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.

 In the latest paper thin edition of Sports Illustrated, journalist Grant Wahl crafted a thoughtful article regarding the descent of rabid college basketball fans into a self-perpetuating moral abyss. Wahl suggests that the mob has pole vaulted over the line separating healthy passion and maniacal fervor, implying that the downward spiral has not yet hit bottom, worsening as the stakes of every game inch higher. A varied spread of incriminating photos strengthen the essential narrative of the piece, as color coordinated masses of angry students, most sporting snarling game faces, attempt creating distraction and instilling intimidation. Whether they succeed depends entirely on the emotional fragility of the player or teams under attack, though talent usually triumphs over circumstance, even in extreme instances. This fact doesn’t curtail the asinine behavior, however. Not even close. It further emboldens the student section to get their hideously painted face or mildly amusing sign on television. It’s in these crazy, confusing times that this writer checks himself into church and thanks the Almighty for Saint John’s Basketball.

Ah, the Red Storm. Prepare the umbrellas, dear readers. Slip on those rain shoes. And for Goodness’ Sake, put away that tomahawk FOREVER. When we last left our heroes, they were valiantly battling a more talented Georgetown team, eventually vanquished in the second half by the Big East leading Hoyas. It was a game typifying their season, determination and defensive prowess unable to balance a dearth of offensive firepower. A cynic could suggest it a microcosm for an entire disappointing and dispiriting era, though that bitter characterization may be harsh. Maybe.

A hardcore Johnny fan may have experienced a familiar sense of sickness listening over the radio, as the Storm simply dissipated after cutting the Georgetown lead to two shortly after the twelve minute mark, offensive game evaporating, failing to flush a bucket for five minutes as the contest slipped down the drain.

But fear not, those of suspect, sagging morale!

Because St. John’s University has the cure for all that ails… an instant gimmick that just may justify all that pent up disgust!

Is your anticipation building? Spare a moment for a guess?

Could it be donation day, where loyal fans can chip into an illicit funds box during halftime, pooling their resources together to buy the next big recruit a shiny new corvette? How much are you willing to sacrifice for a frosh ready to run the court, St. John’s faithful? Five dollars? Ten? Reach into your pockets!

While this idea sounds great, in theory, according to the most recent edition of the NCAA rulebook, this kind of promotion would be, in fact, a rules violation. A most helpful asterisk also directs one to rent mid-nineties movie masterpiece “Blue Chips” for a dramatic representation of the inherent immorality in luring big time players with under the table payments and promises. Featuring a downright inspiring performance from the relentlessly jovial Nick Nolte, and dynamite supporting turn by legendary character actor Shaquille O’Neal, “Blue Chips” is a real buzzer beater for the whole family to enjoy. The asterisk listed all this. That NCAA rulebook is amazing.

With this option out, could it be Norm Roberts appreciation night? I can see it now… hundreds of different banners waving from the rafters… each featuring a different, yet totally valid and understandable excuse, for such a horrendous season. We want to believe in Norm, damn it.

But, guess again.

 The answer to this confounding query is remarkably similar to the basic meaning of life, almost exactly, in fact. 

Shirts.

Surprised?

Don’t be.

Shirts have been shaping civilization since the dawn of time. When Adam and Eve fell from grace, it’s a well-known Biblical fact they both reached for discount Tees after splurging on expensive, custom-made pants. This Original shopping sin began a cruel cycle, the shirt foolishly underestimated throughout human history.

Think about it.

What’s more important than a shirt? How do you identify yourself as a human being? Is it through your personality? Or a wonderful skill set completely unique to you? Do you find meaning in athletic prowess, the innate ability to create free flowing poetry in motion?

Of course not… these suggestions are ridiculous, dare I say blasphemous.

Shirts are the answer. You are what you wear. It was the brilliant 20th Century philosopher Andre Agassi who suggested image is everything. He has never been proven wrong.   

After all, St. John’s has been known as the Red Storm since the 1930’s, and never, EVER had a name that could ever be construed as offensive to our Native American friends.

Why pick such a seemingly random color for unification?  Why not something stronger, like bronze, or hot pink?

Here are three thought provoking possibilities.

1.   We have declared unconditional surrender and request a peace treaty, immediately

Do we really have a quarrel with Seton Hall? Could it be shortsighted to expend our emotional and physical energies on a game that could ultimately rendered meaningless in the grand scheme of time?

Why can’t we be friends?

Waving a white flag to signify the acceptance of defeat supposedly began within the context of ancient nautical warfare, as overrun ships would hang the color from their masts in acknowledgment of their incompetence.

Perhaps this is the purpose of wearing white. To the increasingly hostile and aggressive Pirates, we send a simple, diplomatic message: can’t we all just get along?

Instead of playing a basketball game this Saturday, perhaps we could all throw on immaculate, stain free white tops and pretend it’s summer. Let’s break out the volleyball and let good times roll.

Competition is existentially vapid, anyway, a pathetic stepchild of vanity. Let’s rise above this vacuum of negative energy, for strategy’s sake alone. After all, master strategist Neville Chamberlain, former British Prime Minister, was an advocate of appeasement. If Seton Hall refuses to bend to our passive powers of persuasion, we should simply acquiescence to their demands, undoubtedly achieving peace in our time.   

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

You know the shirt guy? The kid who goes online to buy witty rags before helpfully pointing out the product’s subtle brilliance to the rest of us mere mortals? Why do you think he’s so happy?

Here’s a hint: It isn’t spiritually fulfillment.

 It’s high time that St. John’s properly acknowledged the power of the shirt. Better late than never, I suppose.

Indeed, Whiteout night looms at the ‘Secca this Saturday, and I couldn’t be more excited.

The administration has prompted its rudderless student body to show some unity for once, OUTSIDE the classroom, where it really counts.

We have been called upon to wear white, en masse, as we support our Big East powerhouse during the final campus battle of the season.

One query has been plaguing me, however, haunting my dreams and downright poisoning my soul.

Why white?

plaudits, you suddenly notice something amiss in the stands. It occurs to you that most of the fans are engaging an unsuccessful bid to “whiteout” the arena with their shirts. The rudimentary inanity of this experiment, the nonsensical paradox of a school that proudly splatters the color red all over it’s Campus suddenly embracing this vague notion is all too taxing for your nervous system to handle. Arms suddenly twitching erratically, you shoot the second free throw into the second row, a sea of uniform whiteness, forever haunted by the stupidity of all.

Yes, you have fallen victim to the Johnnies’ master plan, lifted directly Sun Tzu.

Confuse the opponent and attack, or something.

3.   Red is a very offensive color

Here at St. John’s, we are extremely adept at feeling the pulse of political correctness; politely bowing to it’s every whim.  Maybe than, it should come as no surprise that red has landed in the university’s doghouse.

Far too long, red has been at the scene of almost every tragedy. When a person bleeds, there’s red, mocking their fragile mortality. When you’re constrained by those pointless traffic “laws”, there’s red, daring you to blow that light and start a new life in Mexico. How much longer will we let red degrade our color spectrum?

When you blush, embarrassed? Red.

When a rash attacks? Red.

How bout the color of fire, a destructive force of nature that man would have been just fine without? Look close. You’ll see some red in there.

I for one congratulate St. John’s for beginning this difficult process, this whole white out scheme a cover for the ultimate plan of phasing out dreadful red.

What new color, do I suggest?

Stopping short of an actual recommendation, I’ll say this:

 Who among us doesn’t find inspiration in maroon?

  Ultimately, there probably is a painfully obvious explanation for this thought process, someone will most definitely E-Mail it to me with the humbling subject line “hey dumb ass”, and this world will again begin to make sense.

Until then, go ___ Storm.

 I don’t know what to think anymore.

P.S. Lost in all this whiteout controversy was the administration’s brilliant idea to have Senior night during Spring Break. Well played.  

Johnny Jungle Staff Writer: Matt Waters

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

2.   We have covertly began psychological warfare

Wait a second, scratch surrender. Has our administration launched a cunning, devious plan to ensure victory?

Think about it. You’re Eugene Harvey, at the free throw line with the game hanging in the balance. You haven’t paid any mind to the fans to this point, able to block out external distractions. But now, with three seconds left and your team trailing an inspired Red Storm by two, all the pressure rests on your shoulders. You carry the burden well, swishing the first attempt, mechanics fluid, perfect. As the ref bounces the ball back in your direction, and teammates offer restrained