I'm not friends with the entire city of Chicago or Fox Sports anymore...it's official.
You see, living in the Twilight Zone is weird. On the one hand you keep getting completely random and unforeseen ridiculous crap thrown at you and on the other your morbid curiosity catches you and you wonder what's next.
What's next? Jay Whatever-the-Hell-his-middle-name-is Cutler. That's what's next for me. I have Jay Cutler. There's going to be Miami Dolphins jerseys made that have the name Cutler on the back and they won't be custom jerseys that Dave Cutler had to have made because he can't decide who his favorite Dolphin player is and if he's paying sixty bucks for it, then fuck it, what's twenty bucks more for the customized version?!
Kids, quick recap, last season the Miami Dolphins did just enough to beat shitty teams and had crawled out from that spot that's constantly kept in the dark on purpose to make that playoff game...that they quickly bowed out from. I mean, Pittsburgh? Can I fan-boy crush on them harder?! We should have won that game. We SHOULD have won that game. But it's PITTSBURGH...and miami. Whatever. I'm not bitter.
The important part about our little trip down memory lane is that my favorite little fuzzby in the whole game, Ryan Tannehill, hurt his knee juuuuust enough to not need surgery but to make sure he had no part in that Steelers game. Anyways, he doesn't get surgery, he drinks some tea, reads some tarot cards, and eats fish oil pills to heal his partially torn knee ligament. Obviously I'm exaggerating because who the Hell doesn't get surgery in the NFL?! They have access to the best health care system in the nation. They go to the top surgeons in the United States for torn ligaments. Notice how I didn't say 'heart transplants' or 'brain surgery' there. They're pretty much the biggest players in the surgery game (cause I'm sure that exists) and yet...YET...Tannehill said, "Eh, I'll throw a few ice packs on it for the next five months and we'll see how I feel."
In the entire history of things being partially torn have you ever, ever, heard of one time...just ONE time that it reconnected itself together, you know, just cause? That's a rhetorical question and in case you don't know what that means it means that I'm not waiting for your answer because it's irrelevant to me because I already know the answer. It's no. The answer is no.
So we go all through the summer and get to about the week before the preseason starts and guess what happens? Tannehill crumples to the ground on a non-contact play in practice. Wow. Shocking! I would have thought his knee would have regenerated new ligaments by now, I mean, he waited long enough, right?
Whichever doctor it inevitably came down to that said surgery was unnecessary was clearly drunk. Was he unsure of what quarterbacks are expected to do? They should, at the very least, be able to run. There's not many paraplegic's out there huckin' the pigskin. God forbid what would have happened to him had it been a tackle. He might be picking out which prosthetic he thinks still makes him look the most human.
That's a bit dark, I apologize to all the stumps out there.
I'm rambling. Anyways, I lose my fuzzby for the season and it finally dawns on the rest of the team that, 'Shit, we should probably find someone else to throw the ball, right?' And I can imagine them saying this within earshot of Matt Moore who's been our backup quarterback for...ever...and all we seem to do is shit on the guy.
Tannehill's down?! Whatever will we do? Who do we get to play quarterback for us? We better look at broadcasters!" (Meanwhile, Matt Moore sits in the corner of a locker room crying ever so silently)
Enter the Cutler. Which sounds like a parody of a classic Bruce Lee film but it's really the harbinger of doom of 2017 for the Miami Dolphins. Before I tear it all to shreds, the reasoning for all of this is because Cutler's best year was with Adam Gase in Chicago. Gase is now Miami's head coach and apparently he's the only one that knows Cutler. He really knows him, you know? You may think you know how to utilize Jay Cutler but you'll never know how to utilize him like Adam Gase!
Me? Eh, I'm one of those weirdos that likes a little more of a time frame of statistics than one year. Especially when you compare it to his entire body of work. I mean, the guy is bound to have one best year, right? What are the odds that it's because it was this other guy that really motivated him or taught him better than anybody else that ever did it before in the twenty something years before that he's been playing football?
Because, and forgive me if I'm wrong, but the guy has spent his entire life looking like he would rather be somewhere else. A guy notorious for sitting out of key situations and never really giving a damn is worth chasing because once, a couple years ago, two guys captured lightning in a bottle?
I DON'T GET IT LIEUTENANT DAN!
Meanwhile, the guy who should get the job is already on the team and doesn't have to be lured away from his broadcasting job from Fox Sports for $10 million! If you told me I could get Dan Marino, at his peak, for one year at $10 million I wouldn't blink an eye. If you told me I had my choice between Jay Cutler or Matt Moore, just how they are right now, for $10 million my last word would be Moore as I blew my brains out. Ten million dollars for what? Ten million dollars for pissing on our loyal and most likely source of success and retaining the rights to the guy that was about to be Fox Sports color commentator. Cool. I'm onboard. Let's have a great season, fellas!
Jay Cutler has a body language that wonders why the martini selection wasn't as good as it was at that last art show.
Jay Cutler cares as much about the Miami Dolphins as he does about famine in Africa.
Jay Cutler is probably only in South Florida so he can finally find that rug that matches the curtains in his guest bedroom.
Jay Cutler is...the starting quarterback of the Miami Dolphins.
I just vomited all over the place. I need help.
Showing posts with label Ryan Tannehill. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ryan Tannehill. Show all posts
Saturday, August 19, 2017
Saturday, May 23, 2015
May Flowers
Dear God, it's the end of May, and that means that the dawn of my fourth decade of life is just barreling towards me like some sort of weird barrel based weapon. Time sucks because it's always time to do something. It's time to get up, it's time to go to work, it's time for your state approved execution...blah blah blah. There's never any time for anything besides all the shit we don't want to happen. Time is literally the harbinger of my doom, your doom, and the doom of all carbon based life forms. Watches and clocks are morbid ways of checking the time that you have left and also when that meeting starts. Time rolls on and there's absolutely nothing you can do about it.
I once believed that if I just stayed in bed all day then that day would never occur and time would stop. That's how I lost my first job.
In three months time I'll be thirty years old and it's time to highlight some positives of that because I'm already depressed and we're not even there yet. I'm like Queen Elizabeth to hamsters, goldfish, most insects, and celebrity marriages. I'm a true testament of time in the very sense that it hasn't killed me yet, dammit, and it's time we get going.
The Miami Dolphins have inked Ryan Tannehill, my little Fuzzby, to a big contract that will keep him in South Florida and potentially pay him ninety six muellllllliiiioooon buckaroos. Several of my friends have come up to me and asked me what I thought about this and every single time my mind kept going back to the Vietnam War for some reason but I think I'm ready to settle down and talk about it now.
It's dumb. It's a dumb move. Just because it's after the divorce and you run through a bunch of scumbags for a number of years doesn't mean you have to marry the first guy that's wearing slacks and has his hair combed. You can probably, gee I don't know, LET HIM PROVE HIS WORTH FIRST!
Ryan's a great guy and I'm sure he's nice to children, old people, and dogs. He could even go on to mesh so well with the tools the Dolphins have provided him this offseason and just wreck shit. He could lead his team to the playoffs and be in title contention come the end of the year. He could be an MVP candidate and hoist up the Lombardi trophy in South Florida for the first time in longer than I've lived on this planet...but...it's all hope and hope is absolutely dog shit in professional football. If you are signing people to your team in the NFL based on hope then you better prepare yourself for a good old fashioned cry session in your bathroom while pretending to take a shower because that's where you are headed.
We now live in a world where Andrew Luck, who has been further into the playoffs each year he's been in the league, and Russell Wilson, who has won a Super Bowl and been to two, and were both drafted the same year as Ryan Tannehill and yet they remain on their rookie contracts. And Robert Griffin Part III! He was there too!
It's weird. It's gotta be a great tool for when the time comes that I become a parent because every Sunday I'm cheering him on but in my head I'm praying to whoever answers that he just doesn't completely blow it. But for better or for worse, in sickness or in health, in wins or in complete mediocrity each and every season, I am now stricken with a Fuzzby for the next FIVE freakin' years.
That's a lot of time. And if every season that I've witnessed is some sort of barometer for how the next five will go...let's just say I'm not quitting the blog any time soon.
And now...NOW...it's finally time that I make my way to you, Mr. Thomas Gladys Brady, you cheating son of a bitch! (His middle name comes from his father's favorite lunch lady in school)
When the time comes that I'm dead and gone from this Earth and you are too, and so are our children, and so on and so forth...but yet the SP remains for some reason...the time capsule of the NFL would be the period of time that the New England Patriots decided, "Hell, we aren't winning, maybe we should start cheating?" And that would be for the last thirteen or so years.
It was all an elaborate set up, from top to bottom, and it was undeniably brilliant but it was also the worst thing to happen to American sports. Bill Belichick was a horrible failure as a head coach but as soon as he landed in New England he had one bad year and then was the best ever. Tom Brady knitted wool caps for the rest of the Michigan Wolverines and wasn't drafted until the sixth round, pick 199, meaning that one hundred and ninety-eight people were considered better than him by people that spend their entire lives by evaluating talent and potential and yet now he is considered the best ever?! How in the holy Hell did they accomplish this amazing feat?! BY CHEATING! The whole time. We caught them with Spygate. We have now caught them with Deflategate. How many other gates did they get past us? I'm now struck with a myriad of questions, questions like, 'Did they lose some games on purpose to not look suspicious?', 'Did the Tuck Rule start the flood and they started wondering how far they could press the stupidity of the rules of the NFL?', and 'Isn't this the fitting answer as to why Tom Brady, the most popular NFL player, and Gisele Bundchen, the most popular super model, never did a reality show?' It's because he didn't want to be caught!
The thing that I don't get, the thing that bothers me, is how did the whole operation get exposed over a few underinflated footballs? Incriminating texts between two lackeys, Brady's denial, Kraft's infuriation, Belichick's inevitable betrayal...it's not adding up for me. Thanks to all the lawyers and media Deflategate has become a joke. One of the guys that Brady had taking the air out of footballs called himself 'The Deflator' and now Brady's lawyer is saying that he called himself that because he was trying to lose weight. Riiiiiight. I think I can remember that being the pinnacle of the pyramid in the Jenny Craig plan to lose weight. You start out as The Defiler, next is The Diarrheal, then The Defenestrator, and finally, The Deflator.
I think it's time that Brady answers for his crimes. Belichick has left him to the pyre. Kraft puffed up his chest and then slowly backed away. Brady is all alone now.
It's also time for this post to wrap up. Hopefully, in time, we'll know the full story but if I were you I wouldn't hold my breath. The NFL is very good at being dumb or they're very good at playing dumb. I'm not sure which is worst.
I once believed that if I just stayed in bed all day then that day would never occur and time would stop. That's how I lost my first job.
In three months time I'll be thirty years old and it's time to highlight some positives of that because I'm already depressed and we're not even there yet. I'm like Queen Elizabeth to hamsters, goldfish, most insects, and celebrity marriages. I'm a true testament of time in the very sense that it hasn't killed me yet, dammit, and it's time we get going.
The Miami Dolphins have inked Ryan Tannehill, my little Fuzzby, to a big contract that will keep him in South Florida and potentially pay him ninety six muellllllliiiioooon buckaroos. Several of my friends have come up to me and asked me what I thought about this and every single time my mind kept going back to the Vietnam War for some reason but I think I'm ready to settle down and talk about it now.
It's dumb. It's a dumb move. Just because it's after the divorce and you run through a bunch of scumbags for a number of years doesn't mean you have to marry the first guy that's wearing slacks and has his hair combed. You can probably, gee I don't know, LET HIM PROVE HIS WORTH FIRST!
Ryan's a great guy and I'm sure he's nice to children, old people, and dogs. He could even go on to mesh so well with the tools the Dolphins have provided him this offseason and just wreck shit. He could lead his team to the playoffs and be in title contention come the end of the year. He could be an MVP candidate and hoist up the Lombardi trophy in South Florida for the first time in longer than I've lived on this planet...but...it's all hope and hope is absolutely dog shit in professional football. If you are signing people to your team in the NFL based on hope then you better prepare yourself for a good old fashioned cry session in your bathroom while pretending to take a shower because that's where you are headed.
We now live in a world where Andrew Luck, who has been further into the playoffs each year he's been in the league, and Russell Wilson, who has won a Super Bowl and been to two, and were both drafted the same year as Ryan Tannehill and yet they remain on their rookie contracts. And Robert Griffin Part III! He was there too!
It's weird. It's gotta be a great tool for when the time comes that I become a parent because every Sunday I'm cheering him on but in my head I'm praying to whoever answers that he just doesn't completely blow it. But for better or for worse, in sickness or in health, in wins or in complete mediocrity each and every season, I am now stricken with a Fuzzby for the next FIVE freakin' years.
That's a lot of time. And if every season that I've witnessed is some sort of barometer for how the next five will go...let's just say I'm not quitting the blog any time soon.
And now...NOW...it's finally time that I make my way to you, Mr. Thomas Gladys Brady, you cheating son of a bitch! (His middle name comes from his father's favorite lunch lady in school)
When the time comes that I'm dead and gone from this Earth and you are too, and so are our children, and so on and so forth...but yet the SP remains for some reason...the time capsule of the NFL would be the period of time that the New England Patriots decided, "Hell, we aren't winning, maybe we should start cheating?" And that would be for the last thirteen or so years.
It was all an elaborate set up, from top to bottom, and it was undeniably brilliant but it was also the worst thing to happen to American sports. Bill Belichick was a horrible failure as a head coach but as soon as he landed in New England he had one bad year and then was the best ever. Tom Brady knitted wool caps for the rest of the Michigan Wolverines and wasn't drafted until the sixth round, pick 199, meaning that one hundred and ninety-eight people were considered better than him by people that spend their entire lives by evaluating talent and potential and yet now he is considered the best ever?! How in the holy Hell did they accomplish this amazing feat?! BY CHEATING! The whole time. We caught them with Spygate. We have now caught them with Deflategate. How many other gates did they get past us? I'm now struck with a myriad of questions, questions like, 'Did they lose some games on purpose to not look suspicious?', 'Did the Tuck Rule start the flood and they started wondering how far they could press the stupidity of the rules of the NFL?', and 'Isn't this the fitting answer as to why Tom Brady, the most popular NFL player, and Gisele Bundchen, the most popular super model, never did a reality show?' It's because he didn't want to be caught!
The thing that I don't get, the thing that bothers me, is how did the whole operation get exposed over a few underinflated footballs? Incriminating texts between two lackeys, Brady's denial, Kraft's infuriation, Belichick's inevitable betrayal...it's not adding up for me. Thanks to all the lawyers and media Deflategate has become a joke. One of the guys that Brady had taking the air out of footballs called himself 'The Deflator' and now Brady's lawyer is saying that he called himself that because he was trying to lose weight. Riiiiiight. I think I can remember that being the pinnacle of the pyramid in the Jenny Craig plan to lose weight. You start out as The Defiler, next is The Diarrheal, then The Defenestrator, and finally, The Deflator.
I think it's time that Brady answers for his crimes. Belichick has left him to the pyre. Kraft puffed up his chest and then slowly backed away. Brady is all alone now.
It's also time for this post to wrap up. Hopefully, in time, we'll know the full story but if I were you I wouldn't hold my breath. The NFL is very good at being dumb or they're very good at playing dumb. I'm not sure which is worst.
Saturday, April 28, 2012
Draft Dodger
Alright kids, the NFL Draft is pretty much over now that we're midway through the fourth round and I have the analysis that you've all been waiting for.
Most professionals would probably take the time to break down each pick by each team, you know, to keep things fair.
Well, screw that.
I'm talking about ONE pick from ONE team.
Come on, I'm sure by now that you're probably used to this sort of treatment.
The Miami Dolphins had just a shitty enough year last season to hold the rights to the eighth pick in this year's draft. Being in the unique position of having a completely horrible team, the draft provides a lot of options for you. When you couple that with the amount of talent that has since departed the team, well, you could pretty much take anybody and have it be a good pick.
The Dolphins hate to love to disappoint and took a guy who appeared on draft boards about a month and a half ago.
I don't know Ryan Tannehill. I've never watched a Texas A&M game in my life. I've followed sports my whole life and I still don't know squat.
I, however, do recognize a trap. It's a trap!
Remember when the whole world was going nuts over Furby? Furby was the little toy creature that would open it's eyes and speak in some gibberish whenever you approached it. I didn't really understand it but I knew that everybody else was eating this thing up. When the cool kids at school decide to get a Furby, even if you don't understand it, you know that you need a Furby now too.
So you go to your mom and tell her, "Hey mom, I need a Furby." And her response? The obligatory "Well, Christmas is coming up soon, maybe Santa will bring you one."
And to that you say, "Mom, I'm 26-years old, just buy me a damn Furby."
Nevertheless, Christmas morning finally arrives and you're bursting with excitement. Finally, your time has come! You'll have a Furby just like all the cool kids.
You search for the right shaped box, tear open the wrapping paper, and come face to face with your brand new...Fuzzby?
A Fuzzby?! Are you freaking kidding me? I specifically asked for a Furby!
Mom says, "Well, the store didn't have any more Furbies but the man said that this was just about the same and could even be more popular than a Furby in a couple years!"
Mom never seems to understand. It's just not the same. It never is.
Fuzzby goes deep into your closet and is never spoken of again. That's my summation of the Ryan Tannehill pick. He's a Fuzzby when all you really wanted was just a damn Furby. But hey, there's a silver lining! He's got a really, really attractive wife. Seriously, she's got the goods.
What's she doing with a Fuzzby?
Most professionals would probably take the time to break down each pick by each team, you know, to keep things fair.
Well, screw that.
I'm talking about ONE pick from ONE team.
Come on, I'm sure by now that you're probably used to this sort of treatment.
The Miami Dolphins had just a shitty enough year last season to hold the rights to the eighth pick in this year's draft. Being in the unique position of having a completely horrible team, the draft provides a lot of options for you. When you couple that with the amount of talent that has since departed the team, well, you could pretty much take anybody and have it be a good pick.
The Dolphins hate to love to disappoint and took a guy who appeared on draft boards about a month and a half ago.
I don't know Ryan Tannehill. I've never watched a Texas A&M game in my life. I've followed sports my whole life and I still don't know squat.
I, however, do recognize a trap. It's a trap!
Remember when the whole world was going nuts over Furby? Furby was the little toy creature that would open it's eyes and speak in some gibberish whenever you approached it. I didn't really understand it but I knew that everybody else was eating this thing up. When the cool kids at school decide to get a Furby, even if you don't understand it, you know that you need a Furby now too.
So you go to your mom and tell her, "Hey mom, I need a Furby." And her response? The obligatory "Well, Christmas is coming up soon, maybe Santa will bring you one."
And to that you say, "Mom, I'm 26-years old, just buy me a damn Furby."
Nevertheless, Christmas morning finally arrives and you're bursting with excitement. Finally, your time has come! You'll have a Furby just like all the cool kids.
You search for the right shaped box, tear open the wrapping paper, and come face to face with your brand new...Fuzzby?
A Fuzzby?! Are you freaking kidding me? I specifically asked for a Furby!
Mom says, "Well, the store didn't have any more Furbies but the man said that this was just about the same and could even be more popular than a Furby in a couple years!"
Mom never seems to understand. It's just not the same. It never is.
Fuzzby goes deep into your closet and is never spoken of again. That's my summation of the Ryan Tannehill pick. He's a Fuzzby when all you really wanted was just a damn Furby. But hey, there's a silver lining! He's got a really, really attractive wife. Seriously, she's got the goods.
What's she doing with a Fuzzby?
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