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Before you die, you see the face of Providence College’s mascot

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NCAA Basketball: NCAA Tournament-First Four-Providence vs Southern California Rick Osentoski-USA TODAY Sports

When I was a young lad growing up in Warwick, Rhode Island, going to Providence College games was a winter tradition. Back then, the Friars had two mascots; a chubby man in a monk’s outfit who was then succeeded by a live Dalmatian named Friar Boy V.

They worked well in succession, were beloved by fans young and old, and, unfortunately, ushered in an era of basketball mediocrity. Ryan Gomes was an outlier, a oasis in a hardwood desert defined by the failures of coaches like Tim Welsh and (*sighs deeply*) Keno Davis. Sure, the Friars were still one of the NCAA’s leaders in sports like cross country and lacrosse, but the main reason anyone knew PC athletics was thanks to the program’s two Final Four runs. A change needed to be made. Providence needed to prove it was once again a threat

Enter “Friar Dom,” so named for the last word his creator screamed before his eyes rolled back into his skull and he was consumed by demons. Historians believe he was trying to scream “monstrosity,” but it was too late. His creation had crawled from the primordial ooze of a world inhabited solely by H.R. Giger designs, its blood the petroleum created from the crumbling bones of the Old Ones.

NCAA Basketball: NCAA Tournament-First Round-Providence vs Southern California Geoff Burke-USA TODAY Sports

Gazing upon Friar Dom shortens your life span the same way smoking cigarettes does. His unholy visage immediately brings several questions to mind:

  1. Why is its “skin” made made entirely of curdled 2-percent milk?
  2. Does it have hair, or is that just its soul, so black light could never escape, seeping from the top of its head?
  3. Where are its teeth?

Friar Dom has been roaming the capital of Rhode Island, unchecked, since 2002.

Providence College awakens him from his hibernation each fall, only to watch the city’s homeless population mysteriously decline each winter. He lives at the bottom of a pit scientists say has no bottom. Every three days, a rotating crew of cheerleaders throws a bucket of goat’s blood and baby teeth down it so he can feed.

And now he’s in Charlotte, North Carolina, just waiting for Texas A&M forward Robert Williams to mistakenly make eye contact so he can send his soul to a world so hideous even explaining it would cause you to go insane.

Good luck, Aggies.