You know it's a wonderful thing when a baby unicorn is born into this world. The weight of it all feels a little lighter, there's multiple rainbows in the sky, and Skittles are half off at every gas station. We've had a number of newborns over the years down here at the farm and I've been proud to be present at each and every birth.
It's very important to me that as soon as the little unicolt witnesses the world for the first time in its existence that I'm there to grab it and hold it close and whisper ever so gently, "I'm so sorry, you're going to be a Miami Dolphins fan." And then I give it a little kiss on the head, smack its ass, and off we go into this whole fantastic voyage. There's no sense in coddling in this day and age--it's going to hit you regardless.
The year is now 2025. I've written about Andrew Luck being the potential savior of the Miami Dolphins but instead fate had him go to the Colts and he's now retired and in charge of Stanford making sure they keep winning math competitions and shit like that. I've also written about Ryan Tannehill, my little Fuzzby, being the potential something of the Miami Dolphins but instead he went to the Titans and now he's retired and...welp...I don't honestly have a clue what he's doing now. But now the Dolphins have Mike McDaniel and Tua Tagovailoa and things have been...the goddamn same. IT'S THE SAAAAAAAAMMMMMEEEE!!!!
How? How is this possible?
How can you be so ridiculously mediocre for two decades? TWO! DECADES! Decades, kids, in this instance is the amount of time it takes to fill ten years and two, is well, TWO OF THOSE! Could you imagine, just for the sake of humoring me, going twenty years and not being able to do something that is completely in your wheelhouse of doing? Like, just for shits sake, let's say that I needed you to change someone's brake pads on their car and you don't know brake pads from the hole in your ass. You don't think, in twenty years, you could not only change brake pads but also probably become goddamn Callahan Auto Parts from Sandusky, Ohio! Twenty years. I'm giving you twenty years to be Chris Farley in Tommy Boy and you can't fuuuuuuuuucking do it.
I say all of this because it's 2025 and the Dolphins are currently 1-5 and looking damn shitty doing it too! The talking heads are calling for the heads of everyone from top to bottom and that sounds like a rational response to me for a team that somehow has little expectations and falls short of them anyway like the little rascals they are.
Rational. Uh oh.
I used a 'no no' word.
You see, kids, we're stuck in the Twilight Zone and things like 'sense' and 'rationalization' have no meaning here. In fact, they're flagged as 'no no' words. Can't use 'em.
So that leaves me with the alternative. I propose something radical and hear me out--or don't--I don't care. Don't fire them. Make them stay.
MAKE THEM STAY.
If they stay, and after every loss, they have to face a battery of questions from the astounded media that have been hired and retired since you've been relevant, well then maybe we're getting close to where I feel. A whole cycle of reporters asking why you're still shitty when everything else that has been shitty became unshitty? That sounds like purgatory and that's exactly where I've been for TWENTY YEARS.
And I want them here with me. Mike, Tua, get yourselves comfortable because we should be joined at the goddamn hip. You don't deserve the luxury of being fired. You have to stay, right here, with me. So grab a shovel because this unicorn shit piles up like you wouldn't believe.
