If you find yourself confronted with an NFL postseason without a rooting interest and unmoved by Don Cheadle soliloquies, you must draw from the well of that most powerful of human emotions. Ok, well, lust probably won’t do here. But the second most powerful, hate, will serve as a fine proxy. This is one in a series of posts filled with bile, spleen, vitriol and all-around nastiness toward all the teams involved with the sordid roundelay we know as the NFL Playoffs.
INT Giants’ Practice Facility. Friday. 4:38 AM.
[Giants defensive coordinator Steve Spagnuolo unlocks the front door, and walks in]
Two more days of prep and then we face the Eagles. Yeah, sure, it’s only McNabb and Andy Reid that we’re up against, but you never know when those meatheads are gonna wake up and actually play like they’re supposed to. Nobody wants to be McNabb’s bitch, and it’s not happening on us this weekend. It’s our last day of prep today, then a walkthrough tomorrow. Game on Sunday. Time to get your gameface on, Steve. Get fired up.
Sigh. I’m exhausted. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy about still being in the hunt, but I’m ready for a break. I’m so worn out. I haven’t seen my wife in a month. And I’m sick of looking at these same assholes day after day. I wish I…I really wish I wasn’t so lonely right now.
[stops at receptionist’s desk]
Hey, there’s a donut left over from yesterday. Chocolate covered, too. My favorite. Wait, it’s not cream-filled. Still a nice surprise, though. Amazing that Coach Gilbride didn’t eat that donut and the box with it. Thank you, donut. You’re a ray of sunshine on a cloudy day.
[pulls donut out of box]
Oh, my, donut. You’re so firm and [licks fingers] sugary. I bet your other 11 friends weren’t so sweet, were they? Hey relax, donut, it’s just me. Don’t act like you do around those other guys. Spags wants the real deal, you dirty bitch.
Tell me how you like it, you little chocolate whore. Don’t act you can’t feel what’s going on between us. As soon as I get these pants off, you’re gonna see a stunt package you’ll never for—mmm, there it is.
Damn, donut, you feel so good. I like the way your glaze flakes off onto my scrote. It tickles so damn good. Maybe someday you can meet my mother, and you two can talk about yeast and all that shit. Let’s go a little faster now…
Oh, God, donut, you’re gonna make me come. Oh, that’s it. Don’t — Aw, don’t stop.
Oooh, goddammit that’s it, you’re gonna…OOOOH GOD!
You’re cream-filled now, you little slut. Tell Gilbride I said hello.
[puts donut back in the box]