It’s an unfortunate world we live in when someone feels so hemmed in by the pressures of society that the only way they feel they can confide in someone is to mail an artfully constructed postcard to some dude in Germantown, MD who packages them together and sells them in bounded collections. Well, the NFL is even more harsh and doubly forbidding of confession, but those struggling with it can always turn to NFL PostSecret. At least we aren’t making money off their pain. That’s only for the league to do.
NFL PostSecret is an ongoing community art project where players and coaches or whoever I feel like making fun of mails in their secrets anonymously on one side of a homemade postcard. It’s also a satire of this.
—–Email Message—– Sent: Sunday, November 11, 2007 10:33 PM
Lights out.
—–Email Message—– Sent: Monday, November 12, 2007 12:57 PM
—–Email Message—– Sent: Monday, November 12, 2007 6:57 AM
It’s an unfortunate world we live in when someone feels so hemmed in by the pressures of society that the only way they feel they can confide in someone is to mail an artfully constructed postcard to some dude in Germantown, MD who packages them together and sells them in bounded collections. Well, the NFL is even more harsh and doubly forbidding of confession, but those struggling with it can always turn to NFL PostSecret. At least we aren’t making money off their pain. That’s only for the league to do. NFL PostSecret is an ongoing community art project where players and coaches or whoever I feel like making fun of mails in their secrets anonymously on one side of a homemade postcard. It’s also a satire of this.
—–Email Message—– Sent: Monday, November 5, 2007 11:13 AM Subject: Months
This week’s Kevin Everett update is the best one yet: the Bills tight end with the broken neck is now walking on his own.
Allow me to rephrase that: HOLY. FUCKING. SHIT. To recap, this is what doctors predicted:
And this is what’s going on:
Yeah yeah yeah, the doctors get some credit too, but there is no denying that Kevin Everett is about as measty as a human being can be. Stay tuned for next week’s Everett update, in which he does one-armed push-ups and satisfies a nurse and a candy striper simultaneously.
There was plenty of meastiness around the rest of the NFL this week, to the point that we actually felt the need to recognize several of the individual efforts we witnessed.
Third runner-up is Marion Barber, whose two-yard, two-point-saving run is reminiscent of Barry Sanders — if Barry ran over people instead of around them:
Second runner-up: Devin Hester. With two 80-yard-plus scores, Hester reiterated that (a) all offensive plays should be designed to get him the ball until Cedric Benson can get more than two yards a carry, and (b) any special teams coach who elects to kick to him is interested in working elsewhere next year.
Our first runner-up is vintage 2006 LaDainian Tomlinson, who torched the Raiders for 198 yards and all four Chargers touchdowns. Fun fact: Dan Shanoff has LT2/LDT in our Yahoo! fantasy league, and he still lost.
Predictably, here’s this week’s Meast:
We needn’t go over numbers or game impact here; however, I feel compelled to respond to Michael David Smith’s missive (or should I say dismissive?) that asked Is Adrian Peterson Overrated?
Now, I craft my responses to fellow bloggers carefully. The person known as “Matt Ufford” is a surprisingly affable sort who rarely, if ever, publishes a negative response to a neighbor in the blogorhood.
Captain Caveman, however, is a real asshole.
And as Captain Caveman, on behalf of the KSK Gay Mafia, I can say, “Hey, MDS. Slate called. They were looking for a contrarian poindexter to stir up pointless debate.” And so we respond to the Tim Duncan of blogging, FanHouse’s blandly efficient MVP, thusly: No, Adrian Peterson is not overrated. He’s really fucking good. He’s called PURPLE JESUS for a reason.
Thinking about which play to call, coach? Thinking about a shotgun lateral dumpoff pass on 3rd and 1? I bet you are. Let me just give you a little piece of advice. You see the big strong kid wearing #28 over there on the bench? You know, the one who averaged 11 yards a carry on the afternoon? The guy who only got 2 carries in the second half? The only good player on your offense? The one you apparently assume is made of peanut brittle? The only thing about this season that’s keeping me from drinking a gallon of rubber cement? THE ONE YOU HAD RETURNING KICKS LIKE HE WAS DAVID FUCKING PALMER? Here’s a wild idea for you:
GIVE PURPLE JESUS THE FUCKING ROCK, YOU STUPID BALD FUCK!
Jesus Christ. I hope Ragnar drives over your goddamn head.
-This week’s GameBook took place at The Lighthouse Bar in beautiful Dewey Beach on the Delaware coast. The Delaware coast: It’s like the Jersey shore, only 20% fatter! I blame all the Pennsylvanians.
-I have the good fortune of having Sunday Ticket, but since we were out of town for the weekend, I was forced to go to a bar to watch the games. The one great thing about going to a bar to watch the games is that there are enough TV’s to show every game. I only own two TV’s, and my wife did not allow me to put them in the same room. When I grow up, I’m totally buying a large bank of nine TV’s. It’ll be just like the bonus round on MTV’s “Remote Control”. Only, instead of Suzanne Vega videos, they will show football. I also want the option of showing a single game across all nine monitors. I’d totally feel like a Bond villain if I had that. On non-football days, I’d put porn on all the TV’s and turn my living room into my own peep show booth. You know you’ve made it when you’re your own jizzmopper.
-The other bonus of watching the games at a bar is that you can tell when something interesting is happening in some other game simply by the sound cues. If the Eagles fans start going apeshit, you know it’s time to turn your head. If Browns fans start shouting, “Oh, fuck!”, then you know the Steelers have scored again. If Chiefs fans start shouting, then that means… just kidding. Chiefs fans didn’t say a goddamn word all day. And so on and so forth. You can absorb the important stuff from most games without diverting attention to your game.
-Then again, watching from a bar gives you far too many opportunities to cheat on your team’s game. I was watching Falcons-Vikings. Apart from any time Adrian Peterson touched the ball, this was not a terribly exciting game. So my eye drifted from time to time. Then I had to guilt-trip myself into looking back. I feel like such an infidel.
-Dear Bill Simmons: You do not fucking deserve to enjoy Randy Moss being on your team. Seriously, fuck you.
I watched the game at my friend Jimmy’s house, where he has a big plasma surrounded by three smaller plasmas in the kitchen (where all the food is)
Gee, I wonder who your friend Jimmy is! And I’m so awed at how great your TV-viewing experience was! Your life is so awesome! Fucking arrogant cocksucker. I hope you get raped by a fucking truck.
-I’ve got you figured out, small beach resort towns. You can’t fool me. You’re all the same and I know it. I even found the template for your design: -One homemade ice cream shop -About 75 novelty t-shirt shops (“Freelance Gynocolegist”? That’s fucking GOLD!) -One surf shop with bathing suits starting at $75 and up -About 95 candy shops. I’ll take your chocolate-covered gummi bears and raise you a 5” diameter chocolate-covered pretzel rod. -At least one shop that sells nothing but seashell windchimes -At least one arcade, exclusively populated by people who are far too old to be hanging out in an arcade -At least 10 restaurants that only serve food that is “flash fried”. I don’t believe this is any different from normal frying. It just sounds more impressive. Wow, flash fried! They must fry that shit up lickety split!
-I spent the majority of my time in the ocean diving underwater and then pretending I was Adrian Peterson running in a slow-mo NFL films clip. I also wore a pink Vineyard Vines bathing suit that my mom bought for me at Marshall’s. Who’s Brady Quinn’s next boyfriend? –>this guy<--
-Speaking of gay, joining me at the bar was none other than Jamie Mottram, complete in a “Frerotte Is Fr’Real” t-shirt. Jamie is a handsome fellow. I’m glad he counterbalances it by wearing shirts that make him look like a complete tool. Watching his face when Jon Jansen went down with a brutal ankle injury? Priceless.
-I have no relevant football insight this week, not that I ever do. The NFC is awful and any team, literally, can win it. The Patriots and Colts are clearly better than everyone else. And if Brady Quinn isn’t on the field by next week, you Cleveland folks have every justifiable excuse to burn your city down. Please do so.
UPDATE: Now THIS is a Mottram t-shirt I can support.
NFL PostSecret is an ongoing community art project where players and coaches or whoever I feel like making fun of mails in their secrets anonymously on one side of a homemade postcard. It’s also a satire of this.
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