Despite Recent Basketball ‘Noise,’ A&M Still an Equestrian School Despite Recent Basketball ‘Noise,’ A&M Still an Equestrian School
Following Saturday night’s victory against the University of Kentucky, many students have taken to Twitter and Snapchat to celebrate that Texas A&M is now... Despite Recent Basketball ‘Noise,’ A&M Still an Equestrian School

Following Saturday night’s victory against the University of Kentucky, many students have taken to Twitter and Snapchat to celebrate that Texas A&M is now a “basketball school” despite the long history and success surrounding the university’s equestrian program. Athletic Director Scott Woodward insists that, although men’s hoops is currently riding a four-game win streak including wins against #9 Auburn and #24 Kentucky, “the dynastic year-to-year performance of A&M’s equestrian team makes it the ‘show horse’ of Aggie Athletics.”

Students have started to hop on the Aggie basketball bandwagon ever since the team climbed as high as #5 in the NCAA rankings while the football program fell to fifth in the SEC West. “We’re totally going to the Final Four this year! I didn’t even know equestrianism was a sport,” said junior math major and Reed Rowdy Reid Buckets.

Although the men’s basketball team has been successful as of late, the Aggie Equestrian team is coming off an NCEA Championship, impressive recruiting season, and trip to the White House. “I decided to move from the University of Washington to take this job due to the depths of talent in the Aggie equestrian team,” said Woodward. “It really perturbs me when I go on Twitter and view Snapchat stories saying ‘A&M is a basketball school!’ over and over again. It’s just noise to me.

Regardless of which program is the best in Aggie Athletics, all sides can agree Texas A&M is not a “football school.” Finishing the 2017 season 7-6, the team’s worst record since 2011, football boosters are in a scramble and hoping one $75 million guy can turn around the program.

 

—Good Bullogna

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Good Bullogna

Her ascent to the highest social class began in first grade, when she consistently brought the coolest lunch—Lunchables—to school each day, toting them in her Vera Bradley lunchbox. Never mind the fact that she only had Lunchables because her parents were too busy working high-stress careers to make her anything else, and she only had a Vera Bradley lunchbox because her parents bought her name-brand items to distract from their lack of engagement in her everyday life; Good Bullonga turned out just fine, if you ignore her crippling abandonment issues.

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