Wanted:

I will be the first to admit it, I dropped the ball. EC’s will remember what I am talking about. Last April on Section Olympics day, to the chants of various re-written British football songs, each RC section paraded around in new, and sometimes cool looking section t-shirts. Witness Hot-E, G-Love, and I heart NI. Or maybe it was I heart NJ. It is all fuzzy.

And while those piggies went to market, ate roast beef, etc., my piggies had none. Yes, we were merely adorned in whatever we happened to wear that day, another mar on the presidency of Omar Abou-Sayed. I took the heat, a valuable lesson now learned, and endeavored to make it up to my sectionmates by making myself sick eating twinkies in the twinkie eating contest.

Nonetheless, my cream-filled-confectionary-induced coma still had not produced anything wearable for my sectionmates (unless you really stretch the bounds of disgustingness). Thus, two weeks ago, I got shirts made for us. Beautiful in design, with a logo that had grass roots support, the shirts are stunning in every way. Except for the Capri-sleeves. I swear they looked full length in the picture.

“But how, Omar,” you might ask, “do you know that the shirts are so wonderful?” The answer is simple.

One in ten were stolen from people’s mailboxes.
In fact, I got a puzzled e-mail from sectionmate to that effect. “Omar,” they write, “I saw someone in the halls wearing our t-shirts. Did you give some to other people? And why would they want to wear OUR shirts?”

Good question. Perhaps they did not notice where it says, in all freaking capital letters, “SECTION H 2004” across the back. Perhaps they think that the mailboxes are somehow communal. Who knows.

But if you see someone not in my section, and there are at least 10 of them out there, wearing a grey t-shirt with black Capri sleeves, which says “H’04” and “The Hooligans” on the front and “Section H 2004” on the back, you have my permission to kick their ass.