Whelp, that was…almost entirely expected.

The Big Damn NFL News that broke last night was that Jon Gruden, prototypical Tape Eater and Patron Saint of Grinders hit the Eject button on his 10 year, $100 million contract after 3.25 years.  Something about e-mails that demonstrate that he’s a racist, sexist homophobic shithole excuse for a human being. I dunno, I didn’t really read the details.

Yes, these e-mails were from a period spanning 10 to 4 years ago.  And yes, it’s a much different world now.  Wait, no, it’s not a much different world.  This shit wouldn’t have flown in 2001, much less 2011.

Now, for the “BUT BUT FREE SPEECH!!!” Argument.  No, it does not apply to a private entity like the NFL.  But even if we talk about it as a social value instead of a legal right, it still Doesn’t Wash.  It’s uncool to like Starship Troopers (the book) right now because of perceived fascist tones and because Proud Boy types think it’s cool without understanding it.  But Heinlein’s explorations of political theory and certain (Western) behavioral norms are brilliant and still largely valid:

To permit irresponsible authority is to sow disaster; to hold a man responsible for anything he does not control is to behave with blind idiocy.

Power, wealth, influence and authority have largely placed those who wield them above mundane concepts like responsibility.  Unlimited freedom of speech without even the minimal check of social disapprobation is not only undesirable but absurd.  I know I keep hammering this point, but pro sports are Not Essential. It is an industry that produces nothing of intrinsic use or value, built entirely on the irrational feelings of the masses, and is therefore particularly sensitive to shifts in societal norms. If you lost your fortune in the Great Beanie Baby Crash of 1999, you weren’t “cancelled”– you bought the ticket, took the ride and were visited by the foreseeable consequences when public sentiment changed.

Anyway.

Unfortunately, it overshadowed a great weekend of games, including the Most Glorious Football Bills trouncing the suddenly-mortal Kansas City Chiefs. There were also some Big Giant Injuries of note:

-Clyde Edwards-Helaire will miss at least 3 weeks with an MCL sprain

-JuJu Smith-Schuster will likely miss the rest of the season after undergoing shoulder surgery

-Lone O-Line bright spot Frank Ragnow escaped the Lions’ deathmarch by having toe surgery that will keep him out for the rest of the year

-Trey Lance sprained his knee, which may keep him out for several weeks

-The Giants lost what little they had in the way of offense: Kenny Golladay will miss at least a week, Kadarius Toney and Saquon Barkley have Mystery Injuries that are Still Being Evaluated, and Daniel Jones is in the concussion protocol .

LESSER SPORTS:

Fucking Red Sox. Fucking (as of this writing) Astros.  The American League deserves this matchup.

OBSCURE MOVIE TIP:

Well, it WAS going to be “The FP” and its sequel “FP2: Beats of Rage”.

The premise is simple, as summarized by the AV Club:

[In] a dystopian wasteland that combines Mad Max’s aridness with Idiocracy’s mouth-breathing debasement, JTRO and his crew square off against gang leader L Dubbe E (Lee Valmassy) in to-the-death (or to-exhaustion) sessions of Beat Beat Revelation. (It’s basically the same as Dance Dance Revolution, except with less likelihood of prompting a lawsuit against The FP’s filmmakers.)

It’s a beautiful bit of dumbass indie filmmaking.  It also makes gratuitous use of the N-Word in contexts where it is Not Appropriate.  This isn’t Blazing Saddles, where the use of the word is a direct commentary on the racism it embodies.  It’s the humor of characters (primarily white guys and a Korean-American guy) who should not be talking like Gangsta Rappers talking like Gangsta Rappers.  And that sucks, because the actors fucking COMMIT. The best line of the movie, regarding the villain depriving the town of alcohol:

The darkness has come. Goddamn drunks going straight edge on the streets. Resortin’ to meth an’ shit. And now with no drunks there ain’t no bums. And without no bums there ain’t no motherfuckers to feed the ducks at the park. What’s a fucking town with no ducks, J-Tro? It’s nothin’! It ain’t nothin’! How’s a [redacted] supposed to sort his shit out with no ducks?!

This is delivered with a pathos and conviction that rivals any Oscar performance of the last twenty years.  You FEEL KC/DC’s anguish.  But I can’t recommend it, because the N-Word sticks out like a rusty nail in the cotton candy.  I’m not for bowdlerizing or TV Edits, but I wish they’d re-edit and re-release this classic.