nevar360
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Hi folks, long time lurker, first time poster. I have a blog where I take the week's most infamous news-maker/makers (not necessarily sports related) and write a satire article. After all the Drama with our boys, I could no longer hold my tongue, so here's my take on this past week:
Alright, this weekend I'm not feeling like clowning around. This entry is too near and dear to my heart, so emotions are going to be running high throughout this entire piece. The following article may contain strong language, adult content, violence...lots an lots of gratuitous sex, oh yeah, and a knee-jerk disregard for substantiating evidence. Reader discretion is advised.
The game is tied at 13 with under two minutes remaining in the fourth quarter. It's second down with eight yards to go. As I watched Tony Romo retreat into shotgun formation it dawned on me why it all went wrong. As Romo performs a leg lift, the universal symbol signifying readiness - seriously I use it all the time, like when I'm asked if I'm, “ready for some football”, every Monday night, my leg instinctively rises and then drops- the snap comes and within seconds so does the pressure. Romo shoots straight from the hip, right into the waiting arms of Pittsburgh Steeler's defensive back Deshea Townsend, who looks nothing like his intended target, the stumbling Jason Witten.
If Tony had simply slid his hands into the relative warmth and safety of, his trusty center, Andre Gurode's nether regions, maybe he retains the feeling in his hands, his pass is on target, and all is right in the world again; I say, “relative warmth and safety,” only in comparison to on-field weather conditions, because if the below freezing wind chill of Heinz field isn't considered, “freezing my balls off,” weather, I don't know what is.
That play was only the beginning of the downward spiral. Since the end of that game, all heck has broken loose and the sky is falling right through the venerable hole in Texas Stadium's roof. So who the **** shot J.R.? I mean, losses happen, especially to teams of the Steeler's caliber, in hostile weather conditions, on the road. Well, as we all know, the entire cosmos revolve around the most unstable star of them all...Terrel Owens.
And what better time for a primadonna meltdown than after a high profile, nationally televised, game.
T.O. allegedly was P.O. At Romo's preferential treatment towards his road roomie and Best Friend for Life, Jason Witten; for, you see, “Ocho-uno” just so happened to be “openish” on the very play that went for pick six. Big deal right? I mean, T.O. has always been known as a selfish player and sideline outbursts are fairly common with him. Well, this time he's managed to rally teammates behind his well known battle cry, “I love me some me!”
See, I always knew Owen's body suit was on way too tight, cutting all circulation to his farthest extremities; his hands, feet, and brain. That explains his advanced case of the dropsies, his inability to finish running routes, and severe attention deficit disorder. Seriously T.O. , If you read the stat sheet, closely, you'd see that you've been Romo's favorite target all along. It's not Witten's fault he makes the most of fewer opportunities and simply catches nearly everything thrown at him. How can you blame Romo for going to his most reliable target when it matters the most?
So in the week since that game ended, there have been secret meetings to discuss, “ball distribution”, players have grumbled for accountability within the coaching staff, different factions have claimed allegiance to either team Romo or team Owens, and players pointed fingers accusing each other of being the anonymous source leaking the drama to the media. Seriously, I haven't seen this kind of passive aggressive back and forth through the media since Brangelina Vs. Aniston, and as the world continued to turn at Valley Ranch, the drama culminated in an alleged, “near altercation,” in the locker room between Owens and Witten...Damn it what the hell is going on?
Oh by the way, the New York football Giants are coming to town, and that means it's prediction time. Considering the level of distraction, how can we not assume a continuation of the poor December play for the boys? I predict the Giants will slowly squeeze the life out of the Cowboys for four quarters, and when the fight is out of them, the Giants will pop the carcass into their mouth and wash it down with a glass of cool, refreshing, mountain spring water. But wait! From inside the belly of the beast, the 'boys will puncture a vital organ with that six shooter of divine retribution, dropping the Giants to the canvas in the last two minutes of the game, where they will reemerge only partially digested. Cowboys win 28-24...
Alright, this weekend I'm not feeling like clowning around. This entry is too near and dear to my heart, so emotions are going to be running high throughout this entire piece. The following article may contain strong language, adult content, violence...lots an lots of gratuitous sex, oh yeah, and a knee-jerk disregard for substantiating evidence. Reader discretion is advised.
The game is tied at 13 with under two minutes remaining in the fourth quarter. It's second down with eight yards to go. As I watched Tony Romo retreat into shotgun formation it dawned on me why it all went wrong. As Romo performs a leg lift, the universal symbol signifying readiness - seriously I use it all the time, like when I'm asked if I'm, “ready for some football”, every Monday night, my leg instinctively rises and then drops- the snap comes and within seconds so does the pressure. Romo shoots straight from the hip, right into the waiting arms of Pittsburgh Steeler's defensive back Deshea Townsend, who looks nothing like his intended target, the stumbling Jason Witten.
If Tony had simply slid his hands into the relative warmth and safety of, his trusty center, Andre Gurode's nether regions, maybe he retains the feeling in his hands, his pass is on target, and all is right in the world again; I say, “relative warmth and safety,” only in comparison to on-field weather conditions, because if the below freezing wind chill of Heinz field isn't considered, “freezing my balls off,” weather, I don't know what is.
That play was only the beginning of the downward spiral. Since the end of that game, all heck has broken loose and the sky is falling right through the venerable hole in Texas Stadium's roof. So who the **** shot J.R.? I mean, losses happen, especially to teams of the Steeler's caliber, in hostile weather conditions, on the road. Well, as we all know, the entire cosmos revolve around the most unstable star of them all...Terrel Owens.
And what better time for a primadonna meltdown than after a high profile, nationally televised, game.
T.O. allegedly was P.O. At Romo's preferential treatment towards his road roomie and Best Friend for Life, Jason Witten; for, you see, “Ocho-uno” just so happened to be “openish” on the very play that went for pick six. Big deal right? I mean, T.O. has always been known as a selfish player and sideline outbursts are fairly common with him. Well, this time he's managed to rally teammates behind his well known battle cry, “I love me some me!”
See, I always knew Owen's body suit was on way too tight, cutting all circulation to his farthest extremities; his hands, feet, and brain. That explains his advanced case of the dropsies, his inability to finish running routes, and severe attention deficit disorder. Seriously T.O. , If you read the stat sheet, closely, you'd see that you've been Romo's favorite target all along. It's not Witten's fault he makes the most of fewer opportunities and simply catches nearly everything thrown at him. How can you blame Romo for going to his most reliable target when it matters the most?
So in the week since that game ended, there have been secret meetings to discuss, “ball distribution”, players have grumbled for accountability within the coaching staff, different factions have claimed allegiance to either team Romo or team Owens, and players pointed fingers accusing each other of being the anonymous source leaking the drama to the media. Seriously, I haven't seen this kind of passive aggressive back and forth through the media since Brangelina Vs. Aniston, and as the world continued to turn at Valley Ranch, the drama culminated in an alleged, “near altercation,” in the locker room between Owens and Witten...Damn it what the hell is going on?
Oh by the way, the New York football Giants are coming to town, and that means it's prediction time. Considering the level of distraction, how can we not assume a continuation of the poor December play for the boys? I predict the Giants will slowly squeeze the life out of the Cowboys for four quarters, and when the fight is out of them, the Giants will pop the carcass into their mouth and wash it down with a glass of cool, refreshing, mountain spring water. But wait! From inside the belly of the beast, the 'boys will puncture a vital organ with that six shooter of divine retribution, dropping the Giants to the canvas in the last two minutes of the game, where they will reemerge only partially digested. Cowboys win 28-24...
