|At 22 this was dope as a motherfucker.|
I feel like a lot of the stories that go along with these items are fairly universal. And often there's no "inside info" rendering one's value in their own memories any greater than someone else's. These things say something about where we've been or how we've lived or who we were/are. At the end of the day their value is a matter of opinion---I believe the story is funny or I still hold this experience as unbelievable or sweet Jesus's last pork chop the poor guy must've washed that hoodie sixteen times before finally bringing it back to you like a dog who knew the secret place where he'd just taken a shit and is now just waiting on you to find it.
But ESPN subscribes to the cockbrained belief that opinion counts as inside info. At least once a day I click on a link by a writer no one has ever fucking heard of, or better yet, a talking head from a television show who has incredible difficulty with the English language and yet has now decided to write, and after one inane paragraph there's an ellipsis followed by an "IN-" tag. For a monthly payment I can read what Clarence Sportsdiddler thinks about a third-string tackle on the Raiders. THE FUCKING RAIDERS! People still write articles about the Raiders? NFL films doesn't even cover the Raiders. The Raiders are like the last time I saw Jennifer Anniston in a movie and thought, "Holy hell! Still with this one?" The Raiders are a cousin you thought was still in prison. But when you discover they're not in prison they don't even try to convince you've they've changed. Nope. They simply outline their next illegal scheme you know will fucking fail.
Just this morning there's an article titled "2012 NFL Sleepers." For those of you not familiar to the listing of possible "sleepers" it works like this: find a space on the floor, position yourself in what those who have time for such activities refer to as "downward dog," and talk exclusively out of your fucking ass. There's no science to it. There's no research. You don't even have to watch, or to have ever watched, any football. You could literally look at a list of names and think, "shit, I once knew a cat named Jenkins. That's it! Fucking Jenkins, baby! That's my sleeper!"
|What? I've always irrationally supported the Browns.**|
Another article says, "2012 NFL Running Backs Ready For A Big Year." Has there ever in the history of sport been an athlete who worked all offseason readying themselves to be terrible? "I realize I have world class speed, traps like bike ramps, and triceps that look like the Black Stallion's goddamn horseshoes. But think, man! How awesome would it be if I just all of a sudden sucked? Like really sucked. What if I just took the ball and threw it backwards, or took a handoff, stuck it up my jersey, and ran to the sidelines to sing Private Dancer to the Special Teams coach?" Every player is ready for a big year, you choad nugget! You don't have any "inside" info! You got drunk last night at Applebee's and Lulu took her wooden leg off so she could fit in your Kia and give you a hickey the size of Texas. And in that time you thought, "Ronnie Brown! I loved him in the Outback Bowl! This is the year!" And when Lulu barfed on your copy of 50 Shades of Grey you saw it as a sign. Fuck you.
You're not Oz. You have a press pass and saw Ryan Moates naked once. Mark Sanchez retweeted your girlfriend. That's it. That's all. I need you to interview people and give me stats. If I want intelligent analysis I'll go to Grantland and keep my fingers crossed that Simmons is on vacation.
I hate ESPN, but it's the only game in town. And just like my sky blue Ekco sweater vest, it's time for them to ditch this "IN-" garbage. You're not in. You're just the only game in town. Enjoy your monopoly you selfish bastards.
* Is this still a thing? Do kids still save bottles? Oh shit, do they still put candles in them because the wax looks cool when it dries over Jack Daniels? I never did this, mind you, ESPECIALLY while The Wall was playing.
** That? That's just Big Lick Dick. He's my 2012 sleeper.