Momma's Fantasy Football

It's getting to be that time of year. Carefully prepared meals are exchanged for cheese fries at the ballpark concession stand. Saturday hikes are traded in for 6:45 a.m. report times for a 10:30 game, which is conveniently an away game in Reykjavik. Your daughters trade in their princess gowns for  cheerleading uniforms and jersey dresses. That's right....it's almost football season.

I miss our days of spending 16 hours at the NYSA park, believe it or not. Our Saturdays are now spent either watching foosball on TV or with at least part of the family in A-town for the game.

But pro ball? Not so much. I haven't been excited about pro-ball since the XFL rose like Dean
Winchester from Perdition, christened with the testicular fortitude of such heroes as 'Hehateme'. Seriously...football and wrestling combined? Yes, please! They gave us empty promises of skull crushing and microdermal annihilation, but they didn't deliver...and now we're stuck with the wussies of the NFL again.

We sat watching a pro-football game a while back, and I swear, there were 57 personal fouls in the third quarter. (No, I don't know who was playing. One team had orange, and the other had dark pants.) 

"Personal foul...#46 on the defense...15 yards of emotional consolation, chest to chest bro-ffection, and post-game cuddles. 1st down. Wait--the play is being reviewed." Great, another long commercial break while Peyton orders his Broncha-mocha-soy-boy, post-game Starbucks. 

It didn't use to be that way. Back in the glory days, those men went out there and knocked the stank off of each other. 

 "Momma, didn't that left hash mark's name used to be Reginald?!"

"Why, yes it did, son, but he got Herscheled."

They were allowed to hit like men back then, and it was awesome. 

I know this probably ain't a good Christian attitude, but when I watch a football game, I want to see some noggin' knockin'.

(**Let me clarify...ONLY in college and professional games. My son was concussed a couple of seasons back, and it was really scary. His verbal abilities digressed by about 5 years, and it was like the lights were on but nobody was home. It was like watching Obama without a teleprompter...completely helpless.)

I want to see guys getting hit so hard they go airborne and the only question on the play is how many points the other team gets if he clears the uprights.

I want to see kickers line up, give the 'ol pigskin a whack, and take off running like his hair's on fire because he's got two metric tons of testosterone coming to shove his kneecaps through his voice box. 

Don't get me wrong, I don't want anybody to get hurt. But dang it, if this bunch of meat heads is gonna get paid bazillions of dollars to play a game, they best be puttin' on a show. And for the college guys playing, if they act like a meat head, they get treated like a meat head. Think Sugar Bowl meets Gladiator...with a splash of Braveheart. 

Picture it...the opening kick-off. Well, not exactly.

There's not enough action in that. In my fantasy football league, the opening play is combined with the coin toss. The refs stand on the 50, and toss the ball up in the air. The teams run in from the goal lines, and whoever gets to it first, well, gets the ball. Full body contact, serial assault football. 

If it goes to overtime, we can fix that, too. A tie at the end of regulation means coaches suit up. No pads, just helmets to protect their plugs and make-up. If your coach goes whining to a ref, you lose. (Sorry, Bama, you'd probably lose every OT.)
 

When Quantaviation Jones gets caught with a weave full of weed the week of the big game? He gets to clean up the stands after the game. 

When Kruex de Champipple assaults an officer? He gets to hold the ball on the 50 to begin the game. Oh, and did I mention the fans in the high dollar seats are provided semi-automatic, paint ball guns for a more inclusive game day experience?

What's that? Spam Pootin got caught stealing....again? No problem...and no helmet next week! Headgear is a privilege, not a right.

Say again? The coach tried to cover up what? How many kids?! Death penalty...and I ain't talking about for the athletic program. 

Both of our boys have played football, and I think it's great for kids...other than the concussions and broken bones. They get banged up, they recover, they have war stories to tell their first girlfriends. 

"Yeah, I was carrying the other team's offensive line to the end zone when a rabid Great Dane ran onto the field with a baby in it's mouth. I rescued the baby, but the dog and the line were too much. In a cloud of sweat and slobber and farts, my leg was ripped off, flung into the press box...and ran up the flag pole by the opposing team. I climbed the flag pole with one leg, punched the other coach in the face, and walked three miles in a hurricane to the nearest soup kitchen, where I served 200 meals before making my way to the emergency room where they reattached my leg after they refused my offer to donate it to some poor, unfortunate uniped. I got to keep the leg, and I did three open heart surgeries and 17 circumcisions while I waited, so all in all, I'm just lucky, I guess."

If you really want to add some fuel to the fire, sneak some women with PMS onto the field....as referees...