From the Beard of Chilly

Good morning Vikings on all sides of the Atlantic and beyond. It’s another slow day in Purple Town, and most of our interest is drawn by the dark clouds surrounding the possibility of a new stadium. Things are not looking good, and the powers that be seem to be more concerned with keeping Minneapolis on the right side of bankrupcy and a new convention centre, as opposed to forking out $800mil for a new home for our beloved Vikes. Depressing thoughts surround this so I’m not going to entertain them, instead it’s time for my weekly look at what’s been going on in Brad’s facial foliage.

6.30am: Brad overslept, so didn’t have time to trim me this morning. Man, I look like crap, and I think I’m starting to matt. Breakfast was last night’s leftovers, chicken pot pie, what did I do to deserve being stuck to such a slob?

7.30am: Arrive at Winter Park to take a look at the new recruits. Joe Webb is busy jumping over everyone, Toby Gerhart is getting picked on for looking like a chubby Matt Damon, and most of my staff keep calling Chris Cook, Jimmy by mistake; I told Rick this would happen.

8.30am: Noobies have been fed, kitted out and Brad’s trying to give them all nicknames now. Trouble is, he can’t think of any, so keeps scratching me instead and getting his fingers snagged in my untrimmed mess.

11.30am: End of morning practice, these guys are pretty good, though I still don’t know what to do with Joe Webb. Is he my new T-Jack, Sidney Rice, or barber? What can I say, man’s got skills with scissors, fixed me up real nice after Brad got bubble gum stuck in me. Now I’ve got a bit of a d’Artagnan going on, think I might get Brad to audition for the next Pirates film.

1.30pm: Lunch over, gonna get over the courthouse to try and intimidate the StarCaps jury, and then onto the State meeting about the stadium. How can they say no when I look this good?

3.30pm: Dammit Brett! Just as Brad was about to unleash me on the money men after they said they’d rather waste their money on a convention centre and a funnel cake stand, the old man calls. From what I gather he’s worried that Jimmy… sorry, Chris (dammit, now I’m doing it) can do a better rendition of Pants of the Ground, so he’s not coming back.

3.45pm: Brett called back to apologise. Said he’s going find Jared to slap his butt, that should calm him down. Just as he was hanging up I swear I heard him mumbling…”looking… hmmm, hmmm…witcha….. hmmm, hmmm ground”.

5.00pm: Driving home, and a P*ckers fan cut me up on the freeway, flipped me off and called me Friar Tuck! Jerk, not like Aaron Rodgers could pull this kinda look off, he’s just a pre-pubescent Brett clone who spends more time kissing facemasks than he does throwing touchdowns. Think I’ll sick Joe Webb on him, he could jump over their O-Line, then morph into a linebacker and sack his ass, then grab the ball and throw it backwards to himself, before running it in for a touchdown. Note to Brad, sack McKinnie, and make Webb an OT.

8.30pm: Forgot Lost wasn’t on this week, gonna have to watch House instead. My money’s on Lupus this week, Brad thinks it’s gonna be a tumor.

10.30pm: We were both wrong, it was a bee sting. Off to bed now, I wonder if Joe Webb also has a degree in Medicine, he could be the Gregory House of the Vikings. Maybe we’ll finally figure out what’s wrong with Brett’s ankle.