Hate It: Athletic Recruiting

When I was but a wee lad of eight, a devious coach whipped a baseball at my head. The force of the pitch knocked me to the ground and changed me forever. No, I didn’t lose brain cells from the trauma. And no, it doesn’t explain my huge nose. Instead, I learned that athletes are simply wicked people.

Now we’re dealing with this whole Harvard basketball recruiting scandal and I’ve had it. Now, I hate Harvard recruits too!

My hatred of recruiting originated at the Phoenix Club. Standing in knee-deep snow, I was attempting to explain how my hometown neighbor used to baby-sit the cousin of a former member. As I was told “no” for the fourth time that night, a group of water polo recruits struts in, no questions asked. I trundle back to Pennypacker, where my proctor is pouring my roommate’s alcohol down the sink.

Recruit admissions? Not even going there. I totally understand legacy preferential treatment. The Allston campus isn’t going to build itself, now is it? But most of these athletes won’t bring Harvard a dime!

Plus, I can tell you why food prices are exponentially increasing. It’s not a growing demand coupled with constant supply (sorry, Mankiw). It’s the athletes who eat their weight in roast beef every night, while HUDS serves the morning’s leftover eggshells to the rest of us.

Some will quip that I’m bitter. But, personally, I think the gene pool worked out for me! After all, I can take my Medieval History exam in comfort in cramped Science Center desks, while the DHA-clad giants can’t even squeeze in the aisle past me.

In sum, until I’m writing “Harvard” on my March Madness bracket, Harvard recruits can kiss my ass.