Author’s Note: I’m only finna talk about two games this week. Actually, I’m only finna talk about one game this week. It was that or catch a case. You’ll understand as you read on.
(Oh, and I mention a prominent philosopher at the end. So, you get to learn something too. See that? Bonus stuff!)
So, two teams turned in all-time stinkers last Sunday night.
One franchise has appeared in eight (!!) Super Bowls and has won six (!!) of them.
One franchise last won an NFL Championship (what they used to call the Super Bowl back when the earth cooled) in 1964, before the Beatles became bigger than Jesus.
They have met 88 times, these two franchises; one of them, the one that frequently visits the Super Bowl, has won 56 of those contests.
Thus, when these two teams met on Sunday, it was not terribly surprising to find that one of them managed eight (8) turnovers (!!) in the game before losing.
There’s only one thing that’d make me happy with the Chargers now, and that would be a sell-out crowd in San Diego, a fly-over by our latest billion-dollar Imperial Star Destroyer, the national anthem sung by a handicapped kid who got nervous and forgot the words but got an assist from honorary team captain LaDainian Tomlinson, and then, just before kickoff, Vince McMahon’s music suddenly blaring through the stadium speakers.
(MY GOD! IS THAT MR. MCMAHON’S MUSIC? I THOUGHT HE WAS BANNED FROM WHATEVER THE HELL THIS STADIUM IS NAMED! MY GOD! SOMEBODY’S AZZ IS GETTING FIRED IN SAN DIEGO TONITE! MY GOD!)*
And then Vince McMahon comes out, fires General Mis-Manager A.J. Smith, first verbally, then with a flame-thrower, has Kane perform a Tombstone Piledriver on faux head coach and resident idiot Norv Turner, and puts The Game and The Rock in charge of the team for the foreseeable future. At the very least, the Chargers will be able to cut a decent promo from now on.
IF YA SSMMEELLLL…(editor’s note: doesn’t his wife pay attention to him when he’s writing? Dang…anyway, we cut most of the boolshyt out. Enjoy the rest of the article)
But what, you ask, has your humble scribe in such a dither about the Chargers? Why am I so lathered up about their latest misadventure?
Because nothing pizzes me off worse than bad football.
I get some bad teams. Some bad teams play hard and do everything right, but they just don’t have the same talent that the guys across the field have.
Possibly more inexcusable than Nicki Minaj’s wardrobe choices, but I digress. Some teams just don’t have the horses to run The Derby.
The Chargers, on the other hand, have straight wasted more All-Pro talent than most franchises will ever draft. Think about it: Drew Brees, LaDainian Tomlinson, Antonio Gates, Junior Seau, Vincent Jackson, Michael Turner, and Philip Rivers either used to play for this franchise or still do, and they STILL cain’t figure it out. Two of the greatest football mysteries in the history of the NFL have to be how a team with a running back who scored 30 touchdowns (the aforementioned LT) didn’t win everything known to man, and how a team that finished second in offense and second in defense (2010) did not even make the playoffs. Both of these dubious achievements come with a lightning bolt helmet. But that ain’t what’s got me honked off.
What’s got me honked off is 4:20.
Four minutes and twenty seconds.
The Chargers were leading the Baltimore Ravens by ten (!!) points with Four Minutes And Twenty Seconds Remaining In The Game…and lost in overtime.
Ohhhh, but that ain’t what’s got me chewing on my beer can as I write this.
No, it’s the fact that, okay, the Ravens scored what should have been a meaningless touchdown before the Chargers should have killed the clock and snuck away with a hard-earned victory…except that the Chargers turn around and give the ball right the hale back to the Ravens.
Ohhhh, but that ain’t what’s about to get me divorced after my wife cuts my head off.
No, it’s the fact that the Chargers, with less than Two Minutes Remaining In the Game, had the Ravens at Fourth and 29.
In order: Ravens’ QB Joe Flacco, under much duress, dumps a screen pass to safety valve Ray Rice, who is standing AT the line of scrimmage, some 29 yards away from free territory.
Cue “Yakkety Sax.”
While the clearly bewildered Chargers run aimlessly about like Monty Python’s infamous “100 Meter Dash For People With No Sense of Direction,” Rice somehow manages to outrun the EIGHT MEN BETWEEN HIM AND THE YARD MARKER for the first down.
Ravens field goal to tie. Overtime. Ravens field goal to win.
You can’t make this stuff up.
The Chargers were up by 10 with 4:20 left in the game and later had the Ravens at 4th and 29…and still managed to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory.
Any atheist wants to trip a Christian right tha fugg up, drop this question on him: “How is it that neither A.J. Smith nor Norv Turner needed WitSec to sneak out of town after that debacle? WHERE IS YOUR GOD NOW?”
Aaaaaand I’m OUT like the NHL All-Star Game…
*Yes, I stole this riff…well, “steal” is such an ugly word. Consider Pachelbel’s “Canon in D;” does anyone call it “stealing” when that particular chord progression shows up in virtually every pop song in the iTunes collection of hominis Americanus ignoramus? None other than Roland Barthes decried the idea of authorship in any sense of the word, that once something is said or written it becomes subject to the interpretations and reinterpretations of the persons reading or listening, who are then free to construct a reality about the utterance as they see fit. So, ahh, no. I didn’t steal it. And I don’t care where you might have seen something like this before. I didn’t steal it.
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.