It’s Time To Celebrate The Beefy Boys At The 2018 NFL Combine

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The NFL is America’s most ruthlessly capitalist sports league, and the Scouting Combine — not the draft or the Super Bowl — best represents its ethos.

For six days, our most promising gridboys are poked and prodded, tagged and numbered, tested and interrogated. I’d rather see an otter in a cage than steal the jiggle from these cheerful bowls of Jell-O.

The NFL Scouting Combine is a crime against large adult football sons. Look at these great big rambunctious boys: their towering stature, their incredible bulk, their fresh faces and floppy hair. They should be roughhousing in an unfinished basement, not solemnly answering questions from glowering, goateed Easter hams.

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And, yes, they jiggle during the 40-yard dash, but I’m talking about spiritual jiggle. Like most viewers, I am not immune to the hypnotic pull of these anthropomorphic football sausages, clad in overburdened spandex casing, as they run in slow-motion, thighs pumping like ham hocks affixed to pistons, my mind melting into a hearty stew of meat-aphors.

It’s transfixing, but there’s no joy in it.

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I want to see them run, yes, but not for their future. I want them careening chaotically through a world built for men half their size, not some sterile exercise laboratory. They should be knocking over priceless antiques, crashing through drywall, sitting in comically small chairs, murder-petting rabbits, and apologizing shyly for their irrepressible galumphing.