The Suxa Awards: What's Up, Loserfaces?

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Ed. Note: With Georgetown's loss on Wednesday, Hoya Suxa won this year's edition of "The Bet." This is him cashing in his chips.

Hey, best friends and friendettes! Are you ready for your favorite part of the day? (You know, the part where I totally ruin it?) Terrific! Let’s hand out some accolades!

Please note: Things got a little hazy for me around the 8:00 mark of the second half. Buckets of beers tend to impact my ability to operate heavy machinery like motoring vehicles and simple machinery like bar stools. So, if anything below appears not to be attached to reality in any reasonable fashion, you may contact those responsible at:

Goose Island Beer Company
1800 West Fulton Street
Chicago, Illinois 60612

Gerry McNamara Heart of an Actual Champion Award

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Pew! Pew! I shot you in the heart (or, as you’re Hoyas, where a heart would be)!

29 points, 6-11 from distance, seven boards, and 45 minutes of dream-crushing for those in topsiders and punch-o-gram worthy seersucker pants. When you consider that Joseph is Canadian and given the current exchange rate, that box score line looks even better with superfluous vowels and a slight slur from all the Molson necessary to stomach it.

More Awards after The Jump:

"How do substitutions work? Really? He has to walk over there when? No, I’m not following you. Start over again. Wait . . . huh? It’s too late now? God." Award

John Thompson, III. It’s basketball. The rules didn’t, like, change on Sunday afternoon while he was searching YouTube for Miley Cyrus videos for "research and stuff. Huh? No, wait. This page was already on the computer when I turned it on. I swear to God! DAD! BROADUS IS MAKING FUN OF ME AGAIN! MAKE HIM STOP IT!"

"Cool shoelaces, bro. Where’d you get ‘em, 1983 via time machine?" Award

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What, were neon leg warmers and slap bracelets just totally ballin’ impediments? Let’s all hope and pray that Georgetown keeps its contract with L.A. Gear after the Big East crumbles into a beer league with a bunch of bankers wearing rec specs and complaining that games need to end in the next 15 minutes because they need to get home in time for House Hunters or else their second wives are going to absolutely kill them.

Award for Giving Awards Award

Hoya Suxa. These have been terrific so far. I’m thoroughly impressed with myself. I’d like to thank myself for being myself. I really earned it.

Geppetto Award for Outstanding Achievement in Running a Puppet Regime

Mike Tranghese. So, this clown takes a consulting job with Memphis to get the Tigers into a BCS conference, bad mouths the football schools after West Virginia, Pittsburgh, and Syracuse go all, "Smell you later," and all of a sudden Memphis is in the Big East. I guess the only bad part about that is the investment Tranghese must have made in latex gloves so he could operate Marinatto's mouth from his behind.

Honorable Mention: John Thompson, Jr. Unfortunately, you need to donate more than DNA to get the results that you want.

Six-Day Bender Award for "I'm Sick in Bed; I'm not Going to be Able to Make it to Work"

Tim Higgins and Jim Burr. Those two gasbag red-noses managed to not find their way to the Carrier Dome Wednesday night. If Drunkard the First or Drunkard the Second were dodging coronaries all night as they tried to stumble around the court, I may have had to do some research into the effects of bleach on the digestive system. To steal a tweet of mine from a few weeks ago:

"OH, GOD. SO TIRED. *WHISTLE*. OH, GOD. I DON'T KNOW. HIM? YEAH, HE DID IT. WHAT DO STROKES FEEL LIKE? GOD." - Jim Burr/Tim Higgins

Although, ensuring that both teams are in the double bonus by the under-eight break in each half gives each of their Oklahoma-sized livers ample time for the bartender to cook up a Higgins/Burr Special -- Gatorade and brandy with a turkey leg garnish. That's always exciting.

A New Fight Song for People That Complain About Officiating Award

I've been alive for 31 years and in that time I've discovered two absolute truths:

1. People wanting to give you a free copy of The Watchtower always seem to knock on your door on the Saturday morning following a night in which you've committed awesomely pleasurable sins.
2. If your team loses, it's the referees, man. What a hose job. Home cooking, I tell you. Fucking bullshit. God. And it's not even like the winning team's fans even see it. Bullshit, man.

I know it was only the vocal minority that bitched and moaned about this on Wednesday (and Thursday and Friday) -- c'mon, it's the Big East, get over it -- but I did put together a new fight song for all you Hoyas that had your feelings hurt because the league hasn't put together super referee robots that will call a perfect game, then eventually go berserk, enslave us all, and use us for cheap labor as we build their robot sex camps for disgusting robot referee sex:

Otto Porter Award for Being Otto Porter and Making Me Break Things That I May or May Not Own

On Wednesday, I went on a Syracuse radio program and the host mentioned that there wasn't a Hoya on the current Georgetown team that you truly detested, like Michael Graham or Patrick Ewing. I responded that it was true that there wasn't anyone that I'd want to immolate and then dance around their ashes, but that there were a lot of guys that were annoying. Otto Porter is officially "Annoying Guy that Annoys Me and that I Will Try and Slowly Kill with an Elaborate Plan to Poison Him With Arsenic." Now, to find my local Arsenic Shoppe and an apothecary that'll be cool and look the other way.

The "I Have Work to Do and This is Already 1,000 Words Long So I'm Just Going to Re-Hash Some Stuff I've Previously Written" Award

Hoya Suxa. From a piece I wrote called, "What I'd Do to Jack the Bulldog," because gratuitous shots at mascots is never out of style:

The first thing I’d do if I ever got my hands on Jack the Bulldog is feature the pup on my home version of "Will it Blend?" The process of determining whether the tyke will blend is fairly straightforward: I’d put the flea bag in a blender, set the dial to "Puree," blend the hell of the mongrel, and say, "Yes, this’ll blend." If you want to get technical, I don’t think that blending the pooch would be animal cruelty as much as it’d be an effort in scientific research. I’m pretty certain that a dog has never been blended before, and to use Jack the Bulldog as the first test-case is both a triumph for science as it is for removing pure evil from the world.

On second thought, maybe blending Jack the Bulldog is a bad idea. Blending a canine could be a messy experiment, especially if I attempt to blend his Hoya handler at the same time. I’d need to buy science gloves and science goggles and a big science blender. I really don’t have time to go to the science store to buy all of these peripherals. Plus, I don’t know if I have the stomach to blend a canine, even if my findings would end up in The New England Journal of Medicine. Sure, I’d test dangerous cosmetics on Jack the Bulldog (who wouldn’t?), but blending him seems to present some tough hurdles to overcome.

Hoya Suxa writes Hoya Suxa, a blog about nothing important. It probably won't exist in 12 months, so thanks, John Marinatto. An e-reader collection called I'm Ruining It for Everybody Else: The Best of Hoya Suxa should be available for download in late-spring or early-summer. It'll contain revised versions of the best of the site's content as well as some new material. Also, I totally realize that I ended up using this space to push an unpublished book instead of absolutely crushing Georgetown. Them's the breaks.