This is Dr. James Andrews, and if you follow professional sports you’re probably familiar with his work. It is Andrews’ nimble fingers that have been responsible for breathing the life back into hundreds of lame limbs from all across the sporting spectrum, and now he’s taking on Brett Favre’s bum bicep. Clearly the man has gone mad with power.

Jesus fucking Christ, James, if God really wanted Brett Favre to make another comeback he wouldn’t have taken the time to reduce the man’s throwing arm to delicious shredded beef. Who are you to interfere with His divine will? You must have an ego the likes of which we’ve only seen from Favre himself. I am pleading with you to think long and hard about what you’re doing before you selfishly repair another man’s injury.

That is why I am humbly requesting that you kick the Hippocratic Oath to the curb for a day and “take one for the team” by botching this procedure. In fact, I’m willing to start up a collection on this very blog to compensate you for doing as such.

Cancel the procedure?

We’ll figure out a way to make up for the lost income (invaluable gambling advice!).

Go through with the procedure but intentionally botch it to make sure Favre never so much as lifts his right arm over his head?

Double compensation, plus a free whore to do with as you see fit.

Feel too guilty to screw up on purpose?

We’ll buy you a case of Red Bull to chug before the surgery. That way your conscience can remain (somewhat) clear while your hands do their best impression of a Parkinson’s patient.

Feel free to sleep on it, James. But if you don’t have an answer soon I’ll be powerless to stop Drew from offering a bounty on your veiny hands.

Was that YOUR strain of the swine flu you were eying with desirous glances? NOT ANYMORE. It now courses through my veins! Consider yourself snookered! Another round of head-sized vodkas, barkeep!

Masterful gamesmanship by myself, if I may say so. After all, everyone was talking up swine flu in the days leading up to the draft. It was on everybody’s lips. Can’t argue with that. Sure, it has its detractors. It’s fatal, viral and Mexican. But it’s got major upside. Gonna be a real gamechanger, and much more versatile than McDaniels’ SUPERAIDS. I wasn’t fooled for a minute that any alarmist rhetoric somehow dissuaded you from being interested in contracting it. If ever there was a keen judge of motivations, it’s me.

Oh, you wish for me to seek treatment, do you? I see right through your smokescreen. Clear up my swine flu so you can keep it all for yourself. I didn’t get to be an NFL head coach because of my good looks. It took the mind of a brilliant tactician coupled with the iron will of [urp] oh God.

No, no, I’m gravy. Probably the head is a little dizzy BECAUSE OF THE AMAZING COUP I JUST PULLED! There swine flu was, ready to drop into your outstretched arms and WHOOSH, I snatched it from you like a thief in the night. That’s gotta be embarrassing. No wonder you’re licking your wounds with this whole “dire medical emergency” business.

“Your skin turning a sickly shade.” Yeah, okkkkkkay. Typical, buddy. I got what you wanted and suddenly the personal attacks come out. Let’s try to be pros about this. I, uh, whoa man.

Hey. I’ll be damned.

You know what? This thing just up and killed me. Right like that. All sudden-like. Now that’s some great value for a no. 1 pick. I bet your guy won’t even start killing you until his third year. I win at life. Or did.

We might stick around for the late game or we might not. Like the Raiders and Broncos belong in primetime anyway.

CHICAGO BEARS

Vegas Over/Under For 2008: 8 Wins

Verdict: UNDER

It’s somewhat difficult to win eight games when you have no quarterback, no wideouts, and no running backs. Congratulations, Bears fans: you might have the most excruciating-to-watch offense in NFL. I’d rather watch a Todd Solondz film. “Oooh, look! People from the suburbs are twisted and strange! I’m going to film that little boy cumming on the railing! I’m so taboo!” Get fucked, freakshow. Your movies blow.

DETROIT LIONS

Vegas Over/Under For 2008: 6.5 Wins

Verdict: UNDER

Six wins I could see. But six and a HALF? Let’s not go fucking nuts here. Half a win is 100% of a win for this epicenter of NFL shittitude. Also, Roy Williams can eat a bag of piping hot diarrhea. Some third round fantasy pick you were, Pegboy.

GREEN BAY PACKERS

Vegas Over/Under For 2008: 8 Wins

Verdict: OVER

Oh, no! Brett’s gone! How will Green Bay ever survive with just a solid defensive line, a sound running game, gifted young receivers, an improving head coach, and a potentially decent quarterback? A BLUE PERIOD SHALL DESCEND UPON US ALL!

MINNESOTA VIKINGS

Vegas Over/Under For 2008: 8.5 Wins

Verdict: OVER

The Vikings are a few people’s chic Super Bowl pick, which means they’re hopelessly fucked. Thanks to Tarvaris Jackson, they also happen to be the official Butterface Team of 2008. One of the Viking message boards I frequent decided to nickname Jackson “Tar Baby”. Because it sounds like Tarvaris! So clever! So yeah, Minnesotans can also be racist fucks. Goody.

-When the Detroit Lions visited the Vikes on October 11, 1964, it was the first (and only) instance where both teams took the field wearing white jerseys. The game started as scheduled and continued until the Vikes changed into their purple jerseys on the sideline in time for the second quarter. The Vikes not only lost the game, but then had to run a warm load of laundry AND a cold load that night.

-Also in 1964, Ohio State alumnus and NFL Hall of Famer Jim Marshall ran a fumble recovery 66 yards into his own end zone for a safety. This lapse in football awesomeness has largely overshadowed the fact that Marshall started at defensive end in 282 consecutive games. That consecutive games started mark still stands as the NFL record (Brett Lorenzo Favre only has 237. What a pussy).

-Distinguished Badass-in-Multiple-Walks-Of-Life Alan Page is one of seven Vikes–along with Marshall, four other players, a coach and a GM–to be enshrined in Canton. Page went on to earn his law degree from the University of Minnesota in 1978, the same year he was cut by the Vikes, in part because their front office believed that Page’s hobby of distance running caused him to lose too much weight to be effective on the field. He was almost immediately signed by the rival Chicago Bears and played four more years in the League with that team. Page now sits as an Associate Justice of the Minnesota Supreme Court, and may be the only player in NFL history to sit through more court appearances than Chris Henry.

-Finland native/offensive lineman/taxi squad member Seppo Evwaraye was signed by the Panthers last year , but was unable to play because the processing fee for his work visa was $5 too light. He played in NFL-E this past spring, and is noted for his 40 time (< 5.0s) and his two brothers, both of whom play for the Finnish national team. He has two goldfish, Megatron and Steve.

-The Vikings made a complete uniform overhaul in 2006, including this massive transformation of their helmets (image courtesy: Wikipedia)

Holy shit, dude. They ruined it. It was so much more awesome the old way.

Projected 2007 Record: 7-9, 2nd place, NFC North (because it sucks)

Actual 2007 Record: 3-13, T-3rd place, NFC North, (because they suck)

Star-Trib Writer Michael Rand, who also does the blog RandBall, really, really likes his team’s chances this fall:

Oh, it’s going to be ugly. They don’t have a No. 1 receiver. The might not have a No. 2 receiver. They don’t have a QB who is even remotely proven. They don’t have a pass-catching tight end. They do have two decent running backs.

The defense is a year older and missing the star coordinator from a year ago. They still do stupid shit off the field (see Cedric Griffin’s Pants-off Dance-off), and the head coach has the trust and confidence of about 12 percent of the fan base, at best.

They open with four fairly winnable games, which should put them at 2-2 into the bye. The four coming out of the bye (at Chicago, at Dallas, Philly, San Diego) will rip them apart. From there, it will be an all too familiar shame spiral.

One time I heard this story about how this one guy was farming hookers from Minnesota and he met up with these two girls, and they were like really hot and shit. Then he goes, “Hey, let’s go to Dallas.” And these dumb bitches were like, “Okay!” Bad move, sisters. So anyway, dude drives ‘em down and they they get there, and he’s all, “Looks like we’re outta gas. Guess you bitches are gonna have to sell that pussy so we can get home.” Just like that, man. They were insta-huers. Seriously, dude. It was in Rolling Stone. When the Vikings rented out those boats two years ago and tried to fuck everybody, I bet that’s what they were up to. That was two years ago, right?

Venus could be the hottest Viking Queen since Hagar’s old lady.

Meanwhile, Serena Williams is currently dating the PGA’s Hank Kuehne. What stunningly divergent tastes in men. Are their significant others always such diametric opposites? If Venus was dating George Stephanopoulos, would Serena start dating the Great Khali? The mind reels.

If Serena will go out with ol’ Hank here,
Unsilent Majority might just have a chance after all.

[Note: Or maybe both of these guys are dating Venus. Or perhaps someone is taking liberties with the truth. At this point, we aren't sure of much except that none of the Williams sisters are sharing their sweet loving with KSK. And that, kids, is a damn shame.]

You see, I’m just a simple country guy. If I had my druthers, I’d be back in Kiln, sittin’ on top of my lawn tractor, mowin’ the grass. But I felt obligated to be here today, to let you know that I really resent havin’ to be here. I don’t want all this attention. It’s not me. This really ain’t my thing.

Man, look at all your fancy cameras! Back in Kiln, we don’t even have cameras! Don’t need ‘em. We’ve got Tookie the mud painter to preserve our memories. And that’s all we need. I’m not a real technophile. Sure, I own a flat screen TV, iPod, laptop, and Harmon Kardon surround system. But I don’t use any of it. I just like to bring friends around and point at it and mock it for being so materialistic. We don’t need any of it. I play a washboard for my friends and they like it just fine.

I’m a down home feller, guys. I just want to be with my family. In fact, they’re callin’ my Blackberry right now. But I can’t answer it, because I have to be here with you.

I just want to go out there and play football. I’m not in this for the money, or the attention, even though I signed endorsement deals with Motorola, Nike, and Ted’s Auto Body. That’s not what Brett Favre is all about. I’m just a hard-workin’ boy who hopes to retire one day to a life of farmin’, fishin’, huntin’, and hostin’ NFL Live 6 days a week. That’s all I ever wanted. Don’t you see that you people are robbin’ me of precious time with me and my family? Jesus.

Peter, you understand better than anyone. I’m not some spoiled diva, am I?

Buttboy: Hell no.

Of course not. Even when I bitched to the team to bring on Randy Moss, hell I wasn’t doin’ that out of selfishness. I did it because I think it would be some darn good fun to have Randy Moss on our team. The sullenness. The lackadaisical attitude. I wanted him to be around here because we could play some old-fashioned ball together. I certainly didn’t want him here to help bring more media attention to my falling team as I try desperately to remain in the limelight as my skills quickly rot away into nothingness. That wasn’t my intention. And I resent having to mention that idea to you and then refute it. It ain’t right.

I’m not some total media whore who puts up a Bobby Bowden-like country bumpkin front for reporters in exchange for favorable coverage. I’m not some selfish prick who pretends to be a team player but really just can’t stand to live one second without the attention. I don’t wish I was Peyton Manning and secretly hope to catch him, skin him, and then wear his skin as a disguise while I try and play five more years. I’m not a whiny, hypocritical douchebag who thinks he’s better than everyone because he fancies himself so fucking down-to-earth. I’m not a fucking asshole – a big, gaping, flaming red asshole who deserves to get brained by a roided-up, tire-iron wielding Shawne Merriman and then thrown into a wheat thrasher and brutally murdered for being such a tiresome sack of shit. I’m not like that at all. Which is why we should meet regularly every week from now on, so I can reinforce that point.

I’ll be honest here, I’m not sure how much longer I can take this. Maybe I should retire. Maybe. Probably not. But possibly. I’d say there’s a 30% chance, but a 50% chance I could increase that first percentage. But maybe a 15% chance I could lower it. I’m not sure. Maybe. Possibly. I’d have to talk to my family about it. Then I’d have to think about it. Then I’d have to have a conference call to hash out my feelings. Maybe a conference call. Possibly a town hall forum. Not sure.

Let’s hold a press conference next week and I’ll inform you of my decision. I won’t like it, but you Northern fuckers have forced my hand. Guess I’m missing Breleigh’s birthday.