TELL YOUR MOM I WOULD HAVE BEEN HAPPY TO PAY HER, HAD THE RIMJOB BEEN OF HIGHER QUALITY

Monday, October 18, 2004

Wait... You Mean You're Serious?

So yesterday, on my last day of the too brief weekend before trudging off to the very depths of hell, I went and had a hamburger and buffalo wings at a local bar. But, there was a football game on, and there were people, grown, adult people, sentient human beings that are able to communicate with one another, screaming and hooting and hollering. At the Television. Yelling out advice, admonishment, or encouragement to players and coaches. Repeating what the referee said.

Example:

Television: First down!
Moron: First down!

Then offering unsolicited analysis to anyone within earshot. Y'Know, the whole thing is my fault actually, as soon as I saw the game on and generous distribution of obvious mongoloids therein, I should have turned tail and gone back home, where it is safe. But I stayed.

How can people actually care about a game where they have nothing but a very tenuous emotional connection? Do to greed on the part of professional athletes, a species only marginally more ethical than terrorists, who switch teams every ten minutes, how can you even start an emotional connection with a team when the lineups are so different each year?

I'd be willing to bet these are an even sadder group then the typical sportsfan, and are the casual ones that emerge from their dens of stupidity each couple years to cheer on when their team is winning, and only then.

I just wanted a goddamned burger, too.

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