I had to go to the shop this morning for a minute. Some pile of shit CBR that I didn’t complete yesterday was calling my name and for some reason I felt badly for the dumbass kid that dropped it.
So I ripped a New Orleans Saints hood-ro’ out of the closet that dearest daughter gave to me for Xmas a while back, slapped it on, and headed out the door.
It’s been rather cool the last couple of mornings.
His timing was mercilessly funny.
Coaches told us to put our war bonnets on and go out there and cripple kids in Biddy league for chrissakes.
It’s football, right? For many years, grown men have taken to green fields bathed in Sunday afternoon sunshine in American cities far and wide and proceeded to beat the living stink out of each other. And during the passage of those many long years, I feel relatively certain that there have been more than a few creative ways concocted to motivate them to continue to do so.
Why the NFL chose the Saints to make an example of to the rest of the league is beyond me. As if the city needed yet another economic Katrina on its back.