Folks may think that the Cat Man is not one with the Tao. But I ask you this. Why does he win? The Bears are better off losing for a better spot rather than finish in the middle of the pack. The Bears have to win out in hopes to make the playoffs as a wildcard.
Chapter 2
When the world knows a good play as a good play, sadness in Cleveland arises
When it knows a good guy as a good guy, Jerry Jones and evil arises
Thus being and non-being produce each other
Difficult passes and easy sweeps bring about each other
Long drives and short punts reveal each other
High floaters and low bullets support each other
4th down Music and fans voices harmonize each other
Front line and the back field follow each other
Therefore the Cutler:
Manages the work of little actions
Conducts the teaching without words
He works with egos but does not try to control
He creates plays but does not possess the clock
He acts like he has been there before but does not presume he will win
He wins but does not care
It is because he does not care
He never goes away
http://36.media.tumblr.com/42c8bf7f1cc956317d3258dd6842e5bc/tumblr_nysmvxOEQE1qz6f9yo4_1280.jpg
“The world is a terrible place for the innocent.”
http://41.media.tumblr.com/69d2599772343a57791ab59d421345ec/tumblr_nyquhsFO3U1qz6f9yo3_1280.jpg
Sorry, that was depressing, true as it may be.
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A Coordinator’s Life
— Sylvia Plath
A QB is dragging his shadow in a circle
About a locker room saucer.
It resembles the moon, or a sheet of blank paper
It appears to have been some form of game plan.
He reads quietly
With no attachments, like a foetus in a bottle,
But not a real bottle, for it may have
Contained vaccine,
Which is the one thing that may not enter.
Ambivalence exorcised,
Leave Catler alone now.
The future is a drunken fan
Belching its ignorant voice of departure.
Gase and Loggains, like trainers, attend Catler,
Defeated men, complaining beneath their breath,
“At least we aren’t the Lions”.
THIS GUY BEERGUYROB, I CALL HIM WORDGUYROB
A lot of people are surprised to find that Sylvia Plath wrote poetry about football; they are less surprised when they learn that she was a Cleveland Browns fan.
The earth sleeps
As winter’s icy breath rolls over the land
Sharp shadows cut across the empty stadium
And leave only echos, and echos
And the Schaub lets fly a lone orb
Spinning, spinning, and falling into the hands
Of a lone homeless guy who snuck into the stadium, and is drunk on malt liquor
Holy shit. We may need to make religion out of this and make some real money!
Superb work.
I was about to type the same thing. Was thinking this was WAY better than that EST as portrayed on The Americans, and apparently that was based on a real thingy.
Can the world continue with the violence of The Cult of Bleergh and peace and inner-understanding of the Tao of Catler existing in the same plane of existence?
As long as we can install Christmas Ape as the Holy Father and Suzy Kolber as the Holy Hot Mother, I’m in.
I CALL POPE
Ufford’s Eighty-Fourth Letter to the Clevelandians, Chapter 3, Verse 1: Anal is patient, anal is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, except to one’s frat bros at the bar the next night.
A-nal-men!
I mean, if the Unitarians can do it, why not us?
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http://40.media.tumblr.com/40c583c267b648ca3ded2a0f2d4cc71a/tumblr_ngqev2DpvU1qz66gdo3_r1_400.jpg
When one hosts the draft,
he shall not steal from the crowd
the thunder
of booing Goodell,
with the top overall pick.
Pick 6 or lower.
Did somebody say “Pick 6”?
http://www.reviewjournal.com/sites/default/files/styles/large/public/field/media/web_matt_schaub.jpg
Sure people like to say I threw 3 interceptions on Thanksgiving, but people seem to forget two of those went for touchdowns.
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