Continuing in our theft of the Stuff _____ People Like, ripped off shamelessly from SWPL, consider the latest installment: Stuff Orange and Green People Like, a look at the sophisticated cultural palate of Miami Hurricanes' fans. Assisting with the exotic installment are Lieutenant Winslow and The Great Barstoolio, and by assisting, we mean writing pretty much the whole thing save the HTML code.
Read prior installments here, here, here, and here. Enjoy, and remember: we encourage you to visit the city of Miami, a quirky, thriving, and dangerously sexy city with the proud motto "Miami! Come back, we weren't shooting at you."
Arrepas and BBQ
Arrepas and BBQ rodent chicken pork cat on a stick. Some say that the chupacabra is fictional. Some say the chupacabra is alive and well and living in Little Havana. Some say that there is a rational explanation for the alarming lack of homeless cats in the neighborhood surrounding the OB. Regardless of your personal beliefs, there is only so much beer and swellteringly oppressive heat that a person can endure before they stop asking questions and fork over their 5 bucks.
Si! Es la chupacabra! Y tiene tacos! Cinco dolares, ahora cabron!
Flair. You may wonder where the flair comes from. They grow it locally, of course. Do your Pop Warner football games have a D.J.'d intro? No, they don't, and that's why you suck.
"Twennee Dolla No Blockeeen"
Orange and Green people LOOOOOVE negotiating the cost of parking with the balsero, rafter "cuban-american" whose lawn they are renting a parking spot.
Orange and green people like to confirm 35-45 times "So, I won't be blocked in, right?", and deep down, they really want to believe the man/woman 14 yr old directing parking and/or traffic when he says "twennee. no blockee. twenneee dolla, no blockeen", so they fork over the cash and they pull their car into the illegal immigrant's enterprising entrepreneur's lawn which has now been converted into the staging area for a third world like game show to see how many cars can be crammed onto one 35 square foot lawn (dents and scratches be damned!).
Orange and green people know, deep down, that as soon as they head towards the O.B., 6-8 cars will immediately be parked on all sides of their car and they will be double and triple blocked in. After the game orange and green people usually commiserate with the very person who's car is blocking them in, because that person was, in turn, blocked in by someone else. and just as that someone else was the last person to arrive, they are inevitably the last person to leave the stadium. Like charlie brown kicking a football, orange and green people fall for this one e-v-e-r-y time.
The word bro, bro.
Orange and green people finish (and sometimes start) every sentence with the word bro, bro. Orange and green people don't care whether they're speaking to a male or a female, bro. Because this term doesn't indicate the gender of the person being addressed, bro, its just sort of used in every sentence as a general designation, ok bro? Orange and green people will sometimes call in to local sports radio stations and ask questions like "Bro, dont you theeeeeeenk that if Ken Dorsey were to come back and be the head coach, the U could go undefeated next year bro?" or "Bro, this moving to Dolphins stadium shit sucks, bro. i miss the OB already bro."
The Cuba Libre
Hmmmmm... I'm not entirely sure what the official drink of orange and green people is, but if I had to call it, I'd have to go with the cuba libre. (Although it could just as easily be that incredibly shitty "presidente" swill that they serve at the OB.) But if forced to choose, I'm going with the cuba libre b/c orange and green people (particularly female orange and green people) have no qualms about hiding a bottle of rum in places that god never intended, so that once inside the OB, they can remove said bottle from its unmentionable hiding spot, & buy a large coke and continue drinking unabated underneath the brutally sweltering Miami sun. Such instances are usually concluded with an alcohol fueled physical confrontation in the 3rd or 4th quarter involving another fan or their significant other, or both. If this physical confrontation is heated enough, the orange and green person may even forego the remainder of their cuba libre in exchange for the satisfaction of pouring/throwing it on the person with whom they are soon to be in fisticuffs with, much to the delight of all onlookers lucky enough not to be withing splashing distance.
Fighting.
We like to fight when we're at home,
We like to fight inside a dome
We like to fight when we've been beat,
We like to fight on bourbon street
We sometimes fight with those we've known,
We always stick up for our own,
We like to fight, its what we do.
Cocaine Cowboys. Orange and Green people, horrified and fascinated by their surroundings as they are, are most horrified and fascinated by the period of time from 1975 or so to 1985, known mostly for the rise of the Miami football program and the simultaneous boom resulting from the ridiculously profitable cocaine trade. If they're not enthralled this specifically, they're at least happy to tell you how awesome Miami was when Tony Montana's fake tiger was being sold as "chopped beef" under the north stands back in 84.
Fun fact! The Miami Federal Reserve Bank in 1980 took in more dollars than all the other Federal Reserve Banks combined. Coincidence: Howard Schnellenberger arrived in Miami in 1979. The Don got away scot-free, baby! Lesson: know when to get out. The days of laundered money swelling into glittery apartment buildings, pastel shirts, and Colombian gangsters shooting the Dadeland mall to ribbons bring a kind of panic-fringed warmth to the hearts of orange and green people who loved the lolling in piles of money and suddenly rakish charm of their city, but hated the, you know, kill-y parts and stuff.
But don't believe us: believe U fan Trick Daddy, who admires legendary Colombian hitman Rivi's "professionalism."
Note: though built in 1937, the stadium's design worked well for the Cocaine Cowboys period of Miami's history. The seats are benches because FLAT SURFACES FOR SNIFFING ARE PERFECT. And those weren't rust spots! They're glory holes for the coke whores!
Dorky, broseph-type white qbs. For some odd reason, Da U has always topped their wedding cake of freakishly gifted local talent (by stereotype: mostly black, braided-up, and from some of the most frightening neighborhoods on the planet) with a gawky, dorky white qb. Jim Kelly, Bernie Kosar, Geno Torretta, and the pinnacle of the phenomenon, Ken Dorsey: all indomitable on the field, and all easily mistaken for day traders and brokers off the field. Orange and green people will adore their rhythmically-impaired signal-callers even more when they find out that they were "breakin the (women's) soccer team down" during their time at Da U.
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