“I know I can still play, but it’s like I told my wife, I’m just tired mentally. I’m just tired,”

What Mort didn’t go on to report is the subsequent conversation that took place when Mort got off of the shitter and checked his voicemail…

Hey Brett! Sorry I missed your call, I was knuckle deep in some serious mud butt.

Don’t you have journalists to do that for you?

Sadly, no. But hey, you mentioned something about retiring because you’re tired. What’s up with that?

You know, I’m just tired. I’m tired of reading the playbook, I’m tired of scouting opponents, and I’m tired of not getting to play with Moss.

I hear ya, Brett. Like I’ve always said, football is a thinking man’s game like chess. The pawns are the linemen, the rooks are the wideouts, the bishops are the tight ends, and the knights are the running backs. But the quarterback is like the king and the queen in one! The queen is your athletic side while the king is your brainy side. It must really have taken a toll over all these years.

…

Brett?

What the fuck is chess?

It’s like fancy checkers.

Chinese or domestic?

It doesn’t matter, your brain has had enough strain.

Hey, that rhymes!

It certainly does, Brett. So what are you going to do now that you’re retired?

I need a job that doesn’t require so much thinking and preparation.

Heck, you could come work in Bristol any time!

Nah, Berman creeps me out.

He’ll do that.

Hey, I know! Do you have Sean’s phone number?

Nope, I deleted it a while back. There was some…unpleasantness.

Damn. I sure would like to hitch my wagon to that Salisbury Brand he’s been talkin’ about. It’s like that guy gets paid to not think. What a great fuckin’ country.

God bless it.

Hell yeah! And fuck the French!

Yeah, and the blacks too!

What?!

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