So listen, syllabus week is over. It’s time to get your shit together. No, I’m not talking about getting your books, stop that. Do you know me at all? No, it’s Christmas season round 2: winter sports.

See, the first time I heard the term “jersey chaser” I responded with, “I chase my alcohol with whiskey,” but when I realized it wasn’t THAT kind of chaser (don’t get me wrong, I don’t run either), I was far more willing to give it the old, ahem, college try.

Let’s get one thing straight here, those guys carrying around those blue backpacks? Pussy. Magnets. And trust me, I don’t use that term loosely. Here’s the problem though, every single guy who carries one of those knows that. So girls, you have to prepare yourselves. If the captain from the lacrosse team comes up to you, don’t choke and tell him something stupid like, “I’m really good at one-liners.” Because then you’ll be forced to take your shirt off as redemption, and maybe that might make you seem as though you’re coming on too strongly. Well, I take that back. I think it depends on the size of your rack.

Anyway, you’re lucky because in high school I was bored enough to play sports team bingo. I learned the ins, the outs and what they actually talk about in the locker room. When people on the team suddenly know your name, don’t get flattered and think you’re a keeper. No, that just means that stories about you have bounced around that room faster than your pretty little head did last Friday night.

Men with sticks have bigger dicks. Well, that, or they’re flaming douchebags. Okay, that wasn’t cute and didn’t rhyme, but it’s true. So before you run off to become the next puck slut or lacrosstitute, know what you’re getting into. You have to go to the games. You have to. You’re an unpaid, improperly clothed cheerleader. But don’t be too dumb about the rules of the game you’re attending. If you can’t figure out that virtually every sport requires getting the ball from one end to the other, good luck scoring elsewhere.

But let’s be real, you have to rely on your friends sometimes. What if you “accidentally get a flat tire” on the way to meeting them at the game? You come in all frazzled like a damsel in distress, breathlessly ask, “What did I miss?” And suddenly, it’s as if you’d been there all along!

Hooking up with an athlete isn’t brain science, though. Don’t get me wrong here. But holding onto one is damn well near impossible. So don’t blow it by asking him immediately what his jersey number is or what it stands for. Most of the time, it’s a good thing. But there are those rare cases where it means something way too sentimental to ask mid-“teach me how to dougie” at their “we just lost but already planned this party” after-party. Save the question for a post-nookie cig-break.

Another deal breaker? Actually stealing the jersey. Turns out they kind of need those, and when you’ve tacked it to your wall, it can be a little awkward when they bust in your door 20 minutes til game time to demount the jersey … and permanently demount you. (But by all means, start a victory T-shirt collection).

Also, I have no idea what is going on once they step onto that field, but seriously every single guy steps off broken in at least seven different places, even if all they did was run a few laps during warm-up. So if you get all riled up in bed, ease up on the dominatrix, Kama-sutra bullshit. Even if you think he’s being overdramatic about his hurt shoulder, his teammates are convinced it’s your fault and that their season has immediately gone to shit, and bottom line: they will hunt you down. I’m telling you, that locker room is only used for power play planning and pure fucking evil.

Being a jersey chaser is like being on The Bachelor. Every girl around you is going for the same guy. So practice some self-control. Or, just go for his friend. But, regardless, remember to get onboard with the mindset of: “Yeah! You could totally make a living out of this! Who needs school?” Start by stroking his ego, and you’ll end up, stroking … well … other things.

Now, go make yourself useful and print out the schedule, roster and bios of all of the winter sports teams. A good jersey chaser knows her shit. And hey, number 7 on the club baseball team? Nice ass.

Daily Nexus sex columnist Elizabeth Brooks encourages you to take one for the team. Double teamed? Double points.

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