This is Michael Greshko

It’s not so long before the class of 2014 invades campus for Bulldog Days, but some admits are already making themselves known with the power of the World Wide Web! Meet Michael Greshko, applicant at 14 schools (accepted to 3 so far) from Charlotte, North Carolina. He’s been accepted to Yale (his first choice!!), Vandy, and UNC and will be blogging about his decision process on the New York Times Blog The Choice.

Michael seems a perfect candidate for Yale. On December 15th, when he heard he got into Yale “Hugs abounded and fist pumps flowed like water,“ so he clearly knows how to beat up the beat. He’s got a blog and a well-rehearsed vlog post, so he would fit right in at Bulldog Productions or in an admissions video.

Keep watching and encourage him in the comments to come to Yale.  “As more replies find their way to my mailbox en masse, I’ll resemble a mastodon doing a jig in the La Brea tar pits, straining to extricate myself from a very sticky situation. This April is going to be interesting.” Life’s tough.

Quyen Slotznick/YH

Last Saturday night, we should have been studying for our Psych midterm. We could have been playing pong in the God Quad or crashing PiPhi Crush. But we were driving a borrowed car to Quinnipiac University, and we were hopelessly lost. We were following directions—given to us via text message—that involved driving a half hour up Whitney Ave., turning at a Dunkin’ Donuts, and driving up a veritable mountain in Hamden until we saw people.

After 40 minutes of missed exits and wrong turns (it turns out there are more than 500 Dunkin’ Donuts within 50 miles of New Haven), we found what we were looking for: the hockey rink at the TD Banknorth Sports Center. We’d like to think this makes us dedicated fans of Yale Men’s Hockey.

And we don’t mean to brag about our dedication, but honestly, have you gone to every home game for the past three seasons? Can you identify Yale players based solely by their flow? Did you know about the free beer room in the basement of Ingalls during each home game? Do you know who is the favorite player of Roland Betts, JE ’68, (the Senior Fellow of the Yale Corporation, and former owner of the Texas Rangers)? Do you believe each home hockey game should be treated with the respect given to each football game (i.e., face paint, generous tailgating at Bulldog Burrito)? And did you make the harrowing drive to—shudder—QPac to cheer on the team at its last regular-season game? If you can answer yes to all of these questions, you are Denny Kearney’s, PC ’11, dad, Bear Handlon, BK ’10, or lying.

For the record, Betts’ fave is Broc Little, SM ’11—Betts thinks he’s a fabulous player.

Fans make all the difference. We know this because for some reason Canada continues to win Olympic gold despite the team’s Sidney Crosby-radiated douchiness. Canadian fans cheer louder; Canadian hockey teams win in overtime. The same can be said for Yale. How many home games has Yale lost since tickets started selling out at Ingalls last year? Like two?

Now if you want to sit in the student section, you have to get your tickets days in advance and arrive at the rink an hour before face off (or at least send your sober friend to save seats). And the Harvard-Yale game? We had to call every single person in our lengthy contacts lists to find a spare ticket after going to the bookstore a week in advance and coming up empty.

It almost makes us nostalgic for the days of the ’07-’08 season when we could stroll through the doors halfway through the second period, flash our school IDs, and take a seat right behind the glass. But as true Yale Hockey fans, we’re forced to welcome the Ingalls newbies and force a smile as we explain what sick flow means, and why Jimmy Martin, ES ’11, is soft for shaving his head midseason. After all, the more the merrier, and we know the boys thrive off the crowds. As one defenseman so eloquently said, “Oh, yeah, it’s the best…”

So now we happily make friends with all supporters in the stands. A few weeks ago, one Cold War TA was so enthusiastic about watching the game that he physically threatened a Yale undergrad that was standing in the first row and obstructing his view. A certain six-year-old fan called “Champ” squeals every time his favorite player, defenseman Kevin Peel, SM ’12, gets on the ice. The Forestry and Nursing School students who were lucky enough to sit behind us at the Harvard-Yale game couldn’t stop talking about how Yale Hockey games were more fun than their entire undergraduate experience.

So anyway, while we were at the Quinnipiac game last weekend, we noticed something strange—the entire student section was a sea of yellow (featuring BEAT YALE shirts that we bought to cure breast cancer, and also because they offered us a QPac student discount). We tripped over about 30 yellow phallic-shaped noisemakers on the way to our seats.

Even the pipes were painted yellow. David Swensen, GRD ’80, we know the endowment is suffering—but we’ve seen you at the games. You actually sat in our row that one time. Can’t we put a little money towards some tangible spirit? We love boxing matches between Captain Freedom and Handsome Dan, but where is our free face paint? Where is the “QPac Sucks” car, paid for by the University, for Yale students to demolish before the game?

We maintain that Yale fans have more heart (forward Andrew Miller, BR ’13, agrees—when asked who was more enthusiastic, Yale or Quinnipiac, the answer was a resounding “Yale”) and a greater love of Freedom, but we hockey fans need more administrative and financial attention. The Q-Packers were so enthusiastic, it was like they were at Seaside Heights, or singing “Livin’ on a Prayer” at Saturday Toad’s. And we’re pretty sure all of it was driven by the free crap they were getting to cheer their team on.

Anyway, the regular season is over, Kevin Peel, SM ’12, has shaved his head, and we’re not sure what we’re going to do with our Saturday afternoons now that we’re not drinking margaritas at one p.m. We’ll be following the playoffs from Cancún and eagerly awaiting to meet next year’s recruits at Bulldog Days. No, really, Chloe will show them a good time. In the upcoming offseason and future budget planning, we ask just two things: Remember the hard-core hockey fans (we’re pretty sure we just proved we deserve the credit for two ECAC titles) and recruit Ryan Miller.

Following a 2-0 victory over the United States in the gold-medal final, the Canadian women carried their alcohol-soaked celebration from the locker room to the ice rink in a display that drew the ire of the International Olympic Committee (IOC), the Games’ governing body.

According to the Associated Press, the hockey players, one underage, poured champagne into each other’s mouths and puffed on cigars, all while sporting their shiny new hardware. As the medal ceremony had ended at least an hour before this impromptu party, the only audience left besides team staff was a small international media contingent. Alas, in the Internet age, precious few moments remain private, and stories of the post-game revelry soon sped along the newswire.

Announcing plans to conduct an official investigation, IOC executive director Gilbert Felli voiced his displeasure: “I don’t think it’s a good promotion of sport values. If they celebrate in the changing room, that’s one thing, but not in public.” In an attempt to save face, a few of the athletes offered canned apologies, stating that the excitement of the occasion clouded their judgment. Instead, the writers who created such uproar about a veritable non-issue should apologize to the players for casting a shadow over a joyous day that these women should remember fondly.

Public outrage towards the incident underscores the today’s persistent sexism in the coverage of women’s sports. If Team Canada’s male counterparts had celebrated their own gold-medal win in a similar fashion, it doesn’t take much of a stretch to imagine that same press row would have been toasting right along with them. In the National Hockey League (NHL), which features teams based in both Canada and the United States, players go so far as to drink champagne directly from the prestigious silver Stanley Cup, the sport’s cherished championship trophy.

While this type of hoopla does typically occur in the closed confines of the team’s locker room, away from the bright arena lights, television cameras broadcast the debauchery to an international audience. The media and fans alike can accept somewhat boorish behavior from top athletes, as long as the competitors in question aren’t mothers or daughters.

Held every four years, the Olympic Games showcase the very pinnacle of athletic achievement. Men and women from across the globe test their competitive mettle as billions crowd around TV sets to witness history. Athletes are charged with the duty of serving as ambassadors for their home countries, both while competing on the ice and lounging around the Olympic Village. But it is no secret that the parties kick off as soon as the winners finish their victory laps. Anyone who was shocked by images of the young hockey players flashing empty bottles of bubbly and mugging for the cameras probably frequents the early-bird special at Denny’s. Nevertheless, today’s 24-hour news cycle leaves reporters scrounging for stories, and athletes often pay the price for even the most harmless indiscretions.

Like the Canadian women’s hockey team, American snowboarder Scotty Lago was forced to atone for his poor etiquette in the wake of a medal-winning performance. Lago garnered a bronze medal in the men’s half-pipe snowboarding event and was apparently not shy in displaying his hard-earned prize. In a series of photos that appeared on celebrity gossip website TMZ.com, a woman was seen kneeling to kiss the medallion as it hung loosely around Lago’s waist. Given the sexual overtones of this representation, Lago was quickly reprimanded by the United States Olympic Committee (USOC) and eventually had to leave Vancouver, the site of this year’s Winter Olympics.

By exiling Lago from the Games, the USOC implied that his admittedly silly misstep outweighed his contributions to the American cause. The U.S. led the overall chase with a grand total of 37 medals, seven more than second-place finisher Germany. Such a considerable margin would not have been achieved without the wayward snowboarder. Similarly, the Canadian women brought great pride to their home country, but seemingly failed to live up to an arbitrary standard for social conduct.

Olympians face intense scrutiny from the press, along with the pressure to perform on an international stage. As women, the Canadian hockey team encountered the gender inequalities that pervade public discourse in Western society. But the larger issue lies in a voyeuristic culture, fueled by the rabid entertainment media that prevents young athletes from indulging in their right to occasional excess. Like they say, what she don’t know, can’t hurt her.

1. How long will Tiger stay away from golf? Will he play the Masters?

2. LeBron James is coming up on free agency! What should he do and where should he go?

3. MARCH MADNESS. Who’s going to take it?

HENRY GRABAR SAGE

1. Tiger Woods was on the cover of the New York Post for more than 20 consecutive days. That breaks the record held by 9/11. In times like these, the best thing to do is get back to what you do best. In Tiger’s case, he needs to start golfing again so we can remember why we ever liked him in the first place.

2. On this one, I’ve gotta go against the grain. I know I’m supposed to say I want LeBron on the Knicks—but here my greatest sympathies lie with the city of Cleveland, which hasn’t won a championship since (gasp) 1964. And let me tell you, it ain’t gonna be the Browns or the Indians that ends that drought. It’s LeBron and the Cavs or bust for Cleveland, not to mention that in the age of free agency, you love to see a guy actually spend his whole career with one team (Jeter).

3. As a native New Yorker, I’m already thinking back to when ‘Melo and the Orange won the big dance in 2003. Granted, my hometown of NYC is definitely geographically closer to Villanova, but New York State pride is at an all-time low and we need a boost. After having two crook governors in a row, New York State deserves a champion. Go Orange!

GEORGE HARRIS

1. Tiger Woods will stay away from golf about as long as he can stay away from big boobs and prostitutes. Expect to see him at the Master’s. THE MASTER SLUTZ.

2. You know that show “Shaq Vs.?” Where Shaq went out and challenged a bunch of other great athletes to their sports? LeBron James should do that in real life. I’m pretty sure with his natural athleticism, fierce competitiveness, and ridiculous speed, he could get into every major Hall of Fame. After he finishes getting every award in professional sports, he should be the president, then an astronaut, and a ninja.

3. I’m pretty sure that Kansas is going all the way. I mean, it’s Kansas. All they have is basketball, unless Turner Gill can get in there and make that ragtag bunch of clowns they call a football team into something serious. My number two choice would probably be the Trumbull C-Hoops Basketball team. They’re freakin’ legit.

BEN SCHENKEL

1. I give him the equivalent of a Tang Dynasty until he’s in tip-top shape and raring to grace the links again. The Tiger has been crouching in solitude (or is it sex rehab?) for months now, and I have no illusions that he’ll emerge anytime soon to reassert his dominance. Before he can play in the Masters, Tiger will need to be more gung and less ho.

2. Forget about LeBron’s endorsements with Nike, Sprite, and McDonald’s—once he’s released from his contract with the Cavaliers, he’ll have an even sweeter deal in the works. Starting with the “330” tattoo already engraved on his lower right arm, LeBron will do the painful yet profitable bidding of his newest corporate sponsor: Yellow Pages!

3. Word has it that March will go out like a lamb, but alas, I have no such barometer for college hoops. That doesn’t stop me from predicting that the Muhlenberg Mules (no relation to Francis) from Allentown will take it all, even though my wretched hometown hasn’t charted anywhere since 1982, when Billy Joel wrote an insulting song about it. Oh, wait, the Mules’ season is over already…

Sure, the players change every decade or so, but each will always play out as expected: a guy hitting a ball and running around a diamond, 10 guys aiming for a hoop, and a bunch of behemoths trying to murder each other while pushing the ball downfield. I can already hear you sputtering, “B-b-b-but Thayne! These are the sports that we grew up with! These are what make us American!” To which I respond, BIG DEAL. We’re in a globalizing world, and it’s high time for us to make a name for ourselves in the most-watched, most expensive, and most-glamorized sport in that world: Formula One, more commonly known as F1.

Sadly, many of our readers have no idea what the hell I’m talking about. To them, F1 is more likely to represent CHEM118 than the amazing automotive spectacle that constitutes the sport. In short, F1 represents the pinnacle of car racing. American NASCAR, with its endless left turns and identical car designs, can’t even begin compare to the complexity of F1 tracks, cars, and strategies.

F1 races take place on some of the most challenging tracks in the world, including the famed Nürburgring in Germany and Monza in Italy, as well as newer tracks built specifically to host the sport, like Sakhir in Bahrain and the Shanghai track in China. These tracks take some actual skill to get around. Oh, and about half the races take place on city streets. The cars themselves are capable of 220 mph, about 25 percent faster than NASCAR’s and completely without the electronic safety aids. We’re talking the potential for 200 mph mistakes, which makes for some seriously high stakes.

I hear another “but” coming, and this time it goes something like, “But car racing is SO BORING.” To which I respond, F1 is quite possibly the most action-packed sport there is. In addition to the actual races, which are filled with their fair share of crashes, overtaking, and cars blowing up for no apparent reason, there’s plenty of drama between races. Two years ago, the leading McLaren team got caught stealing confidential racing information from the No. 2 competitor, Ferrari. The penalty? A complete stripping of all their points, and a 100-million-dollar fine. Last time I checked, we haven’t had a scandal that costly since the Black Sox fixed the World Series. And this happens every year, as drivers switch teams and get paid astronomical sums to race and sometimes just to sit on the sidelines and act as advisors.

To ensure that the excitement never wanes, the regulatory body known as the FIA changes the rules every year or so. Just last season, the engines were forced to drop two cylinders to a V8 configuration, basically requiring a total redesign for all teams. Aerodynamics are strictly regulated, as are the tires and fuel supplies—all in the name of keeping the race as close as possible, and equally dependent on driver skill.

And are these drivers really athletes? You bet they are. Going for a couple hundred of miles while pulling two or three G’s in some corners, while maintaining lightning-quick reflexes, these guys are at the pinnacle of physical fitness.

Compared to our more human-powered sports, F1 actually leads to usable technical innovation. The cars run on fuel that is 95 percent comparable to what we get at the pump, and any advance in fuel tech at the track results in more efficient stuff going into your relatively pedestrian sedan. Add the development of carbon fiber, sequential manual gearboxes, wind tunnel testing, as well as a ton of engine technology, and F1 has redeemed its astronomical costs simply by contributing to the safer and more efficient cars we civilians dive on a daily basis. Hell, the cars have even pioneered a new cheaper hybrid system that doesn’t require the heavy batteries of the Prius or other full hybrids. Once again, these things are legit, especially when we consider that the only thing baseball tech has given us is a better steroid.

So, dear reader, you’ve endured a tirade driven both by midterm stress and a total lack of writers this week, and I thank you for your patience. But seriously, if you’ve never watched one of these absolutely epic races play out, give it a chance. The season opener in Bahrain will be aired on Speed TV over spring break, on Mar. 14 to be precise. So sit down with some friends and some good food, and prepare to totally abandon Monday Night Football.

As the winter season draws to a close, it’s wise to look back at what has happened, and look for ways to become even more amazing in the future. The main lesson that I think we can take away from the Branford winter intramural season is that either we play, or we die. Literally, unfortunately. Well, not literally literally, but…RIP, Women’s Volleyball and Ice Hockey. We had a little trouble with squash as well, although, in our defense, this is likely because all of our squash players got lost forever trying to find the practice courts in the Branford basement. (They really are down there!…somewhere…don’t go looking for them by yourself. Or at night.) In the sports that we played, though, we absolutely killed. We won Bowling, came in second in Men’s Volleyball, and are sending our A-Hoops, Choops, and Women’s Hoops Teams to the championships. The message is clear: when we come together, we DOMINATE. The Tyng cup is ours for the taking; all we have to do is show up (and stay out of the Branford basement!).

(Compiled by the Branford Intramural Secretaries)

Ezra Stiles

Seven. I know what you’re thinking. Stiles? Seventh place? That’s shameful! But, you know, being number seven actually isn’t so shabby. I mean, in the second half of the standings we are first place, after all. Swell. And seven is a pretty nifty number too. Magical, lucky number seven! In many cultures and religions it holds tremendous significance and symbolism. There are seven days in the week, seven wonders of the ancient world, seven seas, seven deadly sins, seven colors of the rainbow, seven notes in a musical scale, seven SI base units and seven cervical vertebrae in almost all mammals, to name a few. Sure, it’s taken a while for me to see the virtues of being seventh. But, after giving it some thought, this is the place to be! We’re having a blast. We’re not losing sleep over points or feeling the pressure to stay on top. We’re having fun. Our Co-ed Hockey Team led by the valiant Tyler Borek, ’10, and fearless Max Hendrickson, ’11, had a rocking season, our B-hoops Team was smoking, and our Co-ed Bowling Team did us proud. We’re building camaraderie. Sure we may not be winning tons of games, but we’re winning in a different sense. Let’s hear it for the MOOSE!

(Compiled by an IM Sec with a new appreciation for the number seven)

Pierson

The Pierson PIMPS were close this week. Socloseithurts. Socloseyoucanbarelyreadit. I’m talking heartbreakingly close. I saw two volleyball games go into win-by-two-overtime and one water polo game go into sudden death overtime. Usually losing sucks but losing like that? It’s a whole different story. It’s past sucking: It’s like the part of life responsible for sucking went to the Sex Week lecture on oral sex­—but in a really bad way. Come to think of it, I’m not sure why the expression “sucking” even sucks. I’d like to know why that means what it does; but more importantly, I’d like to know why we come so so SO close but can’t put it away. Just do me a favor, and don’t say it’s ’cause we suck. I don’t even know what that means anymore!

(Compiled by Pierson IM Sec Al Gore)

Saybrook

Saybrook will finish the winter season in second place.

Let’s take this time to reflect upon some of the great second-place finishers in the history of sport. In 2008, the Josh Hamilton put on a dazzling display in the final home run derby at Yankee Stadium. Though he finished a close second to Justin Morneau, history will always remember the 28 bombs he launched in the first round.

Or what about Tom Watson’s playoff loss in the 2009 British Open? Stewart Cink may have bested him over the final three holes, but the world will always remember the time a 59-year-old almost rocked the golfing world.

While it is certainly appropriate to reflect upon the glory of second-place finishes in sporting lore, it’s a bit of a moot point. Saybrook’s trademark “slingshot” strategy has finally been engaged. Building on the momentum we’ve seized by leaving TD in the dust, Saybrook is on a collision course with front-running JE. Brace yourselves. It’s going to be a big spring for the boys (and girls) in blue.

At least we’re not in third. What a joke.

(Compiled by three HUGE Yankees fans)

Timothy Dwight

Don’t be fooled by little numbers. TD is still the best college at Yale. That is why other teams feel the need to constantly prove that they’re somehow “better” than us. I guess spiders have an inferiority complex (rightfully so, being that they are very small). I appreciate the classy competition though. It’s nice to be humbled once in awhile and to find out what it’s like not being on top. Don’t fear though, the lion will awaken from its hibernation and come out to play in the spring. We will fight till the end because, unlike spiders, we do not fall at the onset of a little rain.

(Compiled by 12 is greater than 2)

Trumbull

Trumbull College tore it up this season. We had eight teams finish with winning records; seven teams went to the playoffs; and one, our Women’s Volleyball Team, took home an Intramural Championship.

The ladies of the Women’s Volleyball tTam are a story all by themselves. After losing two matches before the break, the girls came back and went on a 12-0 win streak, defeating the dreaded forces of JE in a championship volleyball duel. Special shout-out to Chelsea Allen, ’12, Molly Patterson, ’13, Liz Rao, ’13, Verena Lehner, ’12, Liz Dunn, ’10, Lindsey Mischner, ’13, and their valiant captain, Rebecca Treger, ’12. Congrats, ladies!

Of course, we’re not the type to rest on our laurels. We’re looking forward to bigger and better things. Trumbull is gearing up for the spring, with teams of highly trained athletic operatives getting organized to continue war on the intramural establishment. We want to finish this historic year with even success out at the fields.

On top of that, we’re already thinking about the fall season. Yep, that fall season. Spring practice starts up as soon as we get back from break, and the football teams have a grueling lift and conditioning schedule coming up. Look forward to more surprises from the college you never saw coming.

(Compiled by the Supreme Commander)

When the 9/11 attacks occurred, I avoided TV until 2002. When I finally forced myself to watch an HBO documentary showing footage of the event, the horror of the attacks devastated me. I had waited so long to expose myself to the tragedy that the media’s initial sensitivity and coddling of the American public had passed, deepening the documentary’s effect on my young psyche.

One would think that this would teach me not to shield myself from reality, but I failed to learn from the harsh lesson of experience. Thus the next time a crisis gripped America, I once again isolated myself from the painful facts of the situation.

The crisis this time is the Financial Crisis—yes, capitalization is necessary—we currently face, which I have attempted to ignore since September of 2008. At first, avoiding news of the crisis was somewhat easier than one might imagine; I was ensconced in the notorious “Yale Bubble,” where the only real signs of economic crisis that I encountered daily were the small increase in coffee prices at The Publick Cup, the new wave of panhandlers that descended upon Broadway, and some witticisms from Jon Stewart that made the issue sound almost funny.

I stopped reading the New York Times Business Section; I avoided Econ majors like the plague; and I ignored parental advice that I not change my course of study from Chemistry (“an economically sound field with a future!”) to Political Science (“the only thing you can do with that degree is go to law school, and no one is hiring lawyers!”).

My sophomore year of college passed smoothly, and when it became apparent that money was tight at home, I was relatively unfazed because I had always been broke.

Enter 2010. Junior year—still a Political Science major, still broke—but the difference now is that I can’t seem to find any way to become not-broke. The newest crisis that I have encountered is the child of the previously mentioned and capitalized Financial Crisis: the “there-are-no-internships-or-jobs-for-junior-Political-Science-majors” crisis.

And this time I am unable to ignore the reality of the situation. It so pervades the campus that it seems every conversation I engage in turns on the fact that practically everyone is unemployed or settling for a low-paying or unpaid position that they don’t particularly want. Even the table tents are rubbing our noses in our collective mass unemployment; one Yale Student for Christ tells the tale of his unsuccessful hunt for internships, although he offers his version of a happy ending in discovering Jesus’s love. Many of us are not quite so lucky, and as we read his story over our tofu apple crisp, we despair that we have neither jobs nor Jesus.

Sure, there are some exceptions; there are a few jobs in consulting and I-banking, but the ratio of people getting those jobs to people seeking those jobs is depressingly low. As it turns out, the job situation is just as miserable for those of us who don’t aren’t looking to enter Goldman or McKinsey. The YCC dating survey phrased it most poignantly: “What will you do after you graduate?” it asked. The answer choices? “a. Teach For America. b. Consulting/Finance. c. Be Homeless.” One would think that maybe graduate school should be a fourth option here, but alas, even grad school funding and admissions rates have dropped through the floor.

So what is a summer job-less Yale student to do? I, for one, have written more bogus cover letters to companies I have never heard of, and applied for more grants—for internships that I don’t even have yet—than I can bear to count.

I suppose I could find comfort in the fact that I am not alone in this futile endeavor, but Schadenfreude was never really my thing. I could admit defeat to the internship gods, dedicate my summer to community service, and live at home. Although that might be the most selfless and the most charitable way to spend the empty months of May, June, July, and August, I’m afraid giving up has also never really been my thing.

The only recourse I can see is to remain (perhaps naively) optimistic about the future, to continue applying for jobs, and cross my fingers for some (good) luck. After all, it’s only March, and I won’t consider myself truly unemployed until at least May. There is still time for something to pull through, and maybe, with a little good fortune, one of those previously unknown companies will offer me my dream job. But for now, when people ask about my plans for the summer, I tell them about the great deal I got on a prime piece of real estate under a bridge and seek their advice on the most pleasing intonation for the question, “Paper or plastic?”

Rachel Fabi is a junior in Ezra Stiles College.