Latest posts by jjfozz (see all)
- Off With Their Heads – Those Goofy Toothed Blue Blooded Bastards – September 7, 2018
- Your 2018 “I’ll Keep my Money, Bisciotti” Baltimore Ravens Preview – August 8, 2018
- Boots on the Ground: Extreme Rules Wrestling in Mobtown – June 15, 2017
Twenty years ago I bought my PSL for the Ravens. After i wrote the check I had $100 in my bank account, but having been brought up on football, and starving for the same, I was all in.
This year I didn’t renew my tickets because I’m sick and motherfucking tired of the NFL. The players, the coaches, the referees, the ball boys, the cement head fucks who call the games.
And to be honest, the Pledge of Allegiance subject bothered me too. I understand the issue, but in my opinion it’s not the place or time. Call me a racist if you want, I’ll say “eat shit and die.”
Now onto the Ravens. Jesus christ almighty, what a fucking shit show. This year isn’t a season on the brink, it’s a season stuffed into a garbage truck full of toxic waste heading towards a freight train carrying nuclear waste that happens to be careening towards a busload of special needs kids.
That’s what we have.
It’s a bucket of seething, boiling diarrhea. Flacco has seen his best years behind him, and by best I mean that goofy fucking Bert stunt double cashed in on what was an unbelievable playoff run. After that, it’s been nothing but Checkdown Charlie.
As for who he’s throwing too, Breshard Perriman couldn’t catch a tennis ball in a fucking bushel basket. The other guys we picked up, well I’m not too impressed yet. Michael Crabtree, John Brown and Willie Snead. These guys are not Rice, Moss, and Michael Irwin. (No one is Michael Irwin because you can only have one gigantic, cokesniffing, assfucking retard that big on the planet at once. Any more and we’re fucked.)
I’m not sure what to think of our backfield. There isn’t one. Hopefully one of our draft picks will rise to the top and make a splash. Until then, those dudes are more mediocre than a bowl of vanilla ice milk at a Mormon’s birthday party.
Offensive line. Whoo boy. Yanda is being held together with rusty baling wire and old Elmer’s glue. I’m liking Siragusa because I’m Italian and the first Siragusa was a fucking maniac trapped in the body of a shaved down bull ape. But that fucker could PLAY.
Defense, well that’s where I’m slightly happy. The line had not a bad year, and the secondary was commendable. This season Jimmy Smith will be responsible for me shotgunning my way through a liquor store. Also, they’re being coached by a guy named Don “Wink” Martindale. Kill me now. You’re never going to impress me if your nickname is Wink. I know you can’t pick your nickname, but you can shove a pencil through the throat of the first dumbfuck who calls you Wink.
Finally, there’s Harbaugh. If the Ravens go out, step on their collective dicks like they normally do, he could be gone midseason. No shit. And stepping into his shoes . . . Marty Morningwheg. If that happens, give me a machine gun, a case of grenades, an authentic K-Bar and drop me in Iraq. I will officially end the Taliban and ISIS before my rage and thirst for blood is satisfied.
To be honest gentlemen, I’m not sure how much I’ll be paying attention to the NFL this year. I really got into hockey with the Capitals winning it all – yes, call me bandwagon. Eat me. The product has been diluted, the players continue to be lowlife fucks, and the owners are slovenly greedheads who should be hung by their feet and beaten with bags of moldy oranges.
Oh shit, I almost forgot. I want to build a man sized corkscrew and use it to remove Cris Collinsworth’s head – through his anus.