iubb

If ye ever grt the chance to swim with de dolphins [emoji227] Do it! You wont regret dit Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk

They can. Just cross check the ippp address of all tree accounts Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk

Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk

lol at AI written slop

and his temper

time to break out the poop knife!

What about a mouse with a house? Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk

Dont make me break out my rhyme machine!

Seriously, this is the last thing IU needs... espicially after Woody

these were just from the past month. there are like 20 other ones of various other reporters calling Cronin out.. (and Local reporters here in LA have done this as well)

https://awfulannouncing.com/college-basketball/jay-bilas-mick-cronin-blame-game.html So many burned bridges

This comment below the video is 100% on point

did you also stay at a holiday in express?

100% accurate... (LA native here)

In the land of crimson dreams where basketballs do soar, The Hoosiers made a move that left fans wanting more. Mike Woodson's time was ticking, like a clock with faulty gears, With each loss on the scoreboard, came an avalanche of jeers. “Oh dear,” they said, “it's time for change! We need a different scheme!” So off went Coach Mike packing, like a player lost in steam. But who would take the helm and steer this ship through strife? A name arose from whispers—Brad Stevens! Could he save our life? Now Brad’s been up at Boston coaching stars with flair and might, He turned them into legends under those bright Garden lights. But Indiana called him home with promises so grand— “Just bring us back the glory days; we’re sure you’ve got a plan!” With humor dripping thick as syrup on warm pancakes in June, Fans gathered round their screens to watch this coaching cartoon. “Will Brad bring us new magic?” they chortled with delight, “If he can’t fix our defense woes, we’ll all just lose our sight!” As Woody packed his office gear (a fate both sad and grim), Brad slipped on his Hoosier cap—a crimson hat for him. “We’ll run some plays that baffle foes! Let’s dance upon the court! And if we lose again next year? Well hey—it’s just a sport!”

In the heart of B-town where banners do sway, Posters proclaiming, “We’ll coach the Hoosiers one day!” With visions of glory and strategies grand, They plot from their couches with snacks close at hand. “Oh please! Just one season,” they earnestly plead, “Just give us a whistle, we’re qualified indeed! We’ve watched every game since the days of old Bob, And our playbooks are solid—well, sort of a blob.” With markers and poster boards bright in their hands, They sketch out formations as if it’s all planned. “Let’s run up the court like we’re flying on air! Forget that old timeout—just throw caution to hair!” A fellow named Tim claims he knows how to teach; He shouts from his basement: “The sidelines are reach!” While Brenda insists with a fervor so bold, “The key is to shoot threes while eating some gold!”

In the land of corn where the Hoosiers play, They sought a coach to light their way. From Nantucket shores, with his sandy feet, He arrived with a whistle and an appetite for meat! “Oh dear!” cried the fans, “What’s this we see? A coach from an island — what could it be?” With his bucket hat on and a grin oh-so-wide, He promised them glory; he’d turn the tide! His players chuckled, "Does he know about hoops?" “Is he here to teach us or bake us some soups?” But with every practice that stretched till late night, He dribbled and danced—what a curious sight! "Now listen up team," he'd bellow and cheer, "We'll shoot for the stars—no fear here my dears!" And though he mispronounced all their hometowns' names, His passion ignited those wild basketball flames.

In a latrine, quite odd, where the air was less clear, I stumbled on Tom Crean—oh, what luck to be near! With a grin like the sun and a clipboard in hand, He leaned on the stall door and made quite a stand. “Hey there,” he said with that trademark charm, “Care to ref some Hoosier practices? No cause for alarm! We’ve got talent galore—like a circus of flair— Just imagine the drama in this lavatorial lair!” I chuckled at first; could he really be jesting? Refereeing basketball? Oh boy, what a testing! But Tom’s eyes were twinkling; his passion was clear, How could I resist such an offer sincere? So we strutted to court with our whistles in tow, And soon found ourselves swept up in the flow. The players were flying like birds on their wings, While I dodged through the madness and called all my things.

in the realm of words where my thoughts take flight, I find myself bound by a task of great might. "Seven hundred pages!" my editor cries, As I sit here in horror, wide-eyed in surprise. With coffee as fuel and a laptop aglow, I ponder the chapters that still need to flow. My fingers feel heavy, my brain’s on retreat— Yet here comes the humor, so let's take a seat! Oh, seven hundred pages—a daunting demand! Like climbing Everest with no help at hand. Each word feels like boulders rolled down from the peak; To write just one sentence takes me all week! “Just write about dragons!” my friend shouts with glee, But alas, I’m more lost than a cat in a tree. And what if they’re purple? Or wear silly hats? How do you get stories from whimsical cats? I tried writing love scenes—oh what a blunder! The characters swooned and then pulled me asunder. They danced through the fields, but then tripped on their feet— Now they’re tangled in weeds and can't find their way neat! Then came an idea; “Let’s make it absurd!” A tale of two penguins who fancied each word. They waddled through libraries searching for rhymes— But found only igloos and ice cream at times! Each page I compose is like running a race; A marathon scribble that quickens my pace. I'm racing against time while avoiding despair— “Seven hundred pages” can’t fit in thin air!

In a world where chatter fills the air, Where bickering blooms like weeds everywhere, I’d rather have rhymes that dance and delight, Than squabbles and squawks that keep me up at night. Oh, let’s toss aside our fuss and our fight, For endless pages of verses feel just right! With every word woven in joyful refrain, We’ll trade out the grumbling for laughter’s sweet gain.