My Coaching Application – NY Jets

 

Portrait of the artist as a well paid football coach with furrowed brow

 

Attn: Director of Personnel  – NY Jets

 

Dear Sir,

I am Mr. One Point Perspective, part-time, award winning blogger extraordinaire and full time jack-ass.  I would like to take this opportunity to formally offer my name for consideration as Mr. Rex Ryan’s successor as the head coach of the New York Jets.

As you are undoubtedly aware, the world of professional football is going through some challenging times in recent years.  On the field, teams have taken to using formations of such complexity that many teams have resorted to hiring choreographers.  Celebratory dances alone have nearly been elevated to an art form.  From a play-calling standpoint, things have gotten so confusing that the referees are often the only ones on the field who aren’t either calling audibles or decoding the giant postcards held high on the sidelines by back-up quarterbacks and assistant-assistant coaches.

Off the field, things are stickier than ever.  Player behavior is making headlines for all the wrong reasons.  The public relations quicksand gets deeper by the day.  Who would have guessed that giving millions of dollars to idolized young men who make their living doing violent things could possibly be lead to problems?

These league-wide scandals, in addition to your abysmal record the past several seasons may have disastrous results.  At this rate, there is a distinct possibility that some fans may actually be upset enough to give up their season tickets, mandatory pre-season ticket packages and seat licensing fees.  Without taking action, there is a chance the Jets organization could end up losing a few doubloons over this, not to mention your share of lucrative parking revenues!

The time is now, gentlemen.  Your organization can be a pioneer in making the bold move into uncharted territory by hiring a middle-aged guy from suburbia to be your head coach.  A person with no practical experience in coaching can provide your team with the fresh, unpredictable direction which only a true neophyte can provide.  My attached resume will show that I’ve spent my adult years following several career paths, none of which involve professional football.

I did play football in high school.  Granted, the game was different back in those days, we didn’t wear gloves or Darth Vader visors.  I do recall a few guys on the JV team who tried to sneak gloves out onto the practice field when the weather got cold – they were subjected to some good natured ribbing, let me tell you.

I have participated in a fantasy football league for several years.  The experience has been one of rather limited success, likely due to my drinking too much at the draft parties.  The large amounts of beer and tequila may have been the root cause of my drafting players who were not actually available to play due to incarceration, retirement and in one case, death.  The parties were typically held at my home, so there was no driving under the influence or other scandalous behavior on my part.  I can’t speak for Hacksaw or Tommy Tilt, both of whom have  left the league.  You’d have to speak with their respective wives for full details as to why they withdrew.

Since I have none of the football coaching experience of Rex Ryan, I’ll compare myself to him in a general sense;

• Rex Ryan has been rumored to have quite the foot fetish and his wife even allegedly appears in several videos, showing off her tootsies.  While I won’t deny being as much of a fan of pretty toes and dainty arches as the next guy, I have the common sense to keep the camcorder in its case except for family birthdays and holidays.
• Rex has a brother, Rob Ryan, who is a defensive coordinator for the New Orleans Saints – at least he is at the moment.  I also have a brother, and like me, he has no experience coaching football.  He keeps his thinning hair much neater than Rob Ryan’s tangled mane.
• Rex is known for being outspoken and a straight talker, much like New Jersey Governor Chris Christie.  I’m also widely considered to be a loudmouth, especially when I don’t know what the hell I’m talking about.  Predictably, Gov. Christie is a Cowboys fan and to the best of my knowledge is not interested in coaching your NFL team, as he has eyes on bigger game (or it could be he’s looking at the “sale” sign in the front of Tartaglione’s Cannoli Emporium).
• I can’t beat the Patriots either, but I’ll damn sure dress better than Belichick on game day.

My noteworthy personal attributes include:

• I haven’t managed a whole team of players, but I did have a hand in raising three children, none of whom have served any significant time in prison.
• Mike Vick and I go way back – Oh the dog-fighting yarns we could tell!
• I’m okay with sharing a stadium with another team as long as those Giants fans promise to pick up after themselves.
• I appreciate the history of your great franchise – for example, I’m pretty sure that Weeb Ewbank did not host The Newlywed Game.
• I look really good in green

In closing, I’d like to thank you for your consideration.  Again, I urge you to take the trailblazing step of handing the reigns over to a complete novice, before another team steps up and does it first.  To be completely fair, I intend to send similar applications to parties in Atlanta, San Francisco and Chicago.  Since I already live in Jersey, I’ve decided to give you first dibs.

 

Respectfully,

One Point Perspective

 

P.S.: I understand a position has also opened up in Buffalo.  I don’t want to be an NFL coach badly enough to apply for that gig.

 

Stick This Holiday With A Fork – It’s Done

Once upon a time, we had a perfectly good holiday.  It was steeped in tradition, as holidays tend to be.  It was non-denominational and based upon the universal notion of pausing to take stock of how much each of us has to be thankful for.   How could it possibly be ruined?

I’m not talking about the Thanksgiving when Aunt Glenda drank too much wine and subsequently wet herself.  Nor am I referring to when Jimmy Jr. and Cousin Earl stirred things up over at the kid’s table when they staged an epic farting contest.  Those events are called “memories” people, and given enough time, they can become ones we cherish (though Glenda may not fully agree).

One sure way to ruin a holiday is to let time-honored traditions be replaced by new things, which may or may not turn out to be tradition worthy.  Here are just a few ways that folks have managed to make hash out of our beloved turkey day:

Tradition: Cook an elaborate meal, centered around a sizable turkey, which fills the entire house with a its intoxicating aroma while roasting for hours and hours.

Replaced With: Deep fry the turkey out in the driveway, investing as little time as possible.

Result: Congratulations on taking the turkey cooking chore away from Mom so she’s free to bend the elbow with her sister Glenda.  In doing so, you’ve unwittingly pinned the responsibility of turkey cookery on Uncle Phil, who is also known as “Nagasaki Phil” for what he’s done to various cuts of beef at 4th of July barbeques.  The timeless aromas of roasting turkey have been replaced by the scent of several gallons of heated oil intermingled with a hint of gasoline from the lawn mower which sits adjacent to the propane tank by the shed.  As an added entertainment bonus, there’s a chance Uncle Phil will live up to his nickname and light the dog on fire.

meme from the net, where humor goes to die

Tradition: Taking time off to reflect on what we’re thankful for.

Replaced With: Squandering precious vacation hours on rampant consumerism.

Result: For many, Thanksgiving has already become nothing but the day before Black Friday, wherein we immediately discard being thankful for what we have and focus instead, on what we want.  Since Black Friday can’t come soon enough, America’s heartless retailers have started having stores open on Thanksgiving itself for even deeper discounts.  It’s only a matter of time before even deep fried turkey and instant mashed potatoes will not be quick enough for the schedules of bargain crazed shoppers – precipitating the change over to Wendy’s Turkey Gobbler Wrap with a side of fries.  At this rate, Halloween will eventually become the start of the Christmas shopping season with Thanksgiving being demoted to the unofficial midpoint of gift buying frenzy.

If your bank account looks like this, you need to stop watching the Cowboys get their asses kicked and go do some shopping! Rumor has it Romo jerseys are going for bargain prices even before December this year . (Image from picsbox dot biz)

Tradition: Scores of special side dishes are made and brought by family members from far and wide to accompany the turkey.  Oftentimes, these rare culinary gems are only seen on Thanksgiving, due to the closely guarded nature of secret family recipes and the labor intensive realities of making Grandma’s famous creamed onion and mashed rutabaga casserole from scratch.

Replaced With: Increasingly simple and/or instant dishes which require little more than adding the right amount of water and knowing how to use a microwave.

Result: It stands to reason that if you’re going to deep fry a 22 pound turkey in 13 minutes, you can’t spend hours and hours in the kitchen screwing around with the sides.  Besides, gourmands agree that the taste of deep fried meat is best complimented by instant mashed potatoes, Stove Top Stuffing, Pillsbury dinner rolls and of course, a freshly opened can of cranberry sauce.

It’s a sure sign that Aunt Glenda’s had way too many white zinfandels when she starts huffing the jar of Instant Shit. (Image from 313merch dot com)

Tradition:  Rivalry football games.  In the halcyon days of my youth, the football teams of neighboring towns would meet every Turkey Day for bragging rights.  Win or lose, we’d return home to the smells of roasting turkey and Grandpa’s White Owl cigar smoldering in the ashtray.  Later, a couple of teams from the NFL or college ranks would square off on the TV.

Replaced With: The NFL has totally taken over Thanksgiving football.  There may still be some other games played, but you’d never know it.  The Lions play someone each year, then the Cowboys play someone else.  This year, San Francisco played yet another game after the other two contests were over.

Result: Now that the NFL has cornered the market on televised sports for this holiday, their focus has shifted to covering even more time zones to create constant grid iron action.  They’re trying hard to land a team in London, and rumor has it they have plans for franchising teams in Hawaii and on a special floating stadium in the north Atlantic.  Let’s hear it for the Fightin’ Cod!

 

 

You can’t watch these warriors on Thanksgiving because A. They aren’t in the NFL and B. They are presumably busy that day, making green bean casserole. (Image from football dot wonderhowto dot com)

Tradition: The kiddie table

Replaced With: The phasing out of the kiddie table due to hovering parents who can’t stand the thought of their kids being alone.  Surely there have been kiddie table lawsuits filed claiming discrimination and/or forced segregation as well.

Result: Letting the kids sit at the table with the grown ups inhibits parents from spending the entire meal talking about this year’s strategy for Christmas gift shopping once they’ve finished speed-eating.  This will also give parents insight into what a mediocre job they’ve done teaching the young ones table manners.  Honestly, when Little Brittany bit into that Turkey Wrap without holding her pinkies out, I could have just died.

There’s Cousin Earl making his “He who smelt it dealt it” face. You can tell from Jimmy Jr.’s reaction in the background that having whiffed Earl’s air biscuit, he knows he’s finished a disappointing second again this year. Brittany must be upwind of the action.  (Image from 999thepoint dot com)

I’d like to go on at greater length about this sad topic, but the time is already running out for my whining about the ruination of Christmas.  I hope I didn’t give you indigestion.

 

Out of the Closet And Up Against A Jumbo Package

In a recent chapter of the gay-guy-playing-pro-football saga, an online article actually supplied me with so much material to write about, I barely knew where to start.

First, ex-football coach and Skeletor look-alike Tony Dungy said he would not have drafted Michael Sam, the NFL’s first openly gay player.  Dungy said that he would not have wanted to have to deal with the complexities which Sam’s impeccably stylish, matching personal baggage might contain.  I haven’t spoken with Mr. Dungy personally, but I think I understand his logic.  Also, he didn’t actually talk about Mr. Sam’s luggage, that was just me using a cute metaphor.

He doesn’t look too much like Dungy in this pic.  In an ironic twist, Skeletor looks kind of fem in his signature lavender tights…and girlfriend, those nails! (Image from Cracked dot com)

The NFL is a tough place to do business, and potential players are put under intense scrutiny.  Teams want to avoid drafting anyone whose off-field behavior might sully the league’s reputation or distract fellow players from remembering blocking assignments and locker combinations.  Sports psychology experts will tell you that all it takes is one accused murderer, wife beater, dog fighter or date-rapist to disrupt the delicate balance of locker room morale.  Drafting a guy who already “plays for the other team” is just asking for trouble.

It appeared during the draft that many of the NFL’s talent scouts may have agreed with Dungy’s assessment of Michael Sam.  After all, it’s one thing to have pink accessories to show support for breast cancer awareness (and then donate pennies to the actual cause), but damn it man, the NFL doesn’t need players to start pushing for rainbows too!  You let gay men into the league and the next thing you know they’ll be having “Say Yes To The Dress” marathons on the jumbo-tron!

Boobies – 7  Judy Garland worship – 3

Oh hell no girl! It’s gonna take more than some pink ribbons and wrist bands to fix that look!  (Image from xoxobook dot com)

Dungy’s quote did not get past sports commentator and arbiter of all-things politically correct Keith Olbermann, who promptly labelled  him “The Worst Person in the World“.  I’m not a close follower of Mr. Olbermann.  I’m hoping that he names a new worst person in the world every week or two and this is not a one-time thing.  While Dungy’s comment could certainly be construed as prejudicial, it’s hard to imagine that he beats out Adolf Hitler, Charles Manson or Donald Rumsfeld, just for uttering a few words.  In Olbermann’s defense, if he just labelled Dungy a jerk, he wouldn’t have likely gotten much mileage out of it.

“If you let zee homos into zee league, zoon zee schwartzas vill follow, und before vee know it, zee Juden vill own zee teams mit access to zee zuperboxes und bunkers” (Image from taringa dot net)

 

Next in line was Tim Wildmon, the CEO of the American Family Association.  Wildmon discussed the PC media’s fervor over Dungy’s remark.  In addition, Wildmon volunteered that having spent quite a bit of time in locker rooms as a sports reporter himself, he felt that surrounding Michael Sam with all that naked “beefcake” was unfair to the players (Insert cheap “illegal contact”, “holding” or “too many men on the field” penalty joke here).  I’m reserving my opinion on anything else Wildmon wrote, and just taking some perverse thrill in his use of the term “beefcake” in discussing naked manly men.

 

Honey, those stripes are just not working…and those tights!? You need a make-over! First, let’s put a jock strap and some shoulder pads on you. We’ll finish the look with a snazzy visor! (Image of Brutus The Barber Beefcake from cakechooser dot com)

As the keeper of my own blog, I’m entitled to give my two cents on this whole issue.  The thought of a gay man being anywhere around the hallowed ground of America’s most prized gladiators is simply too much for many of us to wrap our narrow minds around.  Clearly doing elaborate celebratory dances while wearing tight, colorful pants and eye make-up is no place for some kind of Nancy-boy.  If openly homosexual men are able to infiltrate the league, it’s only a matter of time before the F in NFL will stand for “Flaming”.  Players will start patting one another on the backside, displaying fancy footwork, wearing knee socks and gathering in “huddles” to talk about their plans.

Tony Dungy didn’t really elaborate on the risks of hiring a gay guy to do a straight man’s job.  Had he done so, he might have pondered how on earth anyone could expect a homosexual to use a spin move on a tight end while trying to get his hands on the ball.  In any case, the deed is done, and Sam is here to stay, at least for now.  It’s only a matter of time before homosexual men start showing up in other sports like figure skating and drag racing.  At least purists of heterosexuality in professional athletics can take comfort in the lack of any lesbians in women’s sports.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

An Open Letter To A Former Oregon Football Player

The news was abuzz a little while ago with the story of a former University of Oregon Duck football player who went to the UCLA-Oregon game in Eugene and was disgusted by the things he heard fans say.  He wrote an open letter to Oregon football fans.  He didn’t specify that the letter was directed only to the people he encountered in the stands, or even just the ones in the stadium itself.  He finished his letter by telling the fans to go “F” themselves.  The letter was a big hit for news merchants and the internet since everyone loves a scandal.  On behalf of at least one Oregon football fan, I’d like to submit the following rebuttal:

For the record, there’s a lot more to the U of O than just football players and fans, and there’s a lot more to Oregon than just the U of O. (Image of Wizard Island in Crater Lake from Wikimedia dot org)

Dear Former Oregon Ducks Football Player,

As a University of Oregon alumnus and big fan of the team, I was sorry to read that your experience as a spectator in Autzen stadium was not as pleasant as you might have hoped.  You seemed genuinely surprised that some of the roughly 60,000 people sitting around you didn’t have a grasp of the nuances of the game.  As if that weren’t bad enough, some of them seemed to be far from supportive of your former teammates.  I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that as a former player, you’ve spent far more time on the field of play than in the stands.

You mentioned that you had a few beverages before the game.  You might not have noticed, but I’m willing to wager that some of the folks you encountered that day might have had quite a few more than a few.  As if adding alcohol to people wasn’t bad enough, there’s a good chance that some of those fans knew next to nothing about the game even before they started drinking.  You might not have noticed the buffoon factor in stadium crowds before, since you were likely busy playing and focusing on the action on the field.  News flash; lots of people go to football games but know little about the sport and lots of other people go to games to drink and have fun, and maybe watch some football.

As anyone from a major metropolitan area can tell you, if you pack 55 or 60 thousand people in a relatively small venue, you’ll quickly find a few assholes. Just to clarify, I am not insinuating that anyone in this photo is an asshole, except maybe that one guy right there.  (Image from bleacherreport dot com)

You also wrote that you felt like a foot soldier in Spartacus.  That like slaves, you and your team mates were fed, housed, trained and given nothing more.  Don’t slam Oregon fans for that, I’m pretty sure the NCAA is in charge of what you’re allowed to get reimbursement-wise.  For the record, a quick internet search estimated the cost for an out-of-state student to attend the University of Oregon for one academic year is a little bit over $44,000 (I saw only 26 players from Oregon on this year’s roster of 120 players).  That number includes tuition, books, meals and housing .  For four years, that adds up to $176,000 ($220,000 for five year red shirt players).  I realize that to NFL players, $176,000 is chump change, but to the average pair of parents sending their kid to college, it’s a lot of cabbage.  I’m sorry you would have liked more than that for your sacrifice and hard work, but I’m guessing your parents were pretty happy about avoiding having to get a second mortgage on their house to send you to school.

On the subject of NFL players, LeGarrette Blount is playing for the New England Patriots these days.  He is best remembered for sucker punching an admittedly mouthy Boise State player in the Oregon season opener a few years ago.  Chip Kelly benched him until the Rose Bowl if I remember correctly, but the damage was done.  Another NFL player, former Duck John Boyett, lost his spot a few months ago on the Colts roster after a public intoxication, disorderly conduct arrest – alcohol rears its ugly head again.  He reportedly told the police, “You can’t arrest me, I’m a Colts player”.  To the best of my knowledge, Jeremiah Masoli never made it to the NFL.  He was the Duck’s starting quarterback before being kicked off the team, after embarrassing us all by breaking into a frat house and stealing a laptop.  The biggest sports/non-sports story these days is the Miami Dolphins letting go of an offensive lineman named Incognito who sounds like a truly special brand of asshole.  Incognito actually managed to bully a guy who is damn near as big as he is.  We fans can take solace that he was technically an Oregon Duck for a week before the coaching staff wised up and dumped him.

Many Oregon fans are embarrassed when the team we root for is associated with knuckleheads – I know I am.  Yet despite my shame, I didn’t stop watching the games on TV, nor did I burn any of my Oregon sweatshirts with the Nike swooshes.  I remained a loyal fan to my team, because as anyone would admit, it’s not fair to sully the whole program because of the poor behavioral choices of a few dopes…

Just as it’s unfair to trash an entire population of fans because you ran into some jackasses in a stadium.

Please don’t write a rebuttal to this email.  There’s a big game coming up and I’d like to focus on the action on the field.

I’m an Oregon fan, whether they win or lose. I won’t let the foolish actions or words of a few players, former players or fans get in the way of my loyalty.  Now stop whining and let’s watch the game (Image from helmetgame dot com)

It’s The Big Game – Let’s Play Dress Up!

There’s me with my little brother Chris. If we got to the games early enough, we could get a spot near the fence. It was easy to recognize our favorite players, since there were no facemasks on their leather helmets (Image from guardian dot co dot com)

When I was a kid, I used to go to high school football games with my brothers.  We’d watch the varsity and dream of one day wearing those uniforms ourselves.  As it happened, through hard work and the good fortune of some decent genes I eventually got to play on that very field wearing one of those sacred jerseys.  I still remember my number from that epic senior year.  I was also lucky enough to play lacrosse for an undefeated team for that same school though on a different field in a different jersey.  My lacrosse skills were sufficient for me to go on to play in college, on yet another field wearing yet another jersey.

Ahh, those college days!  So many new things to experience, so much partying.  Lord I wish I could remember a fraction of the good times.

I do have a few things which I can still recall.  One which recently popped into my mind was midnight movies.  These were usually stoner flicks for the party-set to stagger into when there weren’t enough good times to be had elsewhere.  Movies like Woodstock, Frank Zappa’s 200 Motels and The Harder They Come, starring a young Jimmie Cliff.  There was one midnight movie which seemed to play on every campus and always had a bigger crowd than the rest.  Its audience was not the usual group of wannabe rastas and Deadheads though.  Actually, they might have been, but it was hard to tell, since they were all dressed up.

I’m referring of course, to the Rocky Horror Picture Show.  For the record, I’ve never seen the movie.  Any one of my regular readers would understand why.  A movie where people talk back to the screen and throw crap is just not going to be on my calendar.  To this day, anybody in a theater, or anywhere else for that matter, who hits me in the back of the head with a slice of toasted rye is going to have a problem.  In any case, the people who went to see RHPS would dress up like characters in the movie, and enjoy what they considered to be some odd form of interactive theater with the celluloid images on the screen.

On second thought, let’s just go ahead and dim the lights. Seriously though, I get hit with one piece of toast and I’m gonna stick my high heeled foot where the sun don’t shine! (Image from livefromskokie dot blogspot dot com)

Those of us who were not into Rocky Horror would wander past the theater wondering what the hell the allure was.  One time I took a fleeting interest in it, strictly because of the girl I saw standing on line in the fishnet stockings, heels and corset.  My interest quickly faded when I realized it was a guy named Doug from my art history class.  It provided an important life lesson – No matter how nice your legs are, a mustache is a deal-breaker.

My friends and I saw those people weekend after weekend.  We laughed at what geeks they were.  This was a time before geeks had any social standing.  Revenge of the Nerds was still years away and geeks were simply not cool.  Not even geeks wanted to be geeks.  Yet somehow, around 11:30 on those nights, they came out in droves, dressed like hunchbacks, bookworms, and mostly like transvestites.

For the life of me, I couldn’t understand why they did it.  They dressed up in costumes for a showing of a movie whose characters could neither see nor appreciate their allegiance.  Anyone who wasn’t into Rocky Horror would mock them.  I yearned to scream out, “Tim Curry doesn’t care!  Shave your legs or put on some pants!”

Fast forward three decades or so to yesterday.  My employer started enforcing a new dress code a couple of years ago.  Jeans and shorts were banned as were T-shirts with any print on them.  I’ve been known to physically exert myself at work.  I miss my shorts and T’s much more than I do my Levi’s, even in these frigid days.  For the spirit of the upcoming Super Bowl, the powers that be granted us a day of denim, provided we wear football jerseys.

On principle, I take offense at the whole thing.  Do we have a dress code or not?  Further, people who are not football fans or do no have jerseys are discriminated against.  As both my loyal readers will tell you, I live in the Philadelphia area, and as such there has been nothing to get excited about football-wise since Andy Reid waddled out of town and Chip Kelly rolled in – neither one of which has actually translated into a single notch in the win column.

Despite our football challenged locale, the halls were filled with people in jeans and jerseys.  Though largely Eagles colors, most of the NFL was represented.  Some of the more exotic and/or depressing locales were not in attendance (Seattle and Cleveland).  I walked among these people dressed in my standard khakis and polo shirt, wondering why I had no jersey.  My fundamental disagreement with administration’s suspending a rule they just instituted notwithstanding, there was some other reason for my attire.

My standard line has always been that as a former athlete, I have been conditioned to wearing my jersey for games and not wearing it otherwise.  It was a privilege to have a jersey, it was not for everyday wear.  My jersey was part of the uniform I wore for game day, for my job at the time.  I couldn’t imagine police officers dressing up as a cop for fun, or painters putting on their speckled overalls to go to church.

As an aside, women often look quite hot in athletic jerseys, just like they do in men’s dress shirts. Obviously I cannot complain about women looking fetching in any sort of attire. They don’t even have to be fans of the team, looking good is the point. If the Bengals away-uniform really sets off that new hairstyle, let’s get out that T.J.Houshmanzadeh jersey, girl! (Image from volnation dot com)

As the day rolled on, I started to wonder about the validity of my rationale.  I was an athlete before many of these people were even born.  Surely by this late date my “game day” logic had lost its luster.  Perhaps the only reason I had stuck with it was to give myself a chance to inform people who were thirty years younger than me that I used to play – good God, I’m pathetic!

Somewhere in my day, the Rocky Horror Picture Show crept into my brain.  Had the thought of playing dress up for people who didn’t care play a subliminal role in my decision process?  I’ve been to a few Eagles games.  People in the old 700 level wore their Bill Bergey jerseys and cheered loudly and booed nearly as often.  Technically, many of these people were sitting closer to the underside of the jets which were coming in for landings than they were to the players on the field.  Their screams of happiness or discontent would never reach the ears of the players over a quarter mile below, no matter how much they wished they would.

Maybe Eagles fans would have a better reputation if they threw toast at a movie screen instead of snowballs at a drunken Santa. (image from aolnews dot com)

Maybe it’s time for me to take the plunge.  To go ahead and bite the bullet and admit that my playing days are in no way related to my status as a fan.  Maybe it’s time to accept the reality that even though none of the players will likely ever see me wearing it, a jersey would be a nice addition to my admittedly one-dimensional wardobe.  Maybe I need to consider getting a jersey before I’m too old to wear jeans.

Let’s Talk Tinkle!

I shouldn’t have to tell you folks that trying to get pee pee from a Bronco can be tricky. Don’t believe me? Just ask my my buddy, Cal “Flathead” Rodgers, here. (Image from Deborahhalverson.com)

The Denver Broncos are going to be without star linebacker D.J. Williams for an additional three games.  The three extra games of suspension are being tacked on to the original six games which were imposed due to his violating the league’s substance abuse rules.

This story in and of itself is not such a big thing.  Professional athletes and even regular folk occasionally do ill-advised things.  When caught, they have to pay some sort of penalty.  Driving while under the influence, which is what got Williams into trouble in the first place, certainly falls under that category.  Driving under the influence is irresponsible and dangerous.  It should not be seen as acceptable behavior under any circumstance.

OK – enough of the public service announcement, let’s get to the fun part.

Williams’ trouble with the league is for failing a urine test.  The failure of the test was not due to their finding traces of banned substances in the urine.  As far as I could determine in my 13 minutes of online research, the urine was as clean as a whistle.

While the urine was free of any traces of banned substances, it still sent up a red challenge flag.  It turns out the urine was from the wrong species.  Williams is in trouble for submitting a “non-human urine sample”.  I find this so funny, that I’m nearly peeing myself in laughter – How’s that for irony?

Dammit Paris! Your ugly lil dog peed on the floor again! At this rate, we never gonna get that jar filled! (Image from goodhousekeeping.com)

Apparently, despite graduating from the University of Miami and being a grown-assed man, Mr. Williams didn’t think it through.  Clearly, he didn’t realize that in addition to testing for traces of illegal drugs, the screen might also be looking for markers which could determine that the tinkle in question came from a cooperative Rottweiler and not from a star linebacker.  One good bit of news was that the league informed Williams that he does not show any signs of heart-worm or Parvo virus.

I’m taking the liberty of guessing that the pee came from a large breed dog for several reasons.  Pro football players aren’t known for having Tea-Cup Yorkies around the house – unless they’re dating Paris Hilton and she’s got a few in her bag*.  In addition, I’m not sure one of those miniature breeds could produce enough wee wee to fill the specimen jar, unless you really scared them.  Cats are also out of the picture, assuming the guy doesn’t have a snow leopard he bought from a couple of magicians outside Vegas at their exotic animal clearance sale.

While linebackers aren’t necessarily known for their intellect, you’d think that their multi-millionaire agents would have the wits about them to advise against using critter pee.  Any agent will tell you the only good use for that suff is putting the coyote whiz around the country estate to keep deer out of the pinot noir trellises.

It’s also unfortunate that Mr. Williams was unable to forge the celebrity connections to link up with rapper R. Kelly, who might have been able to suggest other options.  It really makes you wonder.  I mean, what’s the point of being rich and famous if you don’t get to network when it really counts?

All this speculation is too little-too late to be of any assistance to D.J. Williams.  The damage is done.  Hopefully, he will move forward and be able to resume his playing career once he’s served his suspension.  I’m sure that opposing players and fans will not consider what he must have looked like as he chased his Rotty around the yard with a jar in his hand.  I’m confident the dog has already forgotten about the whole incident by now.  Dogs, unlike many fans of rival AFC West teams, can have very short memories.

* This broad-brushed, stereotypical view of professional football players is not meant to include quarterbacks or punters, who may well own small-breed dogs and even Persian cats.