Hello, little reader. Boy, I sure heard a bunch about you. See, I was a good friend of your favorite Dayton blogger. We were in that Founders pit of hell together over five years. Hopefully, you’ll never have to experience this yourself, but when two men are in a situation like me and your blogger were, for as long as we were, you take on certain responsibilities of the other. If it had been me who had not made it, Tom Blackburn would be talking right now to my son, Connor. But the way it turned out is, I’m talking to you, reader. I got something for you.
This foam finger I got here was first purchased by your great-grandfather during the first World War. It was bought in a little general store in Dayton, Ohio. Made by the first company to ever make foam fingers. Up till then people just used their normal fingers to show who was #1. It was bought by private Doughboy Thomas Blackburn on the day he set sail for New York City. It was your great grand-blogger’s foam finger and he used it to talk shit every day he was in that stupid dumpster fire of a city. When he had done his duty, he went home to your great-grandblogger’s hot ass wife, finger blasted her with that foam finger, put it in his underwear drawer (also located in his kitchen), and in that can it stayed until your grandblogger, Oliver Purnell, was called upon by his UD faithful to go to UD Arena and fight the stupid St Joseph’s Hawks once again. This time they called it “Battle for 5th place.”
Your great-grandblogger gave this foam finger to your grandblogger for good luck. Unfortunately, Oliver’s luck wasn’t as good as his old man’s. Oliver was terrible at winning in the NCAA Tournament and he was killed, along with the other assistants at the battle of Tulsa. Your grandblogger was facing sweater unrest , he knew it. None of those boys had any illusions about ever leaving Dayton alive. So, three days after the Tulsa Golden Wave took Keith’s last game from him, your grandblogger asked a super fan on a cigarette break by the name of Adam, a man he had never met before in his life, to deliver to his infant son, who he’d never seen in the flesh, his foam finger. Three days later, your grandblogger was dead. But Adam kept his word. After the NCAA Tournament was over, he paid a visit to your grandmother, delivering to your infant father, his blogger’s foam finger.
This foam finger. This foam finger was on your blogger’s hand when Dayton won that game against West Virginia. He was drunk, put into a Beast coma. He knew if the Xavier pussies ever saw the foam finger it’d be confiscated, taken away. The way your blogger looked at it, that foam finger was your birthright. He’d be damned if any fucktards were gonna put their greasy Norwood hands on his boy’s birthright. So he hid it in the one place he knew he could hide something: his ass. Five long years, he wore this foam finger up his ass. Then, right before he died of dysentery, he gave me the foam finger. I hid this uncomfortable hunk of foam up my ass two years. Then, after seven years, I was sent home to my family. And now, little man, I give the foam finger to you.
So there you have it folks. The best story known to man. Sure it made no sense, but does anything we ever write on here make sense? Anyway, we are bringing back the Blackburn Review Tournament Challenge. If you remember from year’s past, we gave away a bobble head that was worth about $300 (Editor’s note: that’s how much it cost. If the owner can get that much for it, I have some land I need him to sell for me). We also gave away posters and a t-shirt. This year, we are giving away something better. If you win the pool, you get a…MYSTERY PRIZE (it’ll be something good, promise).
Go to this link and sign up. Dayton only makes the tournament once every 5 years, so hop to it!