Narrator: George Armstrong Custer was a United States Army officer and cavalry commander in the American Civil War and the American Indian Wars. Raised in Michigan and Ohio, Custer was admitted to West Point in 1857, where he graduated last in his class in 1861. His ability to estimate numbers has never been elite, but he nonetheless agreed to join as where we all float down here and talk about this year’s Super Bowl. General Custer, the floor is yours.
GAC: Greetings and salutations comrades! Today we embark on a glorious campaign to eradicate the pestilential plague that is the Sioux! Ours will be a bitter struggle but one that we can and must preva…
Narrator: What the hell are you doing?
GAC: Ah, my apologies. This campaign against the Sioux has gotten the better of me. Of late it seems I am in a never ending dream, a dream in which I lead my troops into glorious combat. We engage the enemy, they charge from all directions as the Sioux know no fear, but then I wake again at the start, leading my men and inspiring them to fight for God and country. Someday I know I shall arrive at the end of this repetitive vision quest, victorious and poised for the next step in my career, perhaps to the Presidency itself!
Narrator: Good luck with that. Might want to buy an abacus and learn how to use it first.
GAC: I assure you good sir I’ll have no need to count votes myself; I shall have many eager to serve at my side and willing to engage in such mundane tasks.
Narrator: Wasn’t talking about counting votes General. However, you were going to give us your views on this year’s Super Bowl?
GAC: Ah, of course. A welcome break from my recurring dream. It is my understanding that this year the final game is to be played between the team from Denver, led by a tall and strong member of the European-American caste, while the team from Carolina is to be led by a mud person.
Narrator: Oh no.
GAC: While I myself have lain with members of the Sioux and Cheyenne from time to time I cannot for a moment understand how a white overseer can allow a Negro a position of such prominence, nor why that Negro should be allowed to dance at every whim.
Narrator: I’m sure Jerry asks himself the same question every night General but could we skip the 19th century racial statements, (because those are all gone by the 21st Century! Up top everybody!), and get to the game before you start calling the Sioux a bunch of redskins?
GAC: What!? Heaven forbid! I have fought the Sioux longer and harder…
Narrator: (offstage) Are we still doing phrasing?
GAC: …than any man but the Sioux and their red cousins of the Plains are a noble if savage race and deserving of the utmost respect, if not actually a place to live in peace, assuming that land of theirs actually has or could conceivably ever have a piece of gold on it. What kind of beast would refer to such a race as “redskin”?
GAC: Good Lord! That’s a man of your time!? He looks to be nothing more than a wastrel and a pansy. And his short statute and hooked nose gives him the appearance of a j..
Narrator: He owns a team worth $2.85 billion.
GAC: You jest. Such a number is pure fantasy. Why, for that value his team must win championships twice every year and thrice during Leap Years!
Narrator: You’d think that wouldn’t you? Can we move along to your prediction before Salon.com reads this and stones our asses?
GAC: Assuredly sir. While I do not understand your rules fully; incidentally I sent my man Major Reno to scout for additional information to aid in my prediction but he has yet to return. Have you seen him?
Narrator: He’s on a hill about a mile back. I wouldn’t worry about it. No harm in dividing one’s forces for such a small task is there?
GAC: Oh yes, a man after my own heart! And more glory to me should I succeed with the smaller force! Songs shall be sung in my name, monuments built…
Narrator: There’s one now!
GAC: White marble! One of my favorites. I look forward to perusing it more closely after this battle.
Narrator: You’ll certainly have time.
GAC: As for this diversion you call ‘football’ I shall stake my fortune with the team of the West! The Broncos, a team named for the fearsome yet beloved beast of the West, shall certainly prevail over a team from the more feminine east! The number that keeps coming to me, over and over, each day without end, is 258-136.
Narrator: A fine score indeed. General Custer, thank you for your time. Don’t ever change you over-confident rascal you.
(The Narrator apologizes for dick-stepping any other posts but didn’t think he’d have time to do this and therefore rushed it in there when he unexpectedly did. I will buy any offended parties the beer of their choice) (also the introduction is straight out of Wikipedia except for the elite counting part and ‘Son of the Morning Star’ is an excellent book that I highly recommend.)