nose. About 30 empty Beer 30 cans litter the back porch. A large Syracuse “S” has been painted into the grass.
6:00pm — Pete Thamel pulls up in his SmartCar. We almost didn’t hear him coming, but we ducked behind the archery set just in time. He carried in five bottles of wine and a stack of video cassettes.
6:30pm — We watched from the window as our boy downed an entire bottle of Boone’s Farm Watermelon as he cooked himself a Kentucky hot brown for dinner. Once he finished the meal, he sat at the table alone with a highball glass of bourbon. He then dumped the bourbon all over the hot brown, spit on the dish, and threw it all into the trash. Pete ended up eating a grilled cheese while fighting back tears.
7:15pm — After sneaking in the back door, we got an up-close view of Thameltoe in his office, scouring the internet on his laptop. First, he google searched “Pete Thamel”. Before long, he was browsing KSR, giggling at photoshops of himself. Then, he hopped on Twitter and searched his name again. Instead of laughter, this one brought tears.
8:00pm — Pete grabbed a tub of ice cream and plopped down on his couch. He inserted the VHS tapes into his 1980s era television and up popped the UK vs. UofL Final Four game.
9:00pm — After much fast forwarding, he reached the end of the tape along with the bottom of the Rocky Road quart. He threw in another tape – this time it was the UK vs. KU National Championship game. Peter watched this one all the way through, including the trophy and MOP ceremony.
11:00pm — As the tape hit its end and popped out, we heard a knock on the door. We jumped, but Pete calmly got up from the couch, as if he expected company. We huddle close and peered at him as he unlatched the door and swung it open. The stood PAT FORDE! The two men embraced long and hard, with closed eyes. As the guest opened his eyes, they locked with ours. Forde spotted us.
11:05pm — We ran as fast as we could to our car and sped off.
There you have it folks. One night with Pete Thamel ends in a sportswriter bromance. Maybe we give Thameltoe too much of a hard time around here. I don’t really care, regardless. Pete Thamel sucks. Go Cats. Never forget…