God dammit, Toomer! Why did you have to catch that ball? Can’t you see what I’m trying to do here! Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck! I was THIS close to being benched, you asshole!

Everything had gone so perfectly! I was throwing pick after pick after pick. It was only a matter of time before Der Fuhrer over there finally blew his stack. I could tell. The tip of his nose had just turned deep crimson. That’s when I KNOW he’s ready to blame me for everything going wrong. The bench was there for the taking, dammit! I could have gotten my thighs rubbed!

God, it looks so nice over on that bench. Look at Lorenzen over there, holding the clipboard. Not a fucking care in the world. That looks so awesome. So warm. But noooooo, we had to go and win the goddamn game. Think I played clutch at the end there? My ass. I fucking gave that loss away. I had that loss in the palm of my hand. Instead, I had to fucking choke and go win the game. Dixie shit. This was a fucking must-lose for me!

I was one more turnover away from sheer bliss. I could’ve gotten out of this miserable rain and worn one of those bitchin’ shell jackets for the rest of the game. Ever try and throw a football in the cold rain? God, I just wish I could cozy up in front of a Duralog with a nice glass of mulled wine.

Instead, we’re 8-4. We could lose every game from here on out and STILL make the playoffs. Shit! Thanks a lot, rest of the NFC. Thanks for sucking harder than Ian McKellen at a Boys Club. I fucking hate you.

That is fucking IT, man. I’m not gonna take any more goddamn chances. Nothing is gonna keep me from getting demoted to third string and spending half my week on the squash court. Who are we playing next, Philly? Well, Sunday is your lucky day, Sheldon Brown. Because I’m lasering a good 24 passes right at your chest. And you better fucking catch them.

Because I’ve had it with this shit.