- The new sensation sweeping Troll Nation: Bradying, which involves people adopting Tom Brady’s sullen pose of defeat from the Super Bowl. Busted Coverage already has some submissions from readers. I prefer @matt_T‘s approach (above) of just Photoshopping him into existing memes and funny situations, but that’s me.
- Of course, there can be no Bradying without its more pious and less fun cultural ancestor, Tebowing. A Colorado family made a gigantic Tebowing snowman, which, if there were a just God, would spring to life and crush them for worshiping false idols.
-A woman interviewed at the Giants victory parade said the Giants player she was most looking forward to seeing was “SANCHEZZZZZZ!” It’s funny because Mark Sanchez doesn’t play for the Giants and whatever team Mark Sanchez plays for isn’t gonna have a Super Bowl parade on account of having Mark Sanchez. Also, as an adult, she’s probably too old for Sanchez anyway.
- Steve Weatherford was also playing a drum during the parade, because as we all know from when he brought 100 Shake Weights to Jets training camp during “Hard Knocks” a few years back, Steve Weatherford is one zany punter bro. Perhaps the zaniest. Coming for you, Chris Kluwe!
- Ricky Williams has announced that he’s going to retire to free up time for Ewok Village.
This means Michael Vick and Santonio Holmes will have to fetch a scale to figure out how they’re going to parcel out future “NFL players using marijuana” punchlines. Sam Hurd gets a cut, of course.
- An online pawn company looking for cheap publicity delivered 900 pounds of Butterfingers to Boston’s Copley Square in honor of Wes Welker being all droppy and stuff. More dickish to taunt Welker or not just give them to Vince Wilfork?
- Even though Maria Menounos doesn’t have anything to do with sports, we always have to hear about how she’s a Boston fan. Apparently she made a lost a bet on the Super Bowl and had to wear a Giants bikini, which is whatever, but I enjoy how hard this guy is laughing at her in this photo, so it makes the Klearinghouse.
Last night I made a bunch of Photoshops of Tim Tebow as a centaur. I don’t know why. I hadn’t been drinking. I didn’t swallow eight buttons of peyote. The possibility just flickered into my head for an instant, and then it had to be. I’m sorry.
All I wanted for Christmas was for Tim Tebow to lose by three scores at home to one of the worst passing defenses in the NFL. And yet, despite a game result that finally matched Tebow’s statistical mediocrity (the kindest possible word for his performance), it’s still not enough to silence the pro-Tebow vote. DAMN YOUR FAITH!!! (In Tebow, I mean.)
Well, to hell with the pro-Tebow vote. They can blame the offensive line or God all they want; I’m going to tune them out by looking at these picture of Sad Tebow while I hum “The Battle Hymn of the Republic.”
Dear Lord, Lord of Heaven and all other Lordly domains, I thank You and give praise to Your Lordness for the winning touchdown that I have just scored, as was Your will. And I thank You for the miraculous grass on which we play, each blade of it painstakingly crafted by the elves You have working in Your Heavenly workshop, because I assume that you have angel elves, which is not an unreasonable assumption to make. Truly, there is no finer surface on which to play this holy game. We could have been playing on concrete, or on bales of hay, or on some kind of giant field of iron spikes, which would not be as comfortable or as pleasant as grass, which emits such a fine Jesusly odor as dictated by You and Your olfactory factories up in the Kingdom above. I would also like to thank You for Ed, the groundskeeper, a simple and humble man who maintains the grass and is fighting off the liver cancer You gave him the best he can.
And I’d like to thank you for glazed walnuts, which brighten up any salad, particularly when mixed in with dried cranberries. In fact, if a salad consisted of NOTHING but those two things, I think I might be committing a sin! And thank You for the sun and the moon, which give us the bright hope of each new day and the romantic mystery of each new night. Sometimes, the moon will come out during the day and I almost feel like You’re overdoing it, but I know that You are just showing me Your Greatness, which is greater than even the greatness of a good Joel Osteen audiobook.
And I’m incredibly grateful to You for tents, which shelter us from the rain and snow when we decide to venture out into the giant playground You have built for us called Nature. And I thank You for providing an instruction booklet to help me figure out which little nylon slot each tentpole needs to go into in order to make the tent rise and be strong against Your mighty winds. They are good winds, and I have nothing but the utmost respect for them.
And I thank You for Lance Ball, who is a strong and capable teammate who is able to shoulder the burden of 25 to 30 carries a game and does so without complaint, and without asking for water breaks. You could not have paired me with a finer companion as we barnstorm the country and spread the Word of your Mighty Coming.
And I Thank you for abortionists. I know that sounds counterintuitive, but You taught me to love all creatures regardless of sin, and so I love abortionists and I pray for them to see me score this winning touchdown and find a higher calling in life. Even as I picture them tearing a helpless fetus away from the placenta that feeds and nourishes that fetus, and deposit that fetus into a biohazard bucket, I cannot have hate in my heart, for I know that there will come a time when the power of Your love causes the end of such barbarism.
And I praise you for cellular phone technology, which is a good technology that I can no longer live without! You should see how these new phones work, Your Majesticness. You can play games with them and take movies and even send messages to many, many relatives! BLESS YOU FOR YOUR MAGIC INVISIBLE TALKY SOUNDWAVES.
Above all else, God, I thank You for You. I do not ask you for anything. You have done so much for me already. You’ve given me a life, and you’ve given me good and healthy things to eat like raspberries. I cannot ask more. I simply give thank to You and love You for You! It’s true! I’m not ashamed to say it! I love and accept You as you have accepted me, despite all my sins. Yesterday I looked at a set of breasts, breasts perfectly created by Your Creatorousness, for a little bit longer than I should have. TEMPTATION AND WICKEDNESS SURROUND ME ON ALL SIDES BUT I KNOW THAT IS YOUR PROVENANCE.
In summation, You are still my BFF and I love You.
Let’s do this, Rex. First order of business: BOUNTIES. A fresh whore to the man who supplies a Tebow part ripped clean from his body. Gotta settle for Jenn Sterger if you only draw blood.
[Bays for blood while beating knife and fork against kitchen table]
Oh, you shut up, Breer. We only like you because you serve as a handy counterexample to Peter King’s overpowering nutmeg-scented laziness. Don’t you start telling us things we don’t want to hear. “OMG HOW DO WE PREPARE FOR A QB WHO ONLY COMPLETES TWO PASSES A GAME?! PLEASE, JUST GIVE US ’07 BRADY INSTEAD. ANYTHING BUT THAT!”
As I watched the pregame show for “Football Night in America” on Sunday, I fully expected the crew to dramatically shift course from the “Tim Tebow is a born winner” refrain to the more reasonable “Oh right, Tim Tebow can only lob knuckleballs in a general direction, which isn’t a desirable trait for a professional quarterback.” But that didn’t happen. Tony Dungy and Rodney Harrison both faulted the entire Broncos team for the blowout against the Lions, and Harrison pinned additional blame on the defense for “allowing 45 points.”
And, lo, did Pontius Pilate extend his arms to the side and proclaim, “DURRR HERR I’M JESUS! LOOGIT ALL MY SAVIORING! I JUST FLEW INTO HEAVEN AND BOY MY ARMS IS TIRED!”
See? Do you see, world? I gave God Boy his shot. You hectored me, you badgered me, you put up stupid billboards and hurled Bibles through my windows. I finally gave in. It killed a little bit of my soul to do it, but I’m a practical man who knows when he’s licked. So I did it. I started Tebow. And for what? This. This is what you’ve been just dying to see. Bra-vo.
Look at him. This brainwashed holy roller goon can’t complete a seven-yard out to pick up a first down. That’s right, here’s your insincere slap on the back as you jog off the field after another three-and-out. Come get it. God, I f*cking hate you. So glad this will be over soon. The fans will realize how stupid and wrong they were and I’ll be able to bring in somebody good next year. Maybe I’ll even get to draft Luck. That’d be sweet.
Oh, f*ck, he’s staying over here. Why can’t he just sit on the bench like a normal person? Okay, okay. Act busy. Where’s the linebacker coach? I need to yell at him about his guys breaking contain on Bush. Damn it, I can’t find him. Oh great, now I have to talk to Tebow. Stop being so eager. You’re never going to be good. What’s the point? He’s such a closetalker. Back the f*ck off. Can you believe this asshole wanted me to join his prayer circle before the game? Just soooo upstanding, isn’t he? I told him I already prayed at home. You could see the heartbreak in his eyes. It was fantastic.
Why are his college teammates here? Nobody cares. No one. I hate you all. Go back to Gainesville and manufacture human misery that we can laugh at from afar. That’s what Florida is for, why we even keep it around. Being Fark fodder. I swear if I see Urban Meyer clapping one more time, I’ll start lighting shit on fire.
Another stop by the defense. I wish I could apologize to every guy on that unit. Busting their ass just so Charlie Church can screw it up. It’s all right. A few more minutes and this will all be over. No doubt the media will still pretend rainbows beam out of his shit, but after a few weeks of this, even they’ll have to admit that Tebow blows. 4/14 for 40 yards. Can you believe that? Against one of the worst teams in the league? Unreal. I’d trade him for Jimmy Clausen right now if I could. I’m not even kidding.
I get run out of Carolina after years of trying to get by with hapless losers like Jake Delhomme, Chris Weinke, Clausen and Matt Moore and what happens? They get Cam f*cking Newton. The top-flight QB I’d been waiting for just falls into their lap. Yeah, real f*cking fair. The wife was right. “Just sit out this season. It won’t kill you. And then a good job will open up somewhere else.” I couldn’t listen. I just HAD to be coaching. I could have had the Miami job. They suck, too, but I least I wouldn’t have been sabotaged from the outset by this fundamentalist Christ groupie jorttard.
Oh, look, Timmy got himself a first down. Even a blind squirrel can bust a nut once in a while. Heh. Bet you’d love that one, you creepy little virgin. I can’t even tell jokes in the clubhouse anymore ’cause he gets all bent out of shape. I went up to McGahee in the locker room and said, “What do you call a quadriplegic woman who washes up on the beach? SANDY!” He cracked up, but there stood Timmy with the sad look in the eyes like he just saw Hey-Zeus take it in the pooper. I think I’ll start putting up hardcore porn all over the locker room. Eat strange hole, Tebow.
Great, we finally scored. Well, whatever. It doesn’t matter. Miami will kill the clock here. I’ll go dime package on all downs just to make sure.
WHAT? NO! NO! HOW CAN YOU NOT CONVERT? I HATE YOU, SPARANO! JUST WIN THE GODDAMN GAME! I’M GIVING IT TO YOU! TAKE IT! TAKE IT!
Fine, we got it back. It’ll be even better if Tebow has a chance to come back and screws the pooch.
OH C’MON! F*ck you, Daniel Fells. You lay out for that? STOP MAKING TEBOW LOOK COMPETENT! IS THIS WHAT YOU WANT!? IS IT? YEARS AND YEARS OF COVERING FOR HIS MISTAKES AND WOBBLY WOBBLY PASSES? WELL KEEP IT UP THEN! SEE IF I CARE!
ARE YOU F*CKING WITH ME!? HOW CAN MIAMI NOT SEE THE QB DRAW COMING?! WE TELEGRAPHED THE SHIT OUT OF THAT PLAY! IT WAS AN EMPTY BACKFIELD! DRAWS ARE ALL THAT GIANT PIOUS RETARD CAN DO! STOP HIM! STOP HIM!
Of course Matt Moore fumbled in overtime. OF COURSE HE DID. Coach killer. I have him to thank for me being in this crummy job. I want to witness your last breath, Matt Moore, then go out for Taco Tuesday at Don Pablos. Really savor the moment. And the flavors.
Ooooh boy. We won. Look at the euphoria splayed across my face. Like someone laid it on with a trowel.
Let history show that I tried to put a stop to this. I really did. It’s bad enough that I’m gonna have to live through it. Just don’t let anyone assume it was my doing. Because it wasn’t. This is my hell, too.
F*ck you, Tebow. May you die knowing Islam is the one true faith and that God hates us. Better yet, there is no God. What benevolent creator would allow this happen? It wouldn’t. God is dead and Tebow killed Him.
They’re gonna find your S&M gay abortion dungeon, Timmy. I’m starting to give the media hints. Then you’ll be a pariah. Your mom will get another Super Bowl commercial just to announce that she’s abandoning you. Rick Perry will no longer accept you as his VP. No more will kissing teammates after victories be written off as getting swept up in emotion.
It’ll be getting swept up in anal. Tony Dungy will lead hate marches against you and the Westboro Baptist Church will picket your funeral. And I will love all of that.
But before all that, I get to have my fun. Since Timmy Tebow: All-Heaven Clutch Hero is in demand, that’s what I’m going to give everyone. From now on, we’re gonna have five-wide sets with seven step drops. Trick plays with Tebow as a receiver going over the middle. QB dives on 3rd and 3. Tebow returning punts with fair catches outlawed. Tebow holding on extra points with his teeth.
I’m gonna get you, you son of a bitch. For all of us.
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