Resent events involving disruptive fans have lead me to remember a term we used back in the day to describe this type of behavior, which is associated with certain schools and their fans. The term is Bush League. For those of you unfamiliar with it let me enlighten you ala Jeff Foxworthy;

You know you’re a Bush League school if you count the players steps to the bench after he fouls out.

You know you’re a Bush League school if your fans have signs that personally attack opposing players by name.

You know you’re a Bush League school if there are empty seats behind the home team bench.

You know you’re a Bush League school if fans don’t applaud a truly good basketball effort or good sportsmanship by the opposing team.

You know you’re a Bush League school if you don’t have a real band that plays during time outs.

You know you’re a Bush League school if you throw stuff on the court when you think the ref made a bad call.

You know you’re a Bush League school if throw stuff on opposing players when they go on or off the court.

You know you’re a Bush League school if you spit on anyone.

You know you’re a Bush League school if you storm the court. (Don’t act like you’ve never won a game)

You know you’re a Bush League school if your coach has to take the microphone to reprimand the fans.

You know you’re a Bush League school if your coach should to take the microphone to reprimand the fans, but doesn’t.

You are probably a Bush League school if your mascot is a feline.

About 5 years ago Jaybate posted this. I kept it because of the strong imagery of past times and of anticipation of a special year. Some names and places are different but the message is the same. RCJH

Yeeeeee haaaaaaw!

The floor is painted and just a hint of fresh shellac is in the field house. The nets are tight. The practice court is ready for sweat drops and screeching slides by new tennies.

The hangovers of country club week are receding and the barn parties loom just around the bend. The girls are still showing some alabaster tan lines on the side walks as the boy-men dream of how to meet them.

Self is fired up, through his ring of fire and happier than Johnny Cash ever could be…

Charlie and The Heap have their work clothes and hats on and chin straps buckled out on the synthetic north forty–Harvest heat forging December steel and titanium balls.

The Campanile and Daisy Hill dorms stand watch like Transformers overall.

Yet another senseless invasion looms like a bombing storm beyond the seen horizon–the Kosovar-Ing of Syria counting down in a squal of false flags and drone death.

But on the ground–here–now–the simultaneity of sublimity and season following season.

Custom combines have turned the waving wheat to golden stubble yet again and the leaves of corn and bean fields in the bottoms hang deep green in sunned breeze waiting silently the needle nosed pickers.

Summer fights a losing battle with Fall.

Board rats type goosey with anticipation.

Basketball time.

Pick up the balls.

Team.

@jaybate 1.Great post. You are a curator of Bball history.

Jo Jo was one of my top- 5 all time favorite Jayhawks. He became eligible in mid-season and his first game was highly anticipated. It was like a coronation. AFH didn’t always fill up in those days but it was full that night. He was electric and could steal the ball at will. His biggest heartbreak was the shot in the 1966 Lubock regional that went in and would have beaten Texas Western to go to the final four but his foot was out of bounds. Congrats to a great Jayhawk.

About 5 years ago Jaybate posted this. I kept it because of the strong imagery of past times and of anticipation of a special year. Some names and places are different but the message is the same. RCJH

Yeeeeee haaaaaaw!

The floor is painted and just a hint of fresh shellac is in the field house. The nets are tight. The practice court is ready for sweat drops and screeching slides by new tennies.

The hangovers of country club week are receding and the barn parties loom just around the bend. The girls are still showing some alabaster tan lines on the side walks as the boy-men dream of how to meet them.

Self is fired up, through his ring of fire and happier than Johnny Cash ever could be…

Charlie and The Heap have their work clothes and hats on and chin straps buckled out on the synthetic north forty–Harvest heat forging December steel and titanium balls.

The Campanile and Daisy Hill dorms stand watch like Transformers overall.

Yet another senseless invasion looms like a bombing storm beyond the seen horizon–the Kosovar-Ing of Syria counting down in a squal of false flags and drone death.

But on the ground–here–now–the simultaneity of sublimity and season following season.

Custom combines have turned the waving wheat to golden stubble yet again and the leaves of corn and bean fields in the bottoms hang deep green in sunned breeze waiting silently the needle nosed pickers.

Summer fights a losing battle with Fall.

Board rats type goosey with anticipation.

Basketball time.

Pick up the balls.

Team.

Jo Jo was one of my top- 5 all time favorite Jayhawks. He became eligible in mid-season and his first game was highly anticipated. It was like a coronation. AFH didn’t always fill up in those days but it was full that night. He was electric and could steal the ball at will. His biggest heartbreak was the shot in the 1966 Lubock regional that went in and would have beaten Texas Western to go to the final four but his foot was out of bounds. Congrats to a great Jayhawk.

Resent events involving disruptive fans have lead me to remember a term we used back in the day to describe this type of behavior, which is associated with certain schools and their fans. The term is Bush League. For those of you unfamiliar with it let me enlighten you ala Jeff Foxworthy;

You know you’re a Bush League school if you count the players steps to the bench after he fouls out.

You know you’re a Bush League school if your fans have signs that personally attack opposing players by name.

You know you’re a Bush League school if there are empty seats behind the home team bench.

You know you’re a Bush League school if fans don’t applaud a truly good basketball effort or good sportsmanship by the opposing team.

You know you’re a Bush League school if you don’t have a real band that plays during time outs.

You know you’re a Bush League school if you throw stuff on the court when you think the ref made a bad call.

You know you’re a Bush League school if throw stuff on opposing players when they go on or off the court.

You know you’re a Bush League school if you spit on anyone.

You know you’re a Bush League school if you storm the court. (Don’t act like you’ve never won a game)

You know you’re a Bush League school if your coach has to take the microphone to reprimand the fans.

You know you’re a Bush League school if your coach should to take the microphone to reprimand the fans, but doesn’t.

You are probably a Bush League school if your mascot is a feline.

@jaybate 1.Great post. You are a curator of Bball history.