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Why do I hate State? Actually, I don't.

Honest to goodness, I don't hate Iowa State. I rather enjoy the poor fools.

I love their unhealthy obsession with Iowa athletics. I love the fact that in 1977, they actually wore "BEAT IOWA" jerseys. I love the fact that they lost anyway.

I love the fact that their AD decided to undersell their stadium for their Super Bowl this year. I love his purely rational fear of seeing his stadium overrun with black and gold. Again.

I love their miniscule athletic department budget ($20m), currently hovering around half that of Iowa's ($40m). I love their lame, depressing stadium and their lite-brite "Jumbo"-tron. I love lamp.

I love that due to his record against Iowa, Dan McCarney was allowed to aimlessly dick around for 12 years in the Big XII, a truly wretched gathering of football teams that may yield a 9-win Kansas team. Kansas. All they are is Mangino's navel dust in the wind.

All in all, I love who they are and what they do. They are Iowa State. Theirs is a history of irrelevance, incompetence, and irrrrrtheyrefuckingterrible. They know good and goddamn well that--short of plane crashes or mass slayings in the Jacobsen Athletic Building--they'll never field a program that will be as good as Iowa's. It's why they measure themselves by one game and take the rest of the season off--both the players and the fans.

But as far as hatred goes? Nah. Can't work it up about a little brother. It's like kicking the shit out of a seven-year-old. In fact, this is about as close as you're ever going to come to seeing Iowa State ignite the flames of anger from the men in black and gold:

Not pictured: Jevon Pugh entering the melee on crutches

I guess there's no real point in continuing to beat a dead Todd Bandhauer about it. Congrats, ISU. You're Illinois without a basketball team. You swing from our nuts because it gives you an otherwise unfulfilled sense of purpose. You "hate" us, but you need us. And we will always treasure such a special, special bond with you.

Now get your cheerleaders off the field; they're grazing between the hashmarks.