Matt Waters is a sophomore Journalism Major at St. John’s from Whitestone, NY. He has aspirations of making it big as a screenwriter in Hollywood. In the meantime his fallback plan is writing for Johnny Jungle.

1. You place the desolate one on a pedestal

Allow me a moment, if you will, to indulge in a bit of earnest religious dogmatism.

[Cracks knuckles]

As a humble, God fearing man, I could never support a university that willingly promotes the first of the fallen, advertising evil through every single jersey sale. You people should be absolutely ashamed, willingly lowering your standards to such a heinous level where the devil stands supreme, an iconic image held in reverence.

Repent, Duke fans!

Compare Duke’s pro-satanic stance with the refreshingly progressive geniuses, nay, heroes, at St. John’s University, who succumbed to external pressure and changed the basketball team’s name, transforming the horrid Redmen into a mildly frightening weather front, and understand basketball teams shouldn’t be measured in talent, but political correctness. Count me among the many that could only wish St. John’s had an ethnically ambiguous tree as team mascot.

Here are five good reasons I could never join Duke’s unholy legion of fans, despite the rather… sorry state of St. John’s Basketball. I tried finding a better adjective, I really did. It wasn’t there.

Beware, Duke. The Red Storm appearing on your radar may not be intimidating, but it is well respected in the community. We at St. John’s are true believers in the theory that altering the stereotypical names of collegiate teams represents a meaningful step toward alleviating the damage done through over 100 years of broken treaties.

St. John’s… making a difference… the right way…

Oh… and here’s the part, I’m sure, where all the “fact” police will bombard me with E-Mails, calling me an idiot and claiming the Blue Devil name is derived from a heroic group of French soldiers who valiantly fought for their country in World War I, and not at all connected with the One who created Income tax. To them I say…

2.   You paint your faces

I mean seriously, painting your face in preparation for attending a sporting event couldn’t be more pathetic. Take one look in the mirror, Duke fans. Has the sorry, sinful blue mess standing before you exceeded expectations in life? Does he really find meaning through the rough swab of a brush? Does he feel part of something greater than himself because thousands of other similarly lost souls join him?

Here in New York, which I’ll refer to as civilization from this point forward, a helpful point of reference I think, a grown man doesn’t feel this primordial desire to paint his face.

What is this, medieval warfare? Carrying a battle-axe to the arena, chief? William Wallace leading you into battle?

Do St. John’s fans paint their faces? Hell no. Here, IN CIVILIZATION, face painting is frowned upon, a task left for the dregs, the bottom of the barrel.

No, good sir, we get drunk, and hope for a transition basket or two.

Surely, this face painting has to be connected to the aforementioned Satanism, part of some kind of sick ritual. I’m onto you Duke.

[Peers suspiciously over shoulder]

3.   You rooted for a guy who lied to a blind man

As fans, we’re sometimes put in the awkward position of rooting for a player that we’d absolutely despise… if he weren’t sporting the local team’s laundry. Hell, we’ve all been there. Met fans praying half their roster could stave off relapse until November, circa the glorious eighties. Knick fans gleefully pretending Latrell Sprewell was an upstanding citizen who hadn’t strangled his previous head coach, while enjoying one of his trademark second half scoring runs. Yankee fans pleading ignorance with regard to Jason Giambi… and Gary Sheffield… and Roger Clemens… and… well, the bottom line is, fans are constantly prostituting their values in return for victory. This is, unfortunately, part of the deal. No fan base could ever claim moral superiority over another… especially Duke.

Oh sure, any faithful, card-carrying member of the Cameron Crazies [ugh] possesses, within his argument arsenal, a ridiculous amount of ammunition as it pertains to the high caliber of character produced by their beloved program.

Grant Hill? Rescues kittens from burning buildings while somehow drinking sprite.

Shane Battier? Making dinner reservations for a philosophical discussion with Jesus and Albert Einstein.

Oh, there’s more. I’m sure someday a Duke Swingman will bring peace to the Middle East, thanks to an innovative plan based around creative face painting.

But!

There’s a serious weakness to this seemingly impenetrable moral fortress.

I introduce Carlos Boozer, a key piece in Duke’s stirring 2001 National title run. Carlos was enjoying a solid NBA career with the Cavs, post-college, tied in to a reasonable contract. Seeking more money, he guaranteed to Cleveland management that they could secure his services on a multi-year contract… if they waived their option on his 2004 contract.

The Cavs, dreaming of a LeBron James-Carlos Boozer tag team ripping up the league for years to come, was understandably leery of letting Carlos hit the open market, but their concern alleviated when Boozer gave his word to blind owner Gordon Gund, pledging loyalty and preaching mutual respect.

After all, who could a lie to a blind man?

A blind man who had the faith to invest a draft pick in you? A blind man willing to waive your affordably priced option as a personal favor, paving the way for your acquisition of millions?

Listen, I’m all for equality when it comes to judging people. Disabled people often resent pity, and they definitely reserve that right.

But, you simply don’t lie to a blind guy with this much at stake. It’s tantamount to robbing karma’s house and urinating your initials on her brand new thousand-dollar rug. Insult magnified. You just don’t do it.

Apparently, this proud Duke grad could, and did. Upon being released from his contract, Boozer quickly threw a ninja smoke bomb and scurried to the Utah Jazz, where he stars to the present day, the Cavs hierarchy still blinded and bewildered.

So, Duke fans, I never, ever want to hear about J.J.’s poetry, Shane’s political aspirations, Grant’s secret, Super identity [all the injuries were a front!]  I never, ever, want to hear you brag how easy it is to root for such good kids.

This factor’s been nullified, thanks to Carlos Boozer. Clear the high moral ground!

4.   You root for a team well-stocked with Super Geeks

Allow me this digression. I’ve often found in life, that perception couldn’t be further from reality. In no situation was this fact further cemented than during my ill-fated High School career.

You see, American kids growing up in the nineties were subject to hour after hour of pure Sitcom gold, featuring teenage characters in wholesome situations that nobody could relate to, but remained oddly entertaining nonetheless. Despite the fact we knew Saved by the Bell was total B.S., and that Jessie Spano would have been addicted to something other than caffeine pills in reality, we began forming these warped expectations of life acquired entirely through the television screen.

The most backward of these assumptions had to be jock-geek separation.

We were led to believe that, when High School began, some kids would be smart, some kids would be athletic, and the two could never, ever intertwine, lest the universe surely collapse upon itself.

My illusions were quickly shattered upon encountering the hybrids, Jock-Geeks who could herb you in English class before delivering an eloquent metaphorical breakdown of the third short story in Dubliners.

These kings were truly despised by the majority of us, those who experienced unbearable difficulty attempting to squeeze ourselves into merely one acceptable stereotype. I wavered between quiet guy, nerdy guy, and funny guy before finally settling into lazy guy, sometime late in sophomore year, after an arduous bout of soul searching.

What does this have to do with your team, Duke fans? Well, you always seem to lead the world in these hybrids, affluent hoopsters willing to debate the merits of Nietzsche philosophy before unmercifully destroying defenseless schools like St. John’s. The chairman of this board is probably Battier, but he isn’t alone, not by a long shot. Your university has probably recruited an army of these hybrids, stored within waiting boxes inside a warehouse, programmed to enjoy the music styling of Beck. It’s the X factor that propels your already unbelievably high quotient of unlikability into transcendent levels.

“Wait a second,” we note in amazement,  “Not only are these guys bigger and faster than my guys, they could wipe the floor with them in a debate too? What is this, some kind of sick joke?”

I curse you, Duke fans.

5. Duke doesn’t play in New York

Sure, the Johnnies may be down and out right now. They often take cringe worthy shots that defy both logic and the laws of nature. A young team, they try forcing success instead of letting it flow, tensing up and falling behind, not in possession of the talent to erase early deficits or the experience to maintain a sound game plan. There doesn’t seem to be a legitimate explanation excusing their dearth of true top-level talent, why the prized High School kids are fleeing a city where this game used to reign supreme. Hard finding any overreaching arch justifying Norm Roberts’ tenure, the program spinning its wheels. This is a young team. They might blossom. They might not.

But, despite it all, St. John’s basketball is a New York tradition. Around here, you don’t carry that kind of weight without earning it, sticking around a long while. Their play in the Garden of late has been borderline depressing, but it’s still the Garden, and they are still St. John’s.

They own a priceless piece of this city’s sports soul.

Yeah, the best reason I have for not being a Duke fan is that I’m a New Yorker.

Red Storm jokes aside, that definitely means something.

For better or worse.

Johnny Jungle Staff Writer: Matt Waters

Email Matt with comments, complaints, confessions, & the ever so rare compliments at MWaters@JohnnyJungle.com

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The Unofficial 6th Man of St. John’s Basketball