Welcome! Thompson’s Towel puts on its roastmaster hat and invites you to engage in the roast of Syracuse ahead of the upcoming basketball game today.
Let’s start with Otto the Orange.
Otto the Orange is an anthromorphic piece of fruit. This is a cold hard fact. As a mascot, it is so profoundly stupid, you’d hardly believe that anyone could be that stupid to come up with that kind of idea. And then you realize that we’re dealing with Syracuse people here as this “braintrust”, and suddenly it all makes sense.
Otto the Orange’s big thing is rolling around. I wish I was kidding.
For some reason, the people of Syracuse revere this mascot. That says a lot about what kind of entertainment is available up there.
Their head coach Jim Boeheim isn’t much better. The dude is so lazy he decided to tell his teams to do a 2-3 zone and call it a day, and leave them to fend for themselves on offense. The only time Jimmy has ever put forth any effort is when he’s digging around his nose.
If you thought that just because Jim Boeheim was a “professional” coach at a “college” he wouldn’t play his mediocre son, you thought wrong. Not only did he give his son a scholarship, he’s made him a starter. He’s literally like the worst little league coach ever who plays their son all time even when that son absolutely stinks up the joint. And let me tell you, Buddy sure does stink. For a supposed “three point specialist”, he sure can’t seem to shoot all that well.
Syracuse’s best player currently playing in the NBA (and perhaps all time) is the desiccated husk of Carmelo Anthony, perhaps the most proficient ballhog of all time.
I’d mention Dion Waiters, but he’s too busy getting suspended for overdosing on weed gummies so he hasn’t actually played yet this season.
Syracuse is a fine university to get a degree from; their major in macaroni art is second only to their classes with coloring books.
The city of Syracuse is like something out of one of Bruce Springsteen’s dystopian songs about the death of the American dream. Syracuse is a wanna-be Pittsburgh, and no one in their right mind wants to be Pittsburgh.
Usually at the end of a roast, we have to say nice about something about Syracuse. I’m scraping my mind, and I just can’t seem to come up with anything nice to say about the basketball program, the city, or the university, except for the fact that I had the best chicken tenders of my life at a bar in Syracuse.
