I assume this has died a quiet, undignified death by the dumpsters outside McCormick, next to a One Direction poster a freshman thought would be pretty neat only to be mocked by roommates and a vomit covered shirt from the night they don't remember. Memories of Freeway picked as the leading scorer, seashells and balloons no more, condemned to a life of living in the cracks of the sidewalks. Heroin addled, hungry and tired. The contest is over. The winning ticket given to a stripper up on State, begging for change on Wells, trying to collect enough money to bask in a bowl of Real Chili for one last time.
RIP Prediction Contest (Presumably. He may be in hiding somewhere, waiting to make a comeback, but don't call it that.)
It's a pig that needed to be put to rest until a better method is found.