Let’s face it, if you are reading this, it is highly unlikely you are on track to fulfilling your childhood dream of becoming a professional athlete (unless you are the girl who got a perfect 10 on vault for UF Gymnastics. I don’t know anything about gymnastics, but that shit was dope — shout out Alex McCurty).
You grew up watching phenoms such as Michael Jordan, Derek Jeter and Wayne Gretzky. You emulated their moves, reenacted their plays and donned their uniforms, hoping, wishing, desiring that one day you would grace the same fields and feel the rush of thousands of fans screaming your name.
Back to the real world where you will unfortunately never step up to plate at Fenway, take a Lambeau Leap after hauling in a touchdown pass or raise Lord Stanley’s infamous cup. Now when you create yourself in Madden, you have the soul crushing experience of inputting your actual height and weight of 6’ and 160 pounds.
via GameCrate.com
You spend your Saturdays and Sundays binge drinking in an effort to both bond with friends and take advantage of your days of youth encapsulated in a sort of responsibility-less biodome that is college while watching grown men manhandle one another in orderly fashion.
But deep down, beneath the veil of drunken jubilance, you long for your high school days when you were the big man on campus.
When wearing your varsity jacket every day of the week was socially acceptable. When you drew black triangles under your eyes before each game because you claimed it helped block out the glare from the stadium lights. (But we all know you did it to look cool.) When simply mentioning that you were “on the team” got you laid. I believe electronic dance music trio Swedish House Mafia said it best: “Those days are gone.” You can’t go back.
The fire inside of you continues to burn, however. The eternal flame that drives you to compete and dominate in any task no matter how trivial remains.
Anytime someone challenges you to a chugging competition or a teacher rewards the student who finishes their quiz first, the chant from Mighty Ducks D1 echoes in your mind, “WIN, WIN, WIN.” You are overflowing with the ideal blend of athletic and intellectual aptitude, yet lack a true stage to showcase your tenacity.
via DirtyDangle.com
Just when it seems like there is no hope, a beacon of light shines through your 2nd floor Looking Glass apartment in the form of text message from that guy who you’ve had like, five classes with because you’re both the same major and he’s kinda your friends but not really.
“Yo we’re throwing together a team for flag football if ur down.”
This mere 12-word inquiry might as well have been William Wallace’s final speech in Braveheart.
This is it. This is your chance to relive those years ensconced in glory. In the heat of the moment, you reply back: “I’m down.” It’s on. You dig up your cleats, Knibb High Football cut-off and eyeblack. You’re ready.
via wifflegif.com
A few days pass, you meet up with a couple of the guys on the team to toss around the pigskin and you come to a realization: You fucking suck. You’re out of shape, not as agile as you once were, and you’ve put on some unforgiving weight since senior year of hikes school (shameless “Billy Madison” reference).
And that’s when you say to yourself, “hey if we’re gonna suck, we might as well look good doing it because in life there’s really no point in doing anything unless you look like a fuckin’ boss.”
That’s where GainesvilleScene comes in.
We want to sponsor your intramural team. Yes, that’s right, GainesvilleScene-sponsored jerseys. Nice, well-designed, high-quality jerseys. Don’t go out there looking like a bunch of uncoordinated bums (both physically and sartorially).
So if you think that your team is The Ultimate Intramural Team, fill out the form below stating your case for brand new, state of the art, bad ass, John McClain-esque jerseys.
And remember: Pain heals, chicks dig scars, glory lasts forever.
