/closes eyes, pinches bridge of nose, puffs out cheeks and blows out breath.

Ok. Ok. You can do this, Mayhem.

//opens eyes, stares at the gaunt, haunted face in the mirror.

It’s going to be fine. You can make lemonade. You can make a silk purse. You can be a lawyer and politics junkie in a time where the Leader of the Free World has chosen the imaginary leprechaun as his primary advisor.

[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hLnecKDUweA]

You can be a football fan and amateur writer in a time where the improbable victory of the Patriots has put you in a serious theological quandary, not between the existence of a kind, loving God and atheism, but between atheism and a deeply malevolent Prime Mover.

No. In the words of Homer Simpson, IT’S TIME TO LAUGH AGAIN!

HOW THE FUCK YOU DOIN’, BOYS AND GIRLS?!?!? Oh men. MEN! I just flew back from a five-day vacation in a remote cave in the Atacama Desert, and boy are my chakras tired. Apparently some sort of “foot-ball” game took place on Sunday. I dunno- all I remember is a bunch of monks suddenly and simultaneously getting really upset because “the World-Soul is crying.” Whatever.

In the mean time, it’s time to get down with our funky  selves and see who has been misbehaving in the world of football. BRING FORTH THE ACCUSED!

ATLANTA FALCONS

CHARGE: Operating a franchise under the influence

Well, that didn’t take long, did it? So yes, there was a Super Bowl, and yes, the Falcons managed to piss away a seemingly insurmountable lead over the forces of Darkness. A prime architect of that collective crotch punch was their offensive coordinator, Kyle Shanahan.

Up by 8 with 4:40 remaining in the game, Shanahan found himself in a 1st down situation at the New England 22 yard line, by dint of Julio Jones defying the laws of Man, God and Physics to make a catch. Like seriously, I know all that Stephen Hawking shit about space-time being curved, but I did not believe it until I saw that replay. New England did have all three of its time-outs, but declined to call one after the first running play, bringing the clock down to 3:58. If, at that point, Shanahan had called two more running plays (especially inside running plays) and then kicked the field goal from easy Matt Bryant range (40 yards if they don’t gain another inch), the Falcons would have been up two scores with a little less than 3:30 left.

The Patriots would have been left with one time-out and the two-minute warning to go all the way down the field, score, get the two point conversion, recover an onside kick (which they hadn’t done this season) and then get back into field goal range. That’s un-fucking likely, even with The Black Goat Of A Thousand Young placing a hoof on the scales of probability.

As you know, Mr. Shanahan made a different choice. He decided to start calling passing plays with long-developing routes, despite injuries to the right tackle, because…well, no one quite knows why.

Maybe he was concerned that the Patriots had “momentum” and that playing conservatively would embolden New England to go down and score two touchdowns. Possible, although the conservative-as-Rick-Santorum defensive play calling suggests not.

Maybe he was thinking a quick first down would let him run down the clock even more. Unlikely, as he would have burned almost as much time just playing out the remaining three downs.

Or maybe he wanted to march right back and score the full six points because he was thinking with his testicles instead of his head.

Penalties and a sack ended up taking the Falcons out of field goal range entirely, setting up the Inevitable Cascade Failure.

The Red Mist. Most of us have had it, either in real life or at least in Madden– what Urban Dictionary defines as “a feeling of extreme competitiveness or anger that temporarily clouds one’s judgment.” I first heard the term at a track day, where one of the instructors was warning about that feeling when someone passes you and suddenly there is nothing in the world you would not risk to overtake that fucker. I always though Mike Shanahan coached with a permanent case of the Red Mist (or at least a massive inadequacy complex). Remember, this was the guy who got into a pissing match with his owner as a first-time head coach with the Raiders and turned to firing members of his coaching staff who Al Davis liked in retaliation for Davis firing “his” guy. It seemed like his later tenure in Denver and his whole time with Washington were guided by a pervading desire to show that it was his coaching that won two Super Bowls, not just Elway and Terrell Davis. And it never really worked for him.

I wonder if his son, who went into the Family Business and had no qualms about taking advantage of his father’s blatant nepotism, might not have also adopted that mindset. The Patriots had turned his triumphal parade from offensive coordinator to Niners head coach into a desperate holding action. What I saw on that drive was a coordinator who had Tiny Rex Grossmans on either shoulder, each one encouraging Shanahan to Fuck It and Throw It Deep. Even Julio could only bail him out once. Bleergh help John Lynch if he’s caught between a narcissistic douche owner and a narcissistic testosterone junkie coach.

But even wandering dazedly amongst the burned-out ruins of likely the best season in franchise history, the Falcons still managed to find a nearly-undamaged bed in which to  shit. With Shanahan’s departure, the Falcons’ high-scoring offense needed a strong, steady hand to take the tiller and try to avoid the Super Bowl Loser Regression. And they decided that calm, steady hand was…Steve Sarkisian?

Listen, this has absolutely nothing to do with Sarkisian’s history of substance abuse. That disease will get after the best of folks, and I am glad he sought treatment and appears to have his shit together on that side of his ledger. This also doesn’t have a whole lot to do with his famous profanity-laced speech to alumni at the annual “Salute to Troy” event- if I were trapped in a room with a bunch of USC football boosters, I would have gotten drunk and sworn at them too even without a substance-abuse issue.

No, Sarkisian is a problematic pick because he stepped in to fill Lane Fucking Kiffin’s douche-shoes twice (or three times, if the rumors about Layla Kiffin are true) and cocked it up both times. USC- sure. The drinking and the sanctions made that no-win position. But he was given one game- just one fucking game- when he was handed the finely-tuned banjo that was the 2016 Alabama offense and was charged with Not Fucking It Up. So what does Sark do?

He takes a team that was averaging 455 yards per game on offense and parked it in the garage with a tidy 376 yards for the game of the year. And it wasn’t bad breaks for Sarkisian- they didn’t turn it over once, and they rushed for about their season average at 221 yards. No, on the plays where offensive play-calling really matters (pass plays and third-downs) Sarkisian put true freshman Jalen Hurts in positions he clearly wasn’t up for, ending up completing 13 of 31 passing attempts for 131 yards. More damning is a Browns-worthy 2-15 third down conversion rate, as well as Alabama’s inability to stay on the field and kill clock in the 4th quarter- which was sort of an issue for the Falcons as well. Seriously, what makes an NFL franchise see what this clownshoe did with the most idiot-proof offense in College Football  and think “We gotta get us some of that”?

So kudos to Steve Sarkisian for taking a step that didn’t involve Lane Kiffin’s sloppy seconds. But I’m thinking that the roof of the new stadium is not going to be the only puckering sphincter in Atlanta football next season.

CARLOS RAY “CHUCK” NORRIS

CHARGE:Misuse of Authority, Dereliction of Duty

Ok, so I know Chuck Norris isn’t really a Texas Ranger. Hell, at age 76, he may not even be much of a Walker anymore. But goddamnit, SOMEBODY has got to be fucking accountable. And as the primary public relations arm of the Texas Ranger Division for the last 25 years, that man is Chuck Norris.

For those of you unaware of what the hell I’m rambling about, Tom “Siiiiiggghhh” Brady’s game jersey allegedly went missing after the giant shit sandwich that was Super Bowl LI. Now, normally this this would just another job for the infamous equipment manager/locker room attendant duo of John Jastremski and James McNally. But apparently Dorito Dink and the Deflator weren’t up for this task, so the Lieutenant Governor of Texas, Dan Patrick (not that Dan Patrick) asked the Texas Fucking Rangers to investigate the Case of the Missing Douchewrapper.

Now, I’m given to understand that the Lieutenant Governor of Texas is actually a powerful position, with both Senate votes and charge of budgetary matters. Apparently this division of responsibility is what allowed empty-headed muppets like George W. Bush and Rick Perry to govern for a combined 20 years without actually learning anything about government.

So you have a Very Important Pardner taking an interest in a missing jersey, and siccing the Texas Ranger Division on the culprit(s). Note that there are only 150 Texas Rangers in the whole damned state, so directing them to put even a single Ranger on a case is a significant investment of resources. Note also that this is in addition to the police forces also “on the case”, including the Houston Police Department’s Major Offenders Division.

For Tom Terrific’s sweaty fucking blouse.

Texas, why are you pandering to this prick’s vanity, pretending that his jersey is Important to History. Jesus Fuck, the Lifelong Patriots Fanclub (est. 2001 ) already worships his dirty jockstrap as a Holy Relic- why do the rest of us need to pretend that this matters? This is the kind of shit that Encyclopedia Brown would consider beneath him. GAAAAAAAHHHH!

/rage-gasm

//dies

///Is resurrected, but not in a blasphemous way

KIRK COUSINS

CHARGE: Making Ryan Tannehill look mature

Wow. So apparently Kirk Cousins was so desperate to beat one tiny old man that he decided to beat up another tiny old man. Heart of Champion, Kirk. Dan Snyder loves you.

Lost amid the heinous fuckery that was the Super Bowl was the Celebrity Sweat Flag Football Game. Celebrity Sweat is apparently some sort of health and fitness charity. Luminaries such as…um…Rashad Ross and Ricky Jean Francois took part in the game under the auspices of Team Cousins (presumably for quarterback Kirk Cousins, although it is Texas…) and Team Flutie. For those of you born after 1993, Doug Flutie is a former college and NFL football player who is famous for being short (for a quarterback- 5’9″) and being better than much larger people at playing football. He is now 54 years old.

Side Note: For our readers at or approaching that age, please note that I am not saying 54 is old on a general timeline. Many, many wonderful people that age have contributed many, many important things to society. Colonel Sanders didn’t hit it big until he was 65. 54 is not old.

Holy fuck, 54 is fucking old. And given that Flutie was an underdog when playing against quarterbacks his own age, the idea that you would put a current NFL quarterback as the head of the other team tells you an awful lot about what the organizers of this little shindig thought of Kirk “YOU LIKE THAT?!? HUH?!?!” Cousins. At 6’3″, the 28 year-old  Washington quarterback could have posted up like Manute Bol or just sat on Flutie.

But no. In circumstances that no one seems to know, Team Cousins was actually losing to Team Precambrian in the 4th quarter. The reason no one seems to know is that the game was not broadcast at all, but instead live-streamed on ESPNtheOcho.net. We’re probably lucky that there was something besides a portrait-oriented cell phone video. Anyway, Team Cousins was down 40-35 with about twenty seconds. Cousins led his team down to the 5 yard line, when one of Team Flutie thugs playfully batted the ball up during the transfer of said ball for the volunteer ref  to spot it for the last play. The ref did not immediately throw a flag despite Cousins clearly demanding one like he was Tom Brady or some shit.

Now, most professional athletes participating in a charity football game would have been slightly annoyed, because they are by nature highly competitive. However, most professional athletes would also have the emotional development of an eight year-old and stifled that shit because it’s a goddamned FLAG football game FOR CHARITY.

But not Kirk. Nono- Captain Intensity decides that this (again VOLUNTEER) referee needs a little gentle persuasion:

Now, that ref is 5’9″ on his tippy-toes, and appears to be between 55 and 102 years old. Kirk Cousins is the aforementioned 6’3″, 28 year-old professional athlete who made $20 million in a single year for not being Robert Griffin III. But apparently the prospect of losing in anything to an ancient relic like Doug Flutie, who made $21 million total over 12 years in the NFL,* was too much for Cousins. According to both the ref and witnesses, Cousins made no apologies and exhibited no concern that he was shoving around a little old guy in a temper tantrum that would do The Great Orange One proud. What a tremendous tool. The dude is like Phillip Rivers without the redeeming characteristics like…um…gimme a minute…

*Flutie also played for one year of a five-year, $7 million contract for Most Glorious Leader’s New Jersey Generals in the USFL. I’m going to assume that, like most little people in Trump’s failed businesses, he didn’t see that money when the league folded. Flutie also played eight seasons in the CFL, but I don’t know how to convert Loonies to real money, so I am ignoring whatever beaver pelts and poutine he got paid.

The only comforting part of this, to my mind, is that there actually was a foul called on the play, so Cousins got two plays in which to gain five yards and finally claim victory over those meanie stinkheads from Team Flutie. Both plays were passes that Cousins failed to complete. He lost. And the thought that this loss is probably keeping him up nights, well, that brings a little tiny puff of warmth to my cold black heart.

So in answer to your question: No Kirk. We don’t like that. Huh.

Foxboro delenda est ab orbita.