Guys, I think Julius Jones and T.J. Duckett are great players. I really do. And I like the way they fit into Seattle’s offense — T.J.’s a big back who has a disappointingly finesse style, while Julius has great field vision that needs outstanding run-blocking to have any kind of success. I plan to take them under my wing, you know, show them how to put those two styles together.

But I have to ask… is this really fair to Maurice Morris? He’s obviously the odd man out in this equation. I talked to him earlier today, and he sounded excited about two men taking up his locker. I don’t know why he’d be okay with switching teams at this point, but that’s a sign that the team definitely signed two running backs to replace one. Right?

I mean, I even talked to Tiki. He assured me that these two free agent running backs are mere insurance for my inevitable Week 4 injury, and that the Seahawks will need my leadership on the sidelines until I come back in Week 8, stronger than ever. Then get injured again. Then play the final two weeks of the season. Maybe. The point is, if anyone knows that a team needs a veteran RB’s leadership to succeed, it’s Tiki!

Seahawks GM Tim Ruskell: Get out. You’re fired.

Alexander: Fired?

Ruskell: No, I’m kidding! I just wanted to see how that would feel to say.

Alexander: Phew!

Ruskell: We gave you to the Raiders.

Alexander: You mean traded?

Ruskell: Are you kidding?! We couldn’t get a prosciutto panini for your washed up ass. Although Al Davis sent us this nice Bo Jackson poster.

We’re going to burn it in effigy the next time we play on Monday night and they run the clips of him destroying Bosworth and running into the tunnel.

Alexander: Oh. So… I guess I should–

Ruskell: Seriously, just get out. We’ll mail you the contents of your locker.

Alexander: Oh.

(walks away dejected)

(falls down two yards before getting to door)

God, I’d been praying and praying for you to heal this foot of mine. And, Lord, you brought succor to my wounds. For that, I am eternally grateful. You’ve let me continue to live this incredibly privileged life so long as I commit myself to your sacred service.

May I then offer one quibble, God? I came back to play 10 games – yeah – the better part of last season, sure. But 896 yards? Less than four yards a carry? Is mine a benevolent God? We’re talking career worst stats here. I’m finding my faith rocked. Doubts are starting to creep in. Big, quitting-at-the-end-of-the-season doubts.

I touted the restorative powers of prayer, did I not? Didn’t I donate that really big fucking cross to that baptist church in Alabama. You remember? That one Alabama baptist church? You told me there were those to smote and they have been smoten!

Why hast thou forsaken me in favor of the one who is called Frank Gore? He of the land of the Sodomites. No, not Dallas. The other one, the one with the bay. What is his record of good works? I’ve carried out your earthly missions, averaging clearly more than four blessings per mission carried out. Clearly, the same should apply to my football carries.

But now, I’m left with no sign that my efforts are appreciated. And thou has provided no linemen to replace Steve Hutchinson. Fuck you, Yahweh, I do it myself!

[Alexander rises to his feet, immediately feels a sharp pang in his left foot]

Ah, haystacks.