What am I doing with my Sundays? I oughta be out in a convertible, bird-doggin' chicks and bangin' beaver on Sundays. Instead, I’m watching the shitty Dolphins? I must be a fucking loon. This shit just ain’t funny anymore. It’s become downright grim. We’re now one loss away. One loss away from tying the worst record in NFL history. Two losses away from breaking that tie. And three losses away from completing the worst season ever in NFL history – in the same season a hated rival will go 19-0, no less. So, thanks to the collective efforts of the 2007 Miami Dolphins and the 2007 New England Patriots, I’m actually starting to hate football. I mean really fucking hate it. Not sure if this shit can ever be salvaged. Sundays used to be the model of awesome. Wake up at noon, turn on the tube and watch wall-to-wall football while stuffing myself with Tostitos, salsa and pizza rolls and washing it all down with a case of Miller High Life. Now, Sundays are filled with dread. Absolute dread. As if Nurse Ratched is going to show up at my door and take me into the little room to have a 1,000 watts of electric shock therapy shot up my ass.
And it’s not just the losses that are killing me. It’s the way we’re getting there. We were all wrong about John Beck. I know I was. Dude’s simply not ready for Mount Olympus quite yet. And having to deal with the dual-handicap of being a rookie quarterback and playing behind the shittiest pass blocking my eyes have ever beheld, certainly ain’t helping the worldwide Mormon as Franchise Savior movement. So Cleo Lemon comes in, throws a 54 yard strike to Ted Ginn and leads the team to a TD in two plays. But before anyone could say, “Holy shit! I was wrong about Cleo Lemon! He can play! And his name is not so bad either when you think about it! It kinda rolls off the tongue! Cleo. Lemon. Cleo. Lemon,” he reverts back to whistling the old Simon & Garfunkel tune Sucktitude and Thyme with his four fumbles, two interceptions and a shit load of mediocrity. Worse than that is now the sudden realization that -- holy Mother of God! -- we don’t have a quarterback!
Hopelessness has now turned to utter despair which leads to despondency which leads to apathy. The sun has turned to sackcloth and the moon has turned to blood. Fire Cam Cameron. Fire Randy Mueller. Tie Bryan Wiedmeier's nuts in a hose clamp and shit in Wayne Huizenga's mouth. Whatever. I don't give a rat's ass. Blow the whole franchise up for all I care. Our starting running back is Nigerian. Derrick Hagan led the team with 8 receptions for 93 yards. These, along with the fact that a Wade Phillips led team is going to finish the season with only one loss, are all signs of the impending Apocalypse anyway.
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So stock up on the cans of tuna and pop tarts, Fins Nation. Because the end of the world is nigh. Or maybe it isn't, I don't know. It sure as shit feels like it though.
Fuck. I totally hate life right now. -- Chris Joseph
Read more on sports from Chris Joseph at FinsNation.com