One thing is for sure; the NFL has become a league divided. We live in a time where the varsity and the junior varsity squads mix it up every Sunday and Monday…and sometimes Thursday…and occasionally Saturday. Unfortunately, the balance of this league is as lopsided as America’s dominance over the rest of the world in basketball. Wait, can’t use that example anymore. OK, it’s as lopsided as Tara Reid’s surgically-mangled breasts. There are two, that’s right, only two good teams in this year’s National Football League. The other 30 teams? They range anywhere from decent to barely as good as Temple University, a.k.a. God awful. One of those two good teams, the New England Patriots, has taken some flack for being unrelenting in the scoring department.
Tara Reid and the National Football League have a lot more in common than one might think.
The lone objective to playing football in the NFL is to win games. At least, that’s what it should be. Seriously, who wouldn’t like to use it as a platform to be named the best-dressed man in the world and impregnate supermodels? Way to go, Tommy boy. However, it seems as though winning is solely justified if it’s within the parameters of what is considered respectful and classy. Since when has this league become a beacon of everything that is politically correct and just? Isn’t the guy whom the NFL’s PR department rammed down our throats for the past six years about to do time for murdering Rover and Fluffy, while also financially supporting an illegal gambling operation? Yet on the heels of the Pats 52-7 stomping of the Washington Redskins, people want to slam Bill Belichick for having his players perform their duties as, get this, men? How does playing hard for 60 minutes suggest a lack of professionalism? If anything, the classless team is the one crying because your team was manhandled like 18-year-old fresh meat at the state penitentiary.
I remember taking my little brother to his basketball games last winter, and I was floored when I found out that score hadn’t been kept for the sake of not hurting anyone’s feelings. Though I disagreed, I could understand their logic. Same goes for my cousin’s tee-ball league that had a five-run per inning maximum mercy rule. Those are children’s sports. Not ridiculously overpaid professionals whose job is to either score points, or disallow the opposing team from scoring. At some point you need to ask yourself, when did football become an episode of Dr. Phil? You have to worry about your opponents’ self-esteem now? What next? Steroids are going to be replaced with estrogen? Are the coaches going to pull the team bus over to get ice cream cones at Dairy Queen for giving a good effort? Man up. It’s bad enough nowadays that players miss games with toe injuries, and now they are going to cry foul play when other teams don’t treat them like fragile little lambs? I have seen episodes of Sex and the City feature more balls than that.
Perhaps these teams would prefer to be remembered as sore losers rather than forgotten like newborn baby girls in China. Either way, it’s a sad way to stir up the pot. So to the fans, coaches, and players of the Redskins, Dolphins, and other inferior franchises, I say this: cry me a river; then build a bridge to get over it. Here’s a tissue to wipe those tears of embarrassment. Maybe next time you play New England, we can all sit around a campfire and sing happy songs while roasting marshmallows. Or you could possibly wake up and realize that you were born with the anatomy of a man and attempt to play the violent contact sport that is football.
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