First, there’s Noah Hartsock. I love that he’s named after a rockin’ OT prophet who can boast the biggest “I told you so” moment in history, and he is an awesome all around player. But what is up with that hair?
Does he not know the camera shows an aerial view most of the time?
It looks like baby head fuzz, or an anemic Chia pet.
If you don’t got it, you don’t got it. No amount of fluffing, strategic combing or wannabe chops are going to make up for what ain’t there.
Just follow the example of Renaissance Man Lance Armstrong who, when his forehead started to stretch into a fivehead, boldly decided if you can’t beat it, buzz it.
The other hair in question is that of Brock Zylstra. It looks like he gave a little brother a pair of dull hedge clippers and turned him loose. He could use more length in the front to camouflage his high square Frankenstein forehead.
I sympathize with that plight as I too suffer from Frankenhead, which is why I’ve always had bangs, except for a brief delusional phase during a pregnancy when my brain was deprived of oxygen and I grew them out. Those photos have since been burned.
Davies wears his tall dark and handsomeness well, but I am curious about the spandex unitard he sports under his uniform every game. He even color coordinates – white under the white uni, and blue under the blue uni.
He looks hot, and I don’t mean the good way.
I noticed Damarcus Harrison has grown his hair out and is working the fro bowl now. Not feelin’ the love there.
On Gonzaga’s team, their seven footer Robert Sacre already looks like serious NBA material. Not because of his height and skills, though those attributes are impressive, but because he’s already got the most important NBA component – tattoos.
The mini Stockton is super cute as a Fievel look-alike, and Chris Sarbaugh is working the other NBA trend with the unkempt logger look. If he doesn’t make it into the NBA he could always try for the role of Shaggy in a Scooby Doo movie sequel, or be a Seven Brides for Seven Brothers extra.
All of this is complete nonsense and pettiness, I know. It’s just a distraction from how burned I am about BYU’s performance on Saturday night. Thirty two percent shooting?
They blew it.
They totally blew.
They only shrunk Gonzaga’s lead down to a single digit twice and both times is was for like two seconds.
Gonzaga’s Kevin Pangos gave us a Jimmeresque flashback with his 3-pointer spree, which only poured lemon juice into the wound.
Over on the bench, Coach Rose looked like he was going to cry. His frustration showed further when he broke his usually cool and collected demeanor and got a technical for trash talking the refs.
I concur that the refs were seriously whistle happy on the Y, especially on the charge, but that’s no excuse.
Now we wait.
Like a high school girl, the Y must sit by the phone and wait and hope for an invitation to the “Big Dance.”
I just hope their odds are better than mine were back then.