Emotional Desolation

Oh, hey. How are you doing? Have a long week? Glad that the weekend's here? Yeah, it's supposed to be nice weather. Got any plans? That sounds like fun.

Me? Oh, you know, the usual. A little tired. Was up late last night and all but--fuck you Ted Thompson!

That's right. I'm an emotional wreck because of you and that cheesedick you call a head coach. Mark Murphy, where's the open arms? Huh? Where are they? You know what...here's $25 million. You three go away for ever.

And Brett...you are dead to me, sir. I was all prepared for you to go to the Vikings. I was like, "Hey, I like Purple" and "I used to fuck a girl from Minnesota" and "Now Eric and I can be buddies bffs" and "Man, I 'm going to have to find a hat with horns and some fake blond braids. This will be fun." Then I made that horn sound that the fans in Minnesota blow all the time. You know, the one that sounds like a horny humpback whale out looking for some play? That one.

And then rumors of Tampa Bay abounded and I was like "Hey, that's alright. Jon Gruden has some ties to Notre Dame. That'd be cool" and "Tampa Bay has some hot cheerleaders" and "Heh heh, they're pirates. Farrrrrrrrrrrrrrve. Heh heh."

And someone was even like, "Hey, Dolphins need a quarterback" and after I threw up in my mouth a little, I was like, "Well, my best friend the Eye Doctor is a Dolphins fan...maybe we can comiserate..."

But then it happened. You went to the Jets, Brett. The J E T S Jets Jets Jets. Just End The Season Jets Jets Jets. Dude. Come on. Rip my heart out of my chest and punt it across the room, and then it can slide down the wall and land in the trash can. Thanks Laura Powers Brett.

I even tried to justify it. I was like "Hey, they're green" and "Kevin wore a Jets jacket on the Wonder Years" and "Fucking Jets. Jesus I hate the fucking Jets." Yeah, that didn't work out so well. Don't you remember a few years ago, Brett, when you were poised to go into the playoffs with homefield throughout, and then you rolled into Giants Stadium to play the hapless Jets and they pasted you 41-3 and dropped you to the third seed and you bowed out to Dogslayer Michael Vick? Yeah. You totally just went and made out with Jimbo.

So, I should turn back to my old team, right? Oh fuck that. The collection of bumblefuckery that is the front office down to the head coach in Green Bay deserves my scorn and disdain. I hope you've got your resumes brushed off and updated, fellas, because the first losing season (or the end of this one), you'll either be run out of town on a rail or your heads will be served on a silver platter, Salome-style.

Ugh, so here I wander, teamless, the wide plains of Gorgoroth stretching out around me. The wind is bitter and bleak. Tiny grains of sand pelt my skin, raising knobby red whelts in their wake. To whom do I turn? I guess the easy answer would be the Colts, since I grew up in Indiana, but they've always been more like that second team to root for, that kid in class who tries real hard but never gets it right, but you still pat them on the head and say "Nice job, Jimmy." Plus, they don't fully articulate my disdain for the Bears--though with the Sex Cannon at the helm...or the Neckbeard--take your pick--hating the Bears is akin to disliking a Pop Warner league team.

I'm distraught, and it's all your fault, Ted Thompson. Hitch your wagon to the Titanic (sorry Hap, that was beautifully put, so I'm thieving it) or Charon's ferry or a dog turd laying in the sun drying up and getting hard. The Packers are dead to me, too. At least until Aaron Rogers gets hurt and Brian Brohm takes over (week three?). Ugh. At least college football starts soon. Oh, Jesus, that's right. Well, how long until basketball season? Fuck.