Editor’s Note: here at DFO, many of us are not satisfied with the Super Bowl matchup.  For some of us, this is because we hate both teams at a level that rivals Andy Reid’s hatred for kale salad.  For others, our seething hatred of one team is more than enough to overwhelm our relative indifference for the other, leading to a Super Bowl we simply have no interest in watching.  As such, we’ve been fantasizing about scenarios that might take place that would prevent the game from being played at all.  These are our stories. 


MARCUS MARIOTA walks alone through Golden Gate Park in San Francisco, California. He seems to have a confused look on his face, as he sits down on a park bench in front of a small pond. A few ducks swim by. A shady character who has been hanging around sidles up to where MARCUS is sitting, sips his coffee, and nods at him. 

DEALER: You looking for something?

MARIOTA: [looks up, smiles brightly] I am!  I’m looking for a friend.  Would you be my friend?

Suddenly, there is a noise that sounds like several thousand ducks simultaneously saying “quack”.

MARIOTA’: Sure, I’ll be your friend!

MARIOTA: Let’s play football!

MARIOTA’: Okay, that sounds like fun!

MARIOTA: I get to be quarterback!

MARIOTA’: But that’s what I play, too!

MARIOTA: Hmm, could you play wide receiver, just this once?

MARIOTA’: Sure, I can do that!

PARK RANGER: Hi there, boys.

MARIOTA: Oh, hi!

PARK RANGER: I heard a strange noise, is everything all right?

MARIOTA’: Everything’s great!

MARIOTA: Hey, do you wanna play football with us?

PARK RANGER: Sorry, son, I’m on the clock.  But why don’t you and your twin brother…

The “quack” noise is heard again.

MARIOTA”Hey did I hear you guys talking about playing football?

MARIOTA’: You sure did!

MARIOTA: You wanna play with us?  We’ve already got a quarterback and a wide receiver.

MARIOTA”I’ll play offensive lineman! [Imitates a much heavier player by puffing his elbows out, waddling, and affecting a gruff voice] Look at me, I’m Taylor Lewan.

MARIOTA’: Ha ha, perfect!  Now we just need someone to play defense…

MARIOTA: [notices a few cyclists who have stopped to drink from a nearby water fountain] Hey, let’s ask them.



Despite news reports of some kind of virus outbreak, the Super Bowl is a sellout, as usual.  Despite the presence of thousands of Philadelphia Eagles fans, there have been no reports of brawling or other violence.  And despite the presence of thousands of New England Patriots fans, there have been no reports of shockingly casual racism.  In fact, the fans packing the stands at U.S Bank stadium are eerily subdued.  Most are dressed in blue and white, but some are sporting green, and there’s even a few wearing more colorful Hawaiian shirts.  Three of the Patriots’ captains, TOM BRADY, MATTHEW SLATER, and DONT’A HIGHTOWER, make their way to the center of the field for the coin toss. 

DONT’A HIGHTOWER: Thank fucking God this quarantine is over.  I mean, not even allowed to leave the team facility?

TOM BRADY: I know, right? Coach has always been paranoid about the game plan getting out, but that was just ridiculous.

MATTHEW SLATER: Have you talked to your family yet?

DONT’A HIGHTOWER: No!  Matt Patricia said they would be a distraction so he took my phone away.  [squints at the stands] I hope they’re here.  What’s with all the Hawaiian shirts?

MATTHEW SLATER: Must have something to do with that “Gone Hawaiian” hashtag.

TOM BRADY: What’s that about?

MATTHEW SLATER: Beats me.  I saw something about it on twitter before Herr Grumblelord cut off the internet.

DONT’A HIGHTOWER: It’s probably just some Pro Bowl thing.

MATTHEW SLATER: [looks up at the stadium crowd] Man, the acoustics in this place are weird.

DONT’A HIGHTOWER: I know, right? They make it sound like the stands are full of a bunch of ducks.

MATTHEW SLATER: Typical Super Bowl crowd.  Not a black face in sight.

TOM BRADY: [a bit puzzled] Yeah, but no white ones either.

MATTHEW SLATER: You know, you’re right.

TOM BRADY: [looks around] Hey, where’s Gronk?  And David Andrews?  And the rest of the guys, you know, Doo’rag, and that guy with the real preppie name, and that guy from the Police Academy movies?

DONT’A HIGHTOWER: You mean me?

TOM BRADY: No, I mean the big black guy.  Hightower.

DONT’A HIGHTOWER: I am Hightower.

TOM BRADY: [looks at him quizzically] Huh.  I could have sworn you were David Harris.

TOM stares at him obliviously while DONT’A glares back. 

DONT’A HIGHTOWER: Well, I’m not.

TOM BRADY: Anyway, where are the rest of your people?

DONT’A HIGHTOWER: My people?  Jesus,  I…oh, the hell with it.  I don’t know.  Devin McCourty went to talk to the broadcast team about making sure the stadium feed had “technical difficulties” any time the Eagles needed to make a quick decision about challenging a call, but he never came back.

MATTHEW SLATER: Hey did you guys notice that two of the security guys looked just like Marcus Mariota?

DONT’A HIGHTOWER: No.  But I was going to say the same thing about the groundskeeper I was chatting with.

TOM BRADY: That quacking noise is driving me crazy.

DONT’A HIGHTOWER: It’s so weird, right?

The players arrive at midfield, where a line of officials are facing away from them.  TOM BRADY taps one of them on the shoulder, and they all turn around in unison.  

MARIOTA: [in quintophonic sound] Hi!  Are you guys ready to play some football?




Law-abiding Raiders fan, pet owner, Los Angeles resident.
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and that guy from the Police Academy movies?

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He’s got great tits.
What?????????????? You were all thinking it!!!!!!!


Marcus got a magic hammock?

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Don T

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/Chip Kelly cums. Hard.

Low Commander of the Super Soldiers

Artist’s conception:

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This is great because he’s looking at me so it’s like an ego boost.

Low Commander of the Super Soldiers


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Very nicely done RTD. I really enjoyed this. All the quacking was just a bonus!!!!!


Only mentioning it here because RTD is always bragging about his #YUGEGAINS but I got back in the gym for like the first time in a year-plus over the last week and, as of this morning, I am absolutely broken.

I’m actually going to go home early and just lay down because I’m so sore. It’s in my core. I feel like I have the flu with how deep it hurts. If only there were some product base that I could buy goods that would help me generate and maintain peak performance while minimizing recovery time….

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Ode to a Blaxabbath workout session

I’m so sore,
It’s in my core,
I feel like I very well might have tore…my hamstrings.

It’s just a chore,
I don’t adore,
But everyone says that it will be good for….my health.

The shirt I wore,
Is soaked in gore,
Because of when I ralphed before…my breakfast.

You know the score,
I’ll win the war,
But right now I’m going home to lie on the floor….and snore

(sorry, sometimes song/poem mode kicks in…but that’s all I got)

yeah right

For the recovery, blueberries and cherries, the more tart the better, also a hard boiled egg and tons of fluid. But you know the real trick and the hardest part? Get your ass back to the gym tomorrow and get right back after it.

Yes it will suck entirely but it’s what you need to do.


Maybe go a little lighter for a day or so tho.
And stretch. Can’t stress that enough.

Game Time Decision

i’ve got one of those foam roller thingys. It’s like getting a massage but for cheap. Not sure how I got long without it for so long


I did not know that #funfact about tartness.

I’ll be back in tomorrow. I’m kind of on a 2-on-1-off for the time-being. Give me a couple more weeks and I’ll be at 3-straight but, for the time being, there aren’t enough hours in the day for my sleep.


You had me at 2-on-1.


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Game Time Decision

The Matrix meets the NFL.
I wonder who Nero would be. Please don’t let it be Tom


Holy Ducking Shit


I can’t wait for my heart being broken by a fumbré out of the endzone.

King Hippo

FAKE NEWS, ur an Iggle fan u hav noe heart ,, smgdh

King Hippo


/still NAWT watching


Somewhere, a Maestro is waking up in a cold sweat. And then he reads this and yells out in agony.

Well done!

The Maestro



Personally I was going to see if Jeff Gillooy was out of prison and willing to make a trip to Philly to hang around outside the Patriot’s training area with a lead pipe (for his protection, it is Philly after all) and practice his homerun swing.