Of course Donald likes football. All young men like football. Norm Duncan, Scotland, PA
Well, Football Season is rolling in again with its customary amount of fervor and irresponsibility. I have come to expect disappointment from professional sports, and football is an unfortunate blight on the serene and preternaturally brilliant face of autumn. It makes people needlessly loud and whips them into celebratory frenzies when some megalomaniacal jackass crashes through a defensive line and kisses the endzone grass with the pigskin. Hell. I can’t think of anything quite so depressing. Can you?
I realize that what I’m saying here is probably patently un-American. After all, football is Tradition for starry-eyed five year olds and decrepit grandfathers alike. It is pounded into every son, and the boys expected of growing up to be homosexuals are given a triple dose of Spikes and Turf just for good measure. Lord knows, no patriotic American Football fan is going to let his son be a pansy. Hell no. Make him bleed, right? That’ll teach him to be a Man. A testicular contusion or intrascrotal hematoma never hurt anyone.
The entire institution of football – moreso than other American sports – is built upon the foundations of Predation, Glory, and Total Dominance These are the values espoused by the league and foisted upon unwitting children. The NFL, NCAA, and every Park District in the country are breeding children to act like rabid raccoons. By the time high school rolls around, they are trying to get the girls hooked, too – turning them into cheerleaders and gearing them up for lucrative careers as high-class prostitutes. Hell yes, Buster. Come experience the American Way.
(You know the best way to kill a ‘coon, don’t you? Slap the fucker in the face with a garden hose. He will grab the nozzle, and when he does, be ready to turn the water on full blast. Being the prideful, little bastard that he is, the raccoon will not let go. He will drown, and you will be Victorious.)
Indeed. It is no secret as to why public intoxication and venereal disease rates spike in the Fall, and I’d be willing to bet 98% of these incidences can be directly linked to football games with 70% of them occuring within a three-block radius of the stadium. It is time now to ask ourselves what in hell we are spending our money on.
Perhaps grumpiness has taken hold of me, what with being thrown into an awful retrospective reverie from my days in Iowa City, the bastion of Hawkeye Country, which blankets almost the entire state of Iowa in black & gold. Hawkeye Football is the only thing these good citizens have in their lives besides farming and the local tavern. You should see the rape and cannibalism that go on over a standard autumn weekend in Iowa. Even Ghengis Khan would be digusted, and it might make you understand how I have no problem seeing Vince Lombardi and Adolf Hitler in almost precisely the same light.
But I will loosely keep track of football via posted standings on Yahoo! and occasional eavesdropping, if only because knowing at least a little bit about what’s going on in professional sports can be useful in a tight spot…especially when some toothless, drunk slobbers into your ear saying, “Go Bears!” [dribble] The best way to deal with this sort of thing is to say that Rex Grossman will not be able to stay healthy for an entire season because his mother drank heavily while he was in utero thus propogating a rare bone disease in poor Rex, who will be crippled by the time he is twenty-six. Tell him that the Colts are the best regular season team God and His Angels ever created but are wholly doomed to remain a hair’s length away from the Super Bowl until Peyton Manning gets over his postseason stagefright and stops being a Pussy. Then tell the man you’re a Packers fan and extinquish your cigarette on his left eyeball. None of what you said will be true, but the Bears fan will be none the wiser. And besides, he’ll have bigger problems to deal with.
On second thought, maybe Football Season isn’t so bad after all. I’ve just been going about it the Wrong way for all these years, haven’t I?