My league, my draft, my rules

04.27.07 10 years ago 36 Comments

From the desk of Roger Goodell, Commissioner, National Football League
To: Prospective draftees invited to Radio City Music Hall
Re: Draft day protocol and comportment

Pay attention, dicksmacks, I’m only going over this shit once. You will be in the green room at 10:00 a.m. on the dot wearing a suit and tie. A regular fucking suit. Three damn buttons, no more, no less. And none of the fruity Michael Irvin pinstripe shit– black, navy or gray and a solid tie. Any deviation and I will suspend your ass on the spot. Calvin “Cheech” Johnson, Gaines “Chong” Adams and Amobi “Cypress Hill” Okoye: you three hop-heads need to show up an hour early for your mandatory drug test, pat-down/cavity search and appointment with Colonel Wags, the drug-sniffing police dog. No doobies will be smoked on my watch, fuck-o.

When waiting in the green room for your name to be called, you sit up straight in your chair with your hands folded in your lap. If a television camera focuses on you, smile politely and mime (but not utter) the phase “Hi, Mom.” Not “Hey, ma.” Not “Hello, mother.” Your mom is dead and you wish to acknowledge a different loved one? No fucking way. My mother abandoned me with a family of coyotes when I was 11 weeks old. You ever sucked on a coyote’s tit? I fucking doubt it. You don’t see me, moping over it like some broad.

When I call your name, make a bee-line for the stage, mister. Use the steps on the stage-right (west side). Use the wrong steps and I will suspend your ass on the spot. Do not extend greetings to your teammates, homeboys, girlfriends or college coach. This is the NFL, you want to do your “shout-outs” go on 106 & Park, numbnuts.

Once on stage you walk heel to toe at a sharp clip. I see any ambling, loping, shambling, purposeful strides, trots, or struts, I will suspend your ass on the spot. Keep your eyes affixed at the dais as you approach. Do not wave to, look at, or otherwise acknowledge the live audience.

When you arrive at the dais I will extend my hand, you will shake it with two pumps… no more, no less. Under no circumstances are you to look me directly in the eye. My wife doesn’t have that privilege, so why the fuck would a pissant like you? You will be handed a team hat. Immediately put it on your head. Do not bend the bill or otherwise modify your hat, as they will be collected at the end of the day so that I can return them to Champs Sports. I want to make sure they give me a cash refund and not some in-store credit bullshit.

Do not attempt to initiate any type of conversation with me. If I want to talk to you assholes, I will let you know. If I do speak to you, I will probably mention the indisputable genius of Phil Collins. If you like to keep your balls where they are, you will effusively agree with me, got that? You think Phil Collins is a musical god. Your favorite Phil Collins album is “No Jacket Required.” You think Phil Collins shits strawberry ice cream. You got that straight, you pathetic pricks?

Lastly, the hospitality room will be open to all invitees until 3 p.m., feel free to help yourself to cider, punch and soft drinks, plus I’ve heard that the waffle bar is second to none.

Bon Appétit!


Limit two toppings, assholes.

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