By Kevin Murphy

So this week I am in dire straits.

My computer is broken and disappeared into the vacuum that is the Apple Store, so I’ve had trouble keeping up with the world of pro sports. But not to worry, as I’m sure that many of you loyal readers are wondering what it takes to be a couch athlete, and thereby qualified to write this column.

In order to quell your curiosity, I’ve decided to take my given space this week to describe to you the Creed of the Couch. This is the code by which I conduct myself daily, bearing in mind my important status as The Lafayette’s Kevin of the Couch.

The focal point of any couch athlete’s life is corn hole. For those of you uninitiated in the grand game, it consists of two plywood boards with roughly beanbag sized holes in the middle (they must be big enough for a beanbag to pass through easily).

The game requires neither particular athletic skill nor above average coordination, though a true couch athlete will never concede this point. As followers of the Creed of the Couch, it is our supreme duty to uphold the integrity of our esteemed game, though it in fact boasts no particular integrity to speak of.

In addition to the playing of corn hole, which takes up an inordinate amount of our time, couch athletes may often be found playing pickup sports. This may include, but is not limited to, basketball, soccer, football, rugby and paddle ball.

Obviously, we excel at none.

If we did, we’d be off playing pro, or at the very least, on the varsity squad. This is not to say couch athletes don’t take these games seriously. On the contrary; they take few things more seriously.

On the basketball court, for example, each ill-conceived and badly executed shot is tenaciously defended, every foul call hotly contested, and every clumsy dribble inexpertly swiped at. As the games progress, the poor physical shape of our bodies becomes more and more evident.

We wheeze up and down the court, and struggle to summon the strength to jump for a shot, not to mention get after a rebound. After these contests, couch athletes can spend hours reliving the glories of the fade away banked three to win the game or the no look (read eyes closed) reverse layup that inexplicably bounced off the front rim and in.

I might not be the greatest athlete ever to walk this campus, or even one of the moderately competent ones, but that doesn’t stop me from living life by the Creed of the Couch.