I suppose if anyone cared about things like the legacy of Donovan McNabb, they would gaze back upon this night – him getting mauled and beaming balls into the dirt as always – when his mom couldn’t bear to watch anymore, as the end. Not the beginning of the end. But the end of the end. Not the beginning of the movie credits, when there are recognizable names and job titles, but the end of the credits, when they start showing weird logos of trade associations you’ve never heard of. And the theater is empty.

I saw a few people on Twitter accuse NBC of insensitivity for showing Mama McNabb leaving her seat. Perhaps she was just going to the bathroom, they suggested. That could have been footage of hours ago. “WHY MUST YOU MAKE LIFE INTO A SAD THING?” I doubt it. As much as I would be glad to see NBC Sports – an organization that is already content to foist Peter King and Mike Florio as reputable reporters on us – guilty of questionable practices in its broadcasts, it doesn’t really matter to me. Because I agree with the implication that is being made with showing McNabb’s mom. I don’t wanna see Donovan McNabb play anymore. No one does. Not even if it means getting his dick knocked in the dirt for three hours. I’m good, thanks. Now please join Favre in not being around anymore.

The discussion of whether or not a certain human being is “black enough” is really quite disgusting. There’s nothing more pathetic or sad to me than to see historically disenfranchised people fighting over exactly how entitled one could be to grievance or validation within their own societal subset.

Is George Lopez not “Mexican” enough because he doesn’t climb under a fence to reach his talk show studio? Did Hollywood kill off Marilyn Monroe by pointing out a Scratch-N-Sniff sticker at the bottom of a swimming pool? Did the Teletubbies ever reject potential bretheren for lack of prominent cranial antennae?

Actually, they probably did. Fascist fleecy bastards.

Bernard Hopkins, noted authority on blackness, took umbrage with Redskins quarterback Donovan McNabb because…well, nobody’s really sure.

Said Hopkins, via the Phillynews.com: “He’s got a suntan. That’s all.”[..]

“Why do you think McNabb felt he was betrayed?” Because McNabb is the guy in the house, while everybody else is on the field,” Hopkins said. “He’s the one who got the extra coat. The extra servings. ‘You’re our boy.’ He thought he was one of them.”

“McNabb? Great. Skills? Throw the ball? Great,” Hopkins said. “But there was something missing. Vick? He understands. And T.O. – same cloth.” Via.

Something missing? Because McNabb’s uniform pants weren’t hanging off his ass when he threw 14 touchdowns last season? Read the rest of this entry »

Good fences make good neighbors. Donovan McNabb’s beloved fence was attacked by a hit-and-run driver who probably wasn’t Kyle Shanahan but totally could have been. Reserve lineman Stephon “Mending Wall” Heyer will serve in place of the fence until a permanent replacement can be found.

[Bog, Image via WaPo]

John Feinstein, in an opinion given a startling amount of serious attention, found racist coding in the many inane excuses Mike Shanahan used for justifying his benching of Donovan McNabb in the final two minutes against the Lions. No, no, NO! How could Feinstein be so misguided? Shahahan doesn’t dislike McNabb because he’s black. Shanahan is just an asshole who mistreats every quarterback who isn’t Elway. Race is why Philly fans hated him.

Oh, calm down, Philly scum, I’m just cruelly baiting you.

Still, there’s no outcome that doesn’t lead to unbearable media reaction. Even with the new ludicrous contract, a Redskins win means sanctimonious writers like Feinstein get to obtusely claim how racism has been proven wrong yet again. An Eagles win gives occasion to thousands of smug Philly writers to try to smugly explain how McNabb losing justifies the city’s retarded obsession with hating his guts. All the more reason to silently resent the media borg I have allowed to assimilate me.

Don’t forget to while away the pregame with this week’s edition of The Designed Rush at SB Nation.

Between crying jags as the Redskins were going through the final minute of yesterday’s loss to the Lions, Maj caught an amusing name among Fox’s camera crew. At first blush, Buzz Schwing sounds as though it might be a subtly orchestrated prank from someone in the production team, but it just so happens that Mr. Schwing is an actual person with real feelings and endearing crotch thrusts.

In other news, our combined intellectual age is somewhere around 16.

Oh, and did you hear that Donovan McNabb got benched late in the game for the Sex Cannon and that Grossman fumbled for a clinching Lions touchdown? Of course not. You surely rely on a lazy football dick joke blog for all your breaking sports stories. We wanted to do something to mock McNabb for already losing the confidence of yet another head coach, but he already took the liberty of producing his own moutheyes image. That’s veteran moutheye discipline.

Mood: Weltschmerz
Song: “Vanilla Twilight” – Owl City (Not sure how I feel about a basketball player in the video)

Seismic sigh. Maybe the Counting Crows and Vanessa Carlton are right: You really don’t know what you got ’til it’s gone. I fear this will be the case when we look back on the should-be storied legacy of Donovan McNabb in Philadelphia.

From the moment the team drafted him, McNabb was showered with scorn, mostly because he’s “a black guy”. He wasn’t just any black guy, though. He was a great black guy with a sensitive nature and a song in his heart. None of this mattered. Truth be told, most Philly fans would prefer their quarterback be a hybrid of Jaws, Rocky, Vince Papale, Mike Schmidt, Sal Fasano and themselves (but only if they’re white). Donovan did not, could not fit this mold. All he could do was be the best quarterback we ever had. And he was hated for it.

That wasn’t me. I saw the genius and I appreciated his humanity. I felt that if we hung out, Donovan and I would become fast friends. We would go to Phish concerts together, because everyone in this town loves that shitty hippie band for some reason.

But the reasons I loved him are the same that others used to cast him out. For years, he’s been dogged by his vomiting on the final drive of Super Bowl XXXIX. This is a pain I know well. I took Lower Merion High School to consecutive Ultimate Frisbee state championships. Each time, our chances we felled by my inability to not wet myself in crucial gametime situations. This, along with general social awkwardness, contributed to a rocky social life that continues to this day.

But, really, we all buckle under pressure from time to time. Is that so hard to admit? Do we really, truly surrender our dignity to admit simple human fallibility that we all possess? And that’s ignoring the fact that our infinitesimally smaller failures are not scrutinized anywhere nearly as much as an NFL player’s are. It’s a terrible, unspeakable injustice. Who could possibly live up to that impossible standard? Not me, that’s for sure. And I doubt you could either, dear reader.

Oakland would probably be a good fit for McNabb. It’s like San Francisco’s “Island of The Misfit Blacks and Poors”. Just not actually an island, so I don’t know how well that simile works. Philadelphia doesn’t really have that so much as scary neighborhoods in which I dare not tread.

Anyway, Raiders fans would welcome Donovan, I think. Underneath the Darth Vader masks and spiked shoulder pads, they possess a vibrant soul that Philly fans do not. It’s probably why their team beat us in that Super Bowl in the ’80s. And I wish him well. In fact, few things would please me more to see him come back and beat the ever-loving snot out the team that unjustly gave up on him. It will be a victory for unappreciated people everywhere, one far more important than any Super Bowl or Ultimate Frisbee state championship. It will be a victory of the soul.

Hey, you! Tired of BORING, OLD SCHOOL NFL football? Sick of pointless and arbitrary roolz like touchdowns being worth only six points, and teams not getting their full complement of 37 timeouts per half? THEN GET READY TO JOIN THE MCNABB RULES REVOLUTION! With Eagles quarterback and former “Biggest Loser” champion Donovan McNabb! His new McNabb Rules Football spinoff game is the hottest new sports innovation since Slamball!

Donovan: I wanted to design a new school football game that would appeal to fans in today’s fast-paced world. I wanted a game that kept the spirit of original football, but one that was FAIRER. That’s why I developed these news rules for my McNabb Rules Football League, and I think you’ll agree that they represent a vast improvement over your traditional NFL product.

AND THEY ARE! CHECK OUT THESE JAMMIN’ NEW ROOLZ THAT MAKE OLD FOGY NFL FOOTBALL LOOK STUPID AND GAY!

Read the rest of this entry »

If you find yourself confronted with an NFL postseason without a rooting interest and unmoved by Don Cheadle soliloquies, you must draw from the well of that most powerful of human emotions. Ok, well, lust probably won’t do here. But the second most powerful, hate, will serve as a fine proxy. This is the first in a series of posts filled with bile, spleen, vitriol and all-around nastiness toward all the teams involved with the sordid roundelay we know as the NFL Playoffs.

Donovan McNabb: CAW CAW

Brian Westbrook: A-heh-heh. That’s good stuff, Donovan.

McNabb: CAW CAW

Westbrook: Yeah, always great to win our last game. Especially over punk-ass Dallas.

Andy Reid: All right, gentlemen. We live to play another week.

McNabb: [Sotto voce to Westbrook] The fuck’s he talking about? I thought the season was over.

Westbrook: [Sotto voce to McNabb] I don’t know. Maybe he’s joking. Laugh like you got it.

McNabb: [Out loud] HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! That’s funny, coach. Next week? HAHAHAHAHA. You always could make me laugh. So when do you wanna hit the buffet? All this running out of the pocket the last few weeks, I think I actually dropped a couple pounds. Can’t have that.

Reid: We made the playoffs. We play next week.

McNabb: …

Westbrook: …

Reid: Y’know, a seeded tournament that determines who is the best team in the league through a series of head-to-head contests, wherein I blow it for us through a bevy of poor playcalling and inept clock management.

McNabb: You mean we have more games?

Reid: Yes. That is what I am saying.

McNabb: THE FUCK!?

Westbrook: Shit, my ankle. I think this one is season-ending.

Reid: Okay. Westbrook: questionable for Minnesota. You’ll go through limited pracitice on Friday and rush for 150 on Sunday. Donovan, need you at the facility bright and early on Tuesday.

McNabb: Why didn’t anyone tell me about this shit?

Reid: There’ve been playoffs before. You even took part in some of them.

McNabb: That doesn’t sound like something I would do.

Douchebag Iggles Fans: BBBBBBBBOOOOOOOOOOOOO FUCK THESE GUYS! KOLB TO CURTIS! KOLB TO CURTIS! KOLB TO CURTIS! BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! WORLD FUCKING CHAMPIONS! KOLB TO CURTIS, THEN LATERAL TO CHUTLEY!

McNabb: This wouldn’t have happened in Chicago.

I’ve never been part of being benched, uh, I didn’t even know that was in the rules. It’s just something that comes with being in the league and I have to go along with it. 

Yeah, that white boy did great, didn’t he? Fuck this place. I’m so outta here. 

(whistle blows)

What? What’s that? The game is over? What do you mean? We tie? There are ties in the NFL? WHAT THE FUCK?

THIS IS AN OUTRAGE!

No one told me! I demand such an arcane, obscure rule be written on a very large sign and posted on the door of every NFL locker room. Otherwise, how would anyone ever know? The game just ends? How can that be? THIS HAS NEVER HAPPENED BEFORE IN THE HISTORY OF THE GAME!

Well, I’d certainly hate to find out what the NFL would do if such a scenario were to play out in a playoff game or the Super Bowl. What does the NFL do then? Cancel the rest of the postseason? Declare the season a stalemate?! WE ALL GO HOME?! THAT’S BULLSHIT! I am outraged at my envisioned scenario, Commissioner Goodell! Also, I never saw St. Louis and Carolina play a double overtime sudden death playoff game a few years ago.

I think the people on the NFL Competition Committee have a lot of explaining to do to me and my teammates. Not only did they fail to let us know that the game could end in a tie, but they also conveniently “forgot” to let me know about other apparent NFL rules. For example, did you know the clock doesn’t stop if you get a first down? WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT ABOUT?! Dude, there are only two minutes left in the game. I NEED TIME TO GATHER MY THOUGHTS! THE GAME GOES WAY TOO FUCKING FAST OTHERWISE!

Did you know that was a rule? Isn’t that just fucking CRAZY?

Also, I have now been informed that incompletions are NOT worth five yards. WHAT THE FUCK?! Here I am, badly underthrowing receivers all game long so that we can methodically drive the ball down the field, while the goddamn ref has the gall to come up and tell me that, after each completion, the ball is returned to the original line of scrimmage and no five-yard gain is awarded. DID YOU KNOW THAT?! Jesus. All those incompletions FOR NOTHING!

And since when aren’t touchbacks worth four points?! I bust my ass all game long to get our punter in good enough position to get us a precious, precious touchback. But suddenly booming one into the endzone isn’t worth four? WE SHOULD HAVE WON THAT GAME BY AT LEAST 70 POINTS YESTERDAY!

It’s like I don’t even know this league anymore. I can’t even recognize the game I once loved. The game I played as a child. The game where I get an extra 20 points tacked onto my QB rating if I tell Andy Reid how much I respect him. Call me a purist, but that’s the way I think the game should be played.

And now you’re telling me I have to play some kind of bizarre, no touchback-awarding, no incompletion-awarding tieapalooza?

That’s fucked up.

I’m sorry. I’m just disgusted right now. I’m going to leave now. I’m going to drive home on the left side of the road, gun it at every red light, drink beer out of my asshole, blow my nose into my shoe, and piss into my neighbor’s Brita filter. Like any rational person who knows the rules of society would.