Whelp, that’s what comes of trying to be prepared. I figured since I was supposed to have trial this week I would pre-prep some of my weekly crap on Saturday and just keep it under the warming lamps until Tuesday. I got the idea from Golden Corral. So I had this whole long celebratory intro, about how we had finally made it to the outer edges of the Promised Land, thanking Jeebus, Ahura Mazda, Buddha and JHVH-1 for the Methadone Football we had received on Sunday night. Hell, I waxed poetical, comparing FrittBarve’s weenis to the first tiny shoot of grass poking up through the soil to signal that Spring had come, and with it the bright renewal of the world. I even had a biblical allusion to John Elway being the horse that says “Ha Ha!” when the war trumpet soundeth.
But no. No, we can’t have nice things. Because they “fucked up painting the field”. No, seriously, the Prophecy of the Snickers Commercial hath indeed come to pass.
BRING FORTH THE ACCUSED!
CHARGE: Cockblocking us all from gettin’ wit that sweet, sweet football ass
After putting up with an entire week of Favre-fellating and Dungy-diddling, we didn’t even get the payoff of that first taste of pseudofootball played under (with utmost respect to my CFL and AFL Beatnicks) God’s Rules. THAT’S WHY YOU ALWAYS GET PAYMENT IN ADVANCE, ROXIE!!!
One Commentist (for whom I am too lazy to look back) suggested that NBC may have thrown giant sacks of cash at the NFL to cancel the game, therefore preserving their audience for /looks up broadcast schedule for Sunday night/ the Slovenia versus Egypt Men’s handball prelim. And I cannot discount this possibility, as
- NBC appears to think that the Olympic Spirit involves dumping the GDP of a mid-size nation into a giant hole and hoping a Money Tree sprouts; and
- The NFL will take money for anything except advertising on jerseys for some reason.
But no- I’m going to go with Hanlon’s Razor on this one- never attribute to malice that which is adequately explained by stupidity. And maybe a little reckless disregard.
First off, you have to remember that this took place at Tom Benson Stadium, which pretty much guarantees that something is going to malfunction or fall off. And it turns out that part of the donation that the used car salesman made to get his name on the stadium was the field. Which came from the Superdome, and was used for only one year before they tore it out an replaced it. Like New! Low Yardage! Last Year’s Model!
Now, I’m not going to say that Tom Benson schemed to get rid of his shitty turf and get a tax break at the same time by donating it to a non-profit organization where kids from five area high schools play their home games. Mostly because I don’t think Tom Benson has the mental capacity to plan that complex an operation. It’s the same reason I can’t really blame Ronald Reagan for putting out a hit on Lee Marvin- they just handed him his yearly stack of five “Who Does The President Want Killed?” forms, and his mind just wandered back to a list of his former co-stars.
So allegedly what happened is that someone may have used an improper type of paint on the artificial turf to paint the midfield emblem and end zones. Per one NFL.com writers: “[W]hen it did not seem to be drying quickly enough, someone apparently made the dubious decision to heat the field in an effort to dry it — thus melting the rubber pellets inside the FieldTurf and creating a slick, sticky and … ‘congealed’ effect.” In classic teenager-who-wrecked-the-car-and-now-Mom-is-coming-home fashion, the crew decided to try and “fix” the problem by applying industrial paint thinner, which (as you know if you’ve gotten regular pansey-grade paint thinner anywhere near your eyes) is sort of problematic when you’re going to have people getting their bodies and face right in the turf.
At this point, men did what men have done since the dawn of civilization: gather ’round the immense fuck-up, offer half-considered suggestions in authoritative tones, and stare at it so intently that the problem will give up in the face of the sheer force of their masculine will.
And as has always happened since the same dawn of civilization, the fuck-up won. Apparently the Hall of Fame is run by people somewhat less lunatic than the rest of the league, and decided that a preseason game was not worth the near-certainty of players getting horrifically injured. Thus, the game was cancelled and it basically became a fan meet-and-greet with two of the more interesting teams in the league. So the only people who got really cockslapped were we, the viewing public. We were forced to interact with our families or do meaningful housework against our wills. WE WERE PROMISED SWEET RELIEF FROM BEING CIVILIZED HUMAN BEINGS, YOU SHITBAGS!
The slippery, congealed masses of plasticized rubber have been removed and are currently being evaluated by experts. PETA activists are calling for the blobs to be released back into their natural habitat, to which a spokes”person” for the Trump campaign responded that he doesn’t wear a toupee and anyway he doesn’t have room for any more.
CHARGE: –1.602×10−19 coulombs
Boltman. Where were you? You were our last hope for salvation and order and sanity. We were depending on you, the thin yellow streak standing between us and the darkness.
And you blew it. YOU BLEW IT!
In case your mind has blotted it out in self-defense, last week Insomnia-Mayhem made a modest proposal that the Joey Bosa-Dean Spanos’ Sock Puppet dispute over the last few terms of the number-three pick’s contract could be resolved, if only men of good will and open minds would come together and agree to be locked into a conference room and mercilessly foam-fucked by the aforementioned Mascot-American until they gave in and came to an agreement.
But you couldn’t make that happen, could you, Boltman? Or should I say…Dan Jauregui!
There has reportedly been no contact between Bosa and the Chargers since July, which is a novel method for reaching an accord….
As noted last week, the primary sticking points are when Bosa’s guaranteed money will be paid, and whether the Chargers will get any offset on money owed to Bosa if he signs with another team after getting cut. As also noted last week, both sides are being tremendously idiotic. The Chargers are allegedly sticking to their guns because they “don’t want to set a precedent” that future draft picks will get the same terms. Which would be sensible if Bosa was proposing something onerous, like being allowed to bring his pet orangutan on all team flights- if you let future draft picks bring all their exotic pets, you end up with a team plane full of giraffes and capybaras and literal animal shit, as opposed to the merely figurative turds it was filled with last year (1-7 on the road). But lynxes and porcupines are not what we’re talking about here. We’re talking about minor points for a player at a position where integration time is key to success- it’s not like a wideout who you can bring in on Monday, give him a route tree and expect something out of him on Sunday.
My favorite part of the Chargers’ position is listening to Deanspawn John Spanos try and explain their reasoning on the offset issue: “Without offset language, it could unfortunately create the scenario where, as a player in that fourth year, if a player knows he has a million guaranteed from us and can go double dip and earn from another team, it actually in essence creates an incentive to get cut financially. You can make more money getting cut.”
See, this is why Vito didn’t let Fredo run the family. So let’s stick our toe into this pool of madness for a moment. Under John’s theory, a fourth year player entering the prime of their career and on the verge of getting his first big free-agent deal, would intentionally either 1. suck so badly that the team immediately gives up on him completely, or 2. act like such an immense tool that even NFL teams’ legendary tolerance for twattery if you have the talent is pushed beyond the breaking point. Unless your agent has arranged with a specific other team ahead of time, this makes the entire league think you’re a shittier prospect on the free agent market, lowering your value by significantly more than $1 million. To say nothing of the fact that you ensure your fifth-year option is not picked up, which is essentially guaranteed to be $4 million or more. Thus, for the sake of one (1) million dollars, John’s hypothetical player would jeopardize the eight-figure guaranteed money likely to come in his next contract, as well as the larger money which will come with a fifth-year option. I am beginning to see why Chargers fans despair of the hostage situation that is their franchise ownership.
Bosa’s reasons for sticking to his position are somewhat less clear. His agent made it sound like it’s all about the time value of money on the guaranteed payments. Which begs the question of why not give the madmen who own Bosa’s livelihood for the immediate future what they want on the offset, because you’re not going to assume you’re getting cut in the first four years for utter failure, and if you leave for injury you’re not going to have a second contract to offset anything.
As far as I can tell, this boils down to one thing: Mob Wives. As most of you will have heard by now, Bosa’s mother Cheryl chimed in over the weekend on The Facebook, stating that “I wish we pulled an Eli Manning on draft day.” This, presumably, does not refer to remembering to pack extra Gogurt and fruit snacks in case the day goes long. I’ll leave it to the San Diegan contingent to confirm or deny, but bringing up one of the most embarrassing moments for your (or any) team is perhaps not the way to win popular support for your boy’s position. Also: your son is not a damn-near-assured-to-succeed franchise quarterback. Unlike the QB position, the team’s success or failure this season and in seasons future will not turn primarily on the play of one linebacker. You have no leverage other than public opinion, and San Diego is not the dead-end career-killing franchise it appeared to be in 2004, so you’re not going to get any sympathy on that count. Both sides are fucking idiotic, and they are all getting what they deserve.
Ah, Iggles fans. Based on my wellness checks on my Philly friends, it’s been a tough offseason for y’all. Blowing up the dark edifice that Chip Kelly had constructed for next to nothing. Trading the farm for Carson Wentz. The Sam Bradford drama. The overall existential angst that accompanies all things associated with Philadelphia.
But this is just getting too delicious not to enjoy from the outside. Lane Johnson, who just signed a huge long-term contract extension, was allegedly just popped for his second Performance Enhancing Drug violation in the last two years. There actually is a legitimate “allegedly” here, because his agent is calling it a rumor and untrue. But most agents are lawyers, and lawyers are liars, so I think we can safely take this as confirmation that it’s 100% fact.
All the reports say it’s up on appeal, but as a second-time offender, he’s looking at a 10 game suspension. Given that the Eagles’ plan for this season was predicated on Sam Bradford starting while Carson Wentz learned how to use a locker room that was not also someone’s cowshed, I would call this “worrisome”. About the only upside is that Johnson was slated to play right tackle instead of left, which means that Bradford will likely be able to tell the doctors where exactly he is hemorrhaging internally based on his view of the impact.
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