The Tight Ends To A Mean

When I first started out with writing I was working for my college newspaper reporting on the women's basketball team and one of the constant problems I kept running into with my articles was, "How do I make this relevant considering they suck so bad every night?"

Well the answer to that question was that I had to search, and dig, and utilize every statistic that I had at my disposal to try and come up with something that would make people want to read about a bad women's basketball team.  This was normally a futile attempt, obviously, but every now and again I would get handed what I considered a 'gem' where something would happen and the story would just snowball from there.  It was rare but it did happen.

Now things are different because I have the luxury of sitting at home in the dark and waiting for some byproduct of the universe to just go ahead and fulfill his or her destiny.  These are referred to the 'Golden Ages'.

Please, allow me to regale you all with a story of a man, a woman, and the search for a chicken restaurant, I present to you...The Tight Ends To A Mean.

Kellen Winslow was a great football player for the San Diego Chargers in the NFL and was made a Hall of Famer after his retirement.  He is most famous for playing in one of the longest games in history against the Miami Dolphins, in which the Chargers were victorious, and delivered a tremendous performance.  He even milked it further by pretending like he was so exhausted that his teammates had to carry him off the field.  Alright, alright, maybe Winslow did have numerous things happen to him in that game.  I mean, he did have to get treated for a pinched nerve, dehydration, severe cramps, and a cut lip but come on this is football, dammit!  Alright, alright, he did say that "I've never been so close to death before" and even further adding "That's what Muhammad Ali said after Manila and that's how I felt out there at the end."

Now he's bringing Greatness into the conversation...fantastic.  Look, anybody who's read this blog for four and a half years knows that my favorite sports/person ever is Muhammad Ali and while I don't agree with Winslow about the comparison 100%...I'd still give him about 80%.  He did look like he was about to die.  I don't like Winslow because he defeated my favorite team in a game that will never go away in NFL lore but I can't help but respect him.  He's a good man and I hope he burns in Hell.

However, now it's clear that Winslow sold his soul to the Devil in that game and that's pretty much what Alanis Morissette could never get right and that's irony.  By the way, the only thing ironic in that song is the part where the guy who never flies is about to die in a plane crash and says "Well isn't this nice!" but there's no way that she knew that, right?  You can't tell me that she made a song entirely about irony and the only actual irony is this one subtle part and she knew that, right?!

Anyways, the reason why I now believe that Winslow sold his soul to the Devil was because after the epic game in Miami, the Chargers traveled to Cincinnati to play in one of the coldest playoff games of all-time in the Freezer Bowl.  The temperature was -9 degrees and the wind chill  made it -59 degrees.  While -59 degrees is considered 'bikini weather' on Mars here on Earth it's basically the harbinger of death.  This game took place in 1982 and a year later Kellen Winslow was the proud father of a beautiful, bouncing baby boy that he bestowed his own namesake upon creating Kellen Winslow: The Sequel.

 Kellen 2.0 was a lot like his father--he was athletic, wanted to carry on the tradition of the Winslow name and become a tight end in the National Football League.  So he followed his dreams, shot for the stars, and landed somewhere in the atmosphere that's being most affected by global warming and enrolled at the University of Miami.  Being successful in college football is a double-edged sword because you have your moment in the sun and then you're immediately shuttled to one of the worst teams in the NFL and it's then you realized that maybe keeping yourself in the middle of the pack would have been an ideal situation.  Thus, Kellen 2.0 became a member of the Cleveland Browns and the Devil chalked up another point on the scoreboard.

What largely happened afterwards is nothing but bad news bears.  Winslow II broke his leg, crashed his motorcycle, got a staph infection, was traded, was traded, was released, was signed and then asked for his release, and then he found himself with America's Last Chance Before Another Remake of the Longest Yard: The New York Jets.

Sad story so far, I know, but it's about to take one of those classic M.Night.Shyamalan twists that really make you laugh so hard you piss your pants.  It's kinda like The Happening where you find out that trees were making people kill themselves and if you're mad that I just spoiled that for you I'm just doing God's work here and keeping people from watching The Happening.

Now our story shifts to present day and I'm just like most Americans in that I love shopping at Target.  I love the idea that I can shop somewhere and also eat hot dogs and drink Slurpees and not have people think I'm only here to see what I can get away with food stamps these days.  I appreciate it when shoes are required.  My current bedding is from Target and it's like sleeping in a Beyonce slow jam--it appeals to all the senses!

I love Target, and respect Target, and would never masturbate at Target.  Masturbation is a tricky thing when dealing with the majority of the public.  I would say that 70% of people that masturbate would prefer to have their own secret "Masturbation Lair" that only they knew about and could get to, kinda like the Bat Cave, and the other 30% want to use it as their platform for running for public office--they put it out there, people are informed of it, and they want to be voted for it.

Kellen Winslow II is in that 30%.

Some lady, in her late fifties, pulls into a Target parking lot.  She's probably going for like three weirdly specific items but sometimes the sales just get her and maybe she'll just end up browsing for a while, who knows, things get crazy at Target!  She parks her sensible, lovable, but mostly stupid Ford Focus in a decent spot in the large parking lot--not too close because she hates that rat race but not too far to where she has to remember G4 or E3 or A8 because that's too damn confusing.  She collects her pocketbook, because that's what they call those things, shuts her door, hits the auto-lock twice because it gives you better piece of mind that way and notices that there's a man sitting in the vehicle next to her.  It's a large, black, Cadillac Escalade, an impressively expensive car but if she had the money to afford it she would rather spend it on traveling to someplace exotic--not Mexico, I said exotic--how about Tahiti?  Yeah, she would go to Tahiti.

She also notices that in this black Cadillac Escalade, because the windows are down, a man is sitting in the driver's seat.  Being raised the right way, and realizing that they've both noticed each other, she feels compelled to say something and casually mentions the weather.  That's when she sees the erect penis of the man sticking outside his pants.  Horrified, and curiously aroused perhaps, she has no choice but to do what any person her age does for any matter and that's involve the police.

The police show up and approach the black Cadillac Escalade and notice that the male sitting in the driver's seat is fidgeting around and kind of slumped over but when they get up to the window his pants are securely on and any erect penises have since faded away or are now tucked into the waistband of said pants.  The police ask what the man is doing and he identifies himself as Kellen Winslow II and that he was looking for a Boston Market but couldn't find it.  Because this isn't a filming of the Naked Gun, the cop then starts to inspect the vehicle and finds a large tub of Vaseline on the center console and several empty bags marked 'Mr. Happy' and 'Funky Monkey.'  These are apparently synthetic forms of marijuana, which even though the bags were empty, Mr. Winslow II made sure that they were labeled to be admitted as evidence.

The M.Night.Shyamalan twist?  The only things I made up were the intricate details about the woman.  I know nothing about her other than she saw Kellen Winslow: The Sequel's erect penis sticking out of his pants.  The rest is sadly true and really, really strange.

First of all, like Boston Market needs the bad publicity?  Or is it good publicity?  "I was out looking for a Boston Market and couldn't find one so I just decided to pull over and start masturbating because all hope was lost!"  On one hand, if the chicken was delicious enough you think you could take a couple more steps than just aimlessly driving around and check a GPS or even stick you head out of the damn window and yell, "Hey, where's the closest Boston Market?"  On the other, you couldn't find a Boston Market so you just pulled over and started masturbating?  Damn.  Second of all, a Target parking lot?  You might as well have picked Grand Central Station because you're just asking to get caught.  And you had a tub of Vaseline in your possession?!  I'm almost starting to believe that the woman was made up and you called the police yourself!

 He was smoking synthetic marijuana because he thought the NFL would be okay with that even though the NFL isn't okay with players wearing different colored shoes.  I've never once thought to myself, "Hey, that Kellen Winslow II is one smart guy!" but it's almost getting to the point where he's trying to make a new category for himself.

I guess I'm jaded because I always knew at some point in my life that I would have to link the words 'Boston Market', 'Vaseline', and 'Mr.Happy' together but I didn't expect to have to include the New York Jets as well, that's just an added bonus.

It's painfully obvious that Winslow 2.0 needs some help with a lot of things in his life and one of the least of his problems is finding the nearest rotisserie chicken place.  I hope he gets that help before I have to write another one of these fantastically awful pieces.

With all that said, happy birthday mom.  Your baby boy is making you proud despite all the penis jokes and I love you for that.  Sorry.