As we approach fall, it becomes obvious to all that the NFL season is approaching. In crappy bars everywhere, men with buttoned shirts and white hats are loudly discussing who they’re taking in the 3rd round of their fantasy draft, and giving every player in the league a nickname that consists of the first letter of their first name and either the first letter or last syllable of their last name. I.e. D-Nabb or LT or LJ, or F-You. (Okay, that’s usually my response, but I’m sure I could find a player that would have that name.) Television is slowly being filled by beefy men in ill-fitting suits talking louder and louder, and trying to say the word football as often as they can to sound smarter. (“He’s a football player who makes football plays on the football field. Yes, I ordered the Club Football sandwich.”) Play-by-play announcers are slowly warming up their lungs for the banshee-like howl they will curse us with for the next 21 weeks or so. (LADANIAN ARE YOU KIDDING ME WITH THAT PLAY??!!! I’M GONNA HAVE A MASSIVE ADEMA AND DIE BECAUSE NOW I’VE SEEN IT ALL! 2nd and 7 on the 32 for the Chargers.)

As you can probably tell by now, I don’t really like football. I watch it, because there isn’t much else to do on Sundays. Let’s be honest, I’m not going to do something stupid like leave the house. But I have found a level on which anyone can enjoy the game, and I’m here to share it with you. Hopefully, you can take this and at least understand the obsession our nation has, or bond more with your boyfriend, or if you’re really lucky, your girlfriend. Here we go:

On the field at all times are 22 players, 11 from each side. Of these 22, we can be sure that 5 or 6 of them are complete drug addicts. Be it coke, steroids, HGH, painkillers, these people are juiced to the gills. It’s why some players where shades on their facemasks, not to block out the sun but to prevent their eyes from exploding out of their skulls and hitting anyone else. Now at the same time, on the same field, 2 or 3 of the 22 are complete Jesus freaks, to the point where they start every sentence with, “My Lord and Savior Jesus…,” and probably refer to their waffles as, “Morning Prayer Grids.” Now that’s an interesting enough mix right there, especially where there’s an overlap, but we’re hardly done. Of the 22, three or four of these guys is paying more in alimony and/or child support than you or I will make in two years. Now, they’re not as bad as the NBA, who I think might be trying to start their own race, but still not good. Now, a majority of the league is black players, so let’s say 15 of the 22. But at the same time, you can probably find one or two corn fed mules from Alabama who grew up hating anything that rhymed with the word black. So, on the field at all times we have drug addled rage, religious fervor, pure regret and desperation, and a small race riot. Pretty spicy sporting dish, no?

Gets better. All of this is being orchestrated by the coaches, older men who work 100 hour weeks, probably couldn’t tell you the name of their own daughter, and long ago forgot what it means to be human. How inhuman are football coaches? Every year it seems at least one player dies during TRAINING CAMP! What other job cost lives DURING TRAINING? Firefighters and soldiers don’t die during training! That is one flavorful sporting meal.

27/09/2007
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