Bartish is Dead To Me

I've known Mike Bartish for a long time. Over that time I have overlooked a great number of things.

When he told me that I must be charming as hell because I was definitely unattractive, I laughed it off.

When he forced me to bet Elmo and then pay for it to get it back, I took it as a life lesson.

When he called me at 3:30 in the morning to let me know that he was on the roof of his house, I shrugged it off as a drunken prank. As well as the six subsequent calls.

When he caused me to lose $45 dollars at one table by watching me play blackjack and jinxing my luck, I simply moved to a different table. Even then he said Hi to me from afar and I lost a double-down, I forgave him.

When he failed to block Ted Kiser during the most celebrated sack in 1L Express history, I shook it off as good videotape material.

When he walked into my friends sliding glass door with a full glass of beer, I chuckled and told everyone he was mildly retarded.

When he lead the movement that would inevitably lead to me being killed on a desert island because of my succulent ass-meat, I simply chalked it up to Darwinism.

When he convinced his preacher to lecture me about living in sin at his wedding reception, I took it as a message from God and left the girl.

When he put Two-Hole on my softball jersey, well, there wasn't much I could do about that.

So it goes without saying I have cut the guy some slack. I then find out that he has decided to ditch the UC/Miami tailgate to go to the Notre Dame/Purdue game, I think I have finally lost it. Why?
1)He's known about the tailgate for at least two months.
2)He's skipped out on the first three
3)The last Notre Dame game he went to, last week's unbelievable win over MSU, he left before the 4th quarter.
4)Moose gave up tickets to last years Notre Dame USC game to come to the tailgate.
5)It's friggin' PURDUE!

So Bart, my memories of my first trip to Vegas are of three people, not four. I walked by myself around Western Hills Country Club. At Wainio's fundraiser I was chanting "Pants", not "Bartish's Pants". And I alone couldn't figure out it was Bret Bone serving me beer at the Yucatan Liquor Stand. I hope your happy.