Hey sports fans!

Are you sick and tired of ignorant sportswriters like me criticizing athletes? Fed up with us, self-appointed experts that we are, giving our know-it-all opinions on the game? Well, I aim to please.

Today, I'm shifting my focus. I've got a different target for my criticisms.

You. The so-called fans of Penn State athletics.

The word "fan" is a derivative of "fanatic," an adjective which means "unreasonably enthusiastic." What a great concept! Excitement to the point that it lacks reason. Like the guy with the goatee who sits down the row from me at the men's basketball games. Brian Allen's "Penn State Hoops" show featured him and his buddy as fans of the week last week. He was going nuts, slobbering into the mic and everything. The guy was into it.

My point is to differentiate "fans" from "spectators." When I'm at a game, I want to have an effect on the outcome. Spectators, on the other hand, are there to watch. If you want to be a spectator, go to the symphony. If you're going to see your fellow students battle it out to defend the pride of your school, act like you care -- and not just when the TV camera is in your face.

At some of the men's basketball games, a handful of fans have taken it upon themselves to add a little something to the national anthem. At the beginning of the "Oh, say does that star-spangled . . ." verse, these losers bellow a drunken "OH!," drowning out the well-intentioned performer and basically making fools of themselves.

OK kids, we've all happily participated in the "We don't know the G.D. words" rendition of the alma mater, and I suppose that's a Penn State tradition. But why butcher the national anthem? Do me a favor, please, and shut the hell up next time.

This one's a left over from the fall. I'm referring to my lazy, apathetic fellow students who apparently have some religious conflict with standing up at football games.

My question is, why did you bother coming to the game if you were so concerned with sitting? If your entire goal was to remain firmly planted on your butt for 60 minutes, why do it on the rigid metal slats of the Beaver Stadium stands? (Notice, they're called stands, not "sits.") Why not save yourself the 10 bucks, keep your clothes marshmallow-free, and stay at home on your sofa? If you have to sit, don't show up.

Put yourself in the place of the players. At some of the uglier games, their only consolation is that they've got some supportive fans hanging around. How do these guys feel when, after playing their hearts out for 38 minutes, the stands are suddenly half empty because their "fans" want to beat the rush back to the keg?

Hey, I know there are some diehards out there, fans who aren't afraid to get a little crazy. But there are too many of you for whom a visit to Rec Hall or Beaver Stadium is little more than a social call, and that's weak.

And just so you know, I do practice what I preach. You can find me at any of the men's basketball games, section N2, front row, and I'll be making an idiot out of myself. Case in point: just last week, one of our hard-working student auxiliary officers threatened to throw me out of the Indiana game for jumping onto the court.

And I couldn't have been prouder.