When you have the rush-rush lifestyle of an NFL superstar, you find that you really have trouble taking time to enjoy the simple pleasures. Grabbing lunch with friends. Catching a double feature at the local theatre. Working on a house project. Strangling your wife with an extension cord while kneeing her in the ribs. It all gets lost in the mix.
That’s why during this two-week suspension, I’m really going to commit some time to savoring the beatdown I’m administering to the missus. I might even hire a decent videographer to capture it for us. It’ll be something we can treasure when we get old and want to look back. Presuming I haven’t killed her by then, that is.
Sure, the off-season is fun for marathon sessions of ritualized beatings until she’s lying trembling in the bathtub wrapped in the shower curtain and weeping like a child. But what about the five months a year when we have to settle for a quickie me-pushing-her-down-the-stairs before heading off to practice? A good marriage requires commitment.
This is really something I want to push on the team. Recently, I’ve told Eli I’d really like to pummel that cute wife of his. He’s not so sure. I tell you, that’s a warning sign right there. Can’t blame him, though. You really do get caught up in the grind. I can’t understand why so many retired NFL players are susceptible to depression when they have so much time to dedicate to beating their spouses to a pulpy mess.
So, thanks, Coach Coughlin. This suspension might be just the thing to save our marriage. But if you tell the fucking cops, they’ll find parts of you in each of your desk drawers.