Quakers will feel the Tigers' pain

Whoa there, Princeton.

Just take a deep breath.

You see, the same thing seems to happen every year with us.

When confronted with the sad realities about your basketball program, you throw a hissy fit.

You try to say you're better than us, that Penn stinks and that we took your lunch money when you were little kids.

Well, Princeton, what I should do with this column is tell you to get over yourselves right now.

But no. I won't do that.

Because I want to help you.

So, friends from New Jersey, before you start spouting delusions about how great almighty Princeton is, let me extend to you a friendly hand, on behalf of Penn:

We understand how you feel.

And it's OK.

Hey, we'd feel that way too if we realized how worthless our university was.

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We know how demoralizing it must be to watch your team barely escape with wins over the likes of the Virginia Military Institute and Lafayette.

We get how tough it can be when your team loses its first four — that's right, four — Ivy League games.

We know what a letdown it must be to get all worked up for a game and then watch your beloved Tigers score in the mid-30s. And how boring it must be to watch an offense that's main objective is to be slow.

We know it can't be easy to watch your players quit the program faster than you can say "Scott Greenman, come baaaaaack!"

We know the shame that comes with — brace yourselves — losing to Dartmouth. Dartmouth!

We certainly know how much it must suck to grab the hotshot coach from two timezones away, only to see him preside over two years of disappointment. (Especially since our new coach seems to be doing fine, and we only had to go to Providence to get him.)

And worst of all, we know how much it must suck to find yourselves a month into Ivy League play with one measly victory in the league you're supposed to dominate.

And this was supposed to be your comeback year! It seems like some sort of college hoops domesday [sic] scenario.

The funny thing is, it's all real. And it is happening to you, Princeton.

In the spirit of friendship, we all empathize with you.

We know how you all suffer the humiliation of attending an institution that just can't stop embarrassing itself.

Sure, there are plenty of things besides basketball that you suck at — and that, coincidentally, we're great at.

We relish life in urban America. You detest life in crappy New Jersey.

We are beautiful. You are not.

Amy Gutmann likes us more.

Believe me — I could go on and on.

But the point is that we can be friends, Princeton. And we hate to see you doing this to yourselves. Failure doesn't make the you [sic], the Ivy League or even us look good. Nobody wins.

So Princeton, in the spirit of friendship, or at least civility, I beg of you: don't soil yourselves or the Ivy League any more. Please stop. Enough is enough.

But if you still can't stop turning yourselves into laughingstocks, especially after our Quakers crush you yet again tonight, don't even worry about it.

We'll know exactly how you feel.

We'll know just how much it sucks to be you.