I can’t even begin to properly articulate how upset I was by yesterday’s Redskins game. I believe my post-game analysis went something along the lines of, “Fuckyouintheassyouoldasspieceofshitcoach!” Since then I’ve had some time to think about things, but that’s really just pissed me off a whole lot more.
Joe Fucking Gibbs couldn’t manage a Wawa, let alone an endgame scenario in the NFL. He was botching timeouts like he was playing the role of Herm Edwards in the worst biopic since Alexander. All day Aaron Kampman was running through the Skins’ backup right tackles like they were a turnstile yet with the game on the line an injured Todd Wade was out on an island. How about leaving a fucking tight end in there to help out? That was positively Spurrierian. And how about that play call on 4th and 2?! Nothing says “I’m a spineless shell of my former self” like a calling a zero-yard swing pass to the running back when you need a first down to extend the game. Even Jesus himself is having a hard time loving Coach Gibbs this morning.
How many more second halves can the Gibbs/Saunders tandem fuck up before Washingtonians start to answer Big Daddy Drew’s prayers by booking one-way tickets to the 14th Street Bridge? One, maybe two if we’re lucky.
Yet by the end of Sunday’s late games my vitriol began to subside. You see, the only thing that can make a Redskin fan forget their team’s incompetent failure is a Dallas Cowboys loss. Call us pathetic (hey, fuck you!) but the next best thing to a Redskins victory is a painful Cowboy defeat. So call me Peter King (again, fuck you) if you must, but today I am slurping on the coiffured nuts of Tom Brady, and I’m not the only one who might be ready to label him a hero.
Yeah, it feels good to dance.