By Batman

As much as one claims to love the apparently “untarnished” and “pure” college sports environment, such trite sentiment hides the truth: college athletics simply aren’t as vital, powerful or engaging as professional athletics.

Like the way I dispense justice, pro sports offer unadulterated performance with no pretenses.

I assume you will preach about the glorious equality of college sports, the Greco-Roman idealism of the student-athlete and such related clap trap.

Ah, Superman, always confused, always straining for the illogical and impossible.

Professional sports are the brutal perfection of athletics. I don’t want my athletes to be young, half-formed and stuck in a murky twilight of collegiate athletics that’s at best tainted.

There are no secrets in pro sports: the athletes are groomed machines, breakdowns on the field and off are in full view of the public domain and there utter transparency toward the creeping intermingling of money and sports.

College sports are just another shadowy den of crime. Boosters give millions to “amateur” athletes, untold sins are made in the lecture halls and libraries by young men and women who believe themselves higher than the laws confining the “mortal” students.

So, I say take your dirty pool of college athletics Superman, the ideals of athletics are dead, and in their stead I say celebrate the pragmatic and bloody warriors of professional athletics. These men and women know their role in society, they have no pretenses, they are citizens, not puffed up children.

 

By Superman

While your “groomed machines” run around their playing fields and pretend to moon crowds or run into the stands to try and maim people who throw plastic cups, the real athletes of the world are out busting their asses on their respective playing fields.

Then again, what would Batman know about exceptional athletics? You can’t even fly, let alone stop a train with your bare hands or have hours of mind-blowing sex with Lois Lane – or any woman for that matter.

Anyways, much like that find- at-the-bottom-of-a-cereal-box excuse of a utility belt you have, professional sports are a joke. Since when are middle-aged men with 15 knee replacements and 30 illegitimate children considered warriors or heroes? The only thing heroic I see about them is their ability to battle through their swelled egos and the ill-effects of steroids to somehow find the strength to lie to Congress. How admirable.

College athletes play for free (real colleges, that is. That excludes you, Columbus). They are the true warriors of the game, taking on all comers for only the love of the game.

And when they’re done giving their blood, sweat and tears for their respective institutions, these model citizens and gods of academia bend over backwards in the classroom. Pro athletes may do some bending over backwards too, but most of that consists of the bending over backwards that Eugene Robinson did with a hooker he picked up during Super Bowl week a few years back. (No really, I heard he’s quite flexible.)

So Batman, take your “powerful” pro athletes (Shawn Bradley) and I’ll settle for my weak little amateur athletes (Matt Leinart). Not only would Leinart kick Bradley’s ass, but I’m comfortable enough with my sexuality to say that he’d look handsome while doing it.

I mean, for God’s sake, he got with Kristin from “Laguna Beach.”

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