This past week, Roger Dorn came to my apartment for our annual holiday meeting where we talk about what Michael Wilbon eats and our cellphones. Due to an uncomfortable silence (he stares at my hairline), I turned on the television. For the moment, we were saved by the National Football League.
The Bears were playing Seattle. Cedric Benson ran face first into Olin Kreutz and didn’t even try to get up after bouncing off and falling flat on his back. He was touched down by Patrick Kerney. I scoffed. Cedric Benson is probably the worst runningback in the NFL. Seriously, I can’t think of a starting runningback who deserves the job less than Benson. He consistently makes nothing out of something. He runs like a man who just ate a very large dinner and would like to masturbate and go to bed. We’ve all been there.
Conveniently for me, Roger is a Bears fan. So my whimsical repartee was not lost on deaf ears. Roger rolled his eyes at my comments and snuck another look at my hairline which I took as a hint that he had seen enough. I switched over to the NFL Network. They were playing highlights from the earlier game between the Philadelphia Eagles and the Miami Dolphins. I’m a self-righteous dickhead and I live in Philadelphia, so I obviously have something invested in the Eagles. Donovan McNabb was standing in the pocket, seemingly admiring what was a beautiful day at Lincoln Financial Field. The thought of throwing the ball had crossed his mind, but he wasn’t sure if now would be a good time. After all he had just dropped back no less than ten seconds ago and no one in the stands had suggested that he throw the ball. You don’t want to rush these things until someone in the club level says something.
Listening intently for any direction from the crowd, McNabb finally released the ball when a security guard close to the Soft Pretzel Factory said, “Look out!” He had directed it somewhere in the vicinity of Reggie Brown, who had assumed that something terrible had happened as this particular play had already lasted a good fifteen minutes. Later on, the Associated Press reported that Brown should have come back for the ball. Brown was later heard to remark, “Apparently, the Associated Press thinks I’m some kind of fucking mind-reader.” Instead, the ball was intercepted by Jason Allen, who would later be referred to as some kind of fucking mind-reader after intercepting AJ Feeley.
Roger and me were now in a full on argument. He was belittling me for wanting to trade McNabb away and I sneered at him for wanting to trade for him. It was uncomfortable. The room had grown awkwardly silent. In an effort to alleviate the tension I put on a VHS compilation comprised of all of Michael Douglas’ sex scenes. We laughed and laughed.
The end.
