No One Takes Me Seriously Anymore, Not Even Coach
by Patrick Ramsey
I can’t stand this anymore. Everyone treats me like a stupid little kid. I keep getting pushed around. I’m constantly bullied on the field, and my offensive doesn’t want to cover me. They think it’s “cute” when I get sacked three times in a row. They laugh so hard they don’t care that we lose to the freaking Cardinals because they got four safeties off us. What does a guy gotta do to get some respect?
Whatever happened to team unity? When I was at Tulane I set over 20 passing records. I couldn’t have done that without the help of my offensive line, who didn’t think it was so funny to see me get knocked on my ass every week.
I try explaining my college success to my fellow ‘Skins, and they mostly laugh and say that I probably fit in well with the other “little college shits.” When I get upset they would offer me some milk and cookies. Lavar Arrington usually offers me a consoling shoulder, and he says it is because the other guys are jealous of my boyish good looks. If that doesn’t cheer me up, he offers to put me down for a nap.
Things briefly changed when Spurrier made me the starter in his last season as Redskins Head Coach. He seemed to be the only team player. But after he left and Coach Gibbs signed on, things went right back to crappy. Gibbs signed on stupid Mark Brunnell, who stupidly sucked throughout the first half of the 2004 season. I guess then Coach decided to give me a real chance and he put me back as the starter. At the time I thought, “Finally, some gosh darn recognition!” For a while, things seemed to only get better.
A month after putting me back in the game, Coach announced that I would be the starting quarterback of the 2005 season. This is where the poop hit the fan again.I guess the guys found it pretty funny that I was the head of the team again. They began bullying moreso than they had ever done before. Every time I get sacked now, Portis looks at me with a fake frown and says “Aww what’s wrong? Are you gonna cry now little girl?” I find this question rather obtuse considering that I’m usually not crying out of pain, but to help reject the cleat spikes that are imbedded in my eyes sockets.
Then came the Bears game. The neck injury I suffered during this game was minor, but Coach saw it fit to take me out and make Mark Brunnell the starter. That Brunnell is such an f-ing a-hole. Out of all the jerks on the team, he is the meanest to me. He says that if I don’t call him “Big Master Daddy” every time he makes a completion, he’ll tell the monsters in my closet to eat my family. Every now and then I hear rumbling noises in my closet, but I swear it is just Santana Moss doing drills.
Well, Hi There, Little Boy! Are You Lost?By A Teenage Girl
Well aren’t you just the most precious thing I ever saw! You are so cute and sweet I could just eat you up! Now, what is a little guy like you doing in a big, scary stadium like this? I’m here because it’s my little brother’s birthday and he is a big Santana Moss fan. Say, you are probably about my brother’s age. Once we find your parents we should arrange a play date! Oh, little boy, don’t cry. I’ll get you some candy, and then we will find your mommy and daddy. It may take awhile; do you have to go potty? No? You are fully trained right? Well aren’t you a big boy now! If I had any stickers I’d give you a big gold star. So how old are you sweetheart? Oh, you kidder, you couldn’t possibly be 26! You don’t look a day over 8. Gee, this stadium is big, don’t ya think? Well, that’s ok. You can come home with me! You can sleep on the edge of my bed, right next to my cat Mr. Noodles. Do you like kitty cats? Can you spell CAT? Really, oh my what a smart one you are! You are such a sweetie; I must show you to my friends! If you do some tricks for them, I’ll give you a whole shiny quarter. Wouldn’t you like that little guy? You could buy a trading card! Who is your favorite player? Mine is Mark Brunnell. You know, if you eat your vegetables, you could be big and strong like him when you grow up!
No comments:
Post a Comment