Good morning to you, Purple Nation as we enter the week of reckoning. Okay, maybe that was a little hyperbolic, but for the first time since the end of the season, we are finally going to be getting some real football news. No Favre Watch, no McKinnie-actin’a’fool, no more mock drafts (please!), nope, we are going to be getting our troughs filled with the wonderful slops of team schedules and new, fresh blood.
Only it’s not that bloody simple is it? Noooooosiree! The Commish, aka Roger Goodell has made the draft a three day fest-a-palooza-mcjibblet-banjo-carnivale-joygasm. Quite how this is going to sit with fans remains to be seen. I, myself am torn. On the one hand I see it as a cynical, money making scheme, but on the other it could make the selection process a lot more tactical, as teams will have more time to decide on their plans of action, and it will spread the excitement of the draft over a longer period. But at the same time, the headlines are usually all in round 1, and occasionally 2. As much as fans love the draft and the new blood for their teams, I do wonder if people will still be tuning in on the final day, because, let’s face it, lower draft picks, whilst they could still be stars, are just not as invigorating as the early choices.
But what will be will be, and this time next week we’ll be hearing about how good or bad our choices may or may not be, and how they will make or break the team. This year’s draft is meant to be a good one, so what I’m really hoping for is us to plug the holes in our defence, and pick up a viable option at QB, but whether he comes late or early all depends on who is still available.
In the meantime, I’m going to start a new series of weekly updates called “From the Beard of Chilly” starting today… why, because I’m bored.
10am: Three days to the draft, but at least there is no draft on my chinny chin chin (I know, I know). Brad decided to have cornflakes for breakfast, and then didn’t even bother to comb me, the lazy bugger. But I’ll have the last laugh when I shower Spielman’s head with golden crumbs whilst B is giving him a shoulder rub and telling him how awesome he would look with a tache.
11.30am: Overhead Brad talking to Brett just before brunch. Now there’s one lame-ass “beard” if ever I saw one. It’s like, hey, I can grow a beard, I’ll let you all know I can grow a beard and then I’m just going to let that beard grow out of control, and not trim it until I’m ready. Yeah, that pisses me off.
1pm: At some restaurant having deep-fried, sticky hot-wings with Mr Allen. Maybe I should make my own App, like Jared. It would have sound clips of Brad saying “Heart of a Champion”, “We played a good football team” and “Are you sure there were 12?”; there would also be photo section where you can put me on your face, and a shaving section where you can throw everything from a disposable single blade to a straight razor at me and watch as they crumple under the weight of my magnificent bushyness.
3pm: Spielman didn’t notice his “golden shower”, what a douche, kept talking about oatmeal as stationary… Didn’t want a tache either, was more tempted by a pair of mutton-chops. Brad still hasn’t even given me so much as a wipe from a napkin, that honey mustard habanero is starting to clump.
5pm: Still nothing, and he’s ordering Thai for dinner, shit! I wonder if he’s going to do that bloody “You like Thai? You like shirt” joke.
6pm: Getting itchy now, and am covered in pieces of peanut and noodle. The Beardy Bunch are here John Sullivan, and Kleinsasser. Ha! Wannabees, I’d like to see them endure a day of crunchy cereal, hot sauce and pad thai. Apparently Sully is lonely, needs some company on the line, Jimmy’s alright though, he’s still buzzing from scoring a TD last season. Must say though, seeing Jimmy’s full-face ensemble made me miss Edna and Babs (my cheek fuzz), and then to make matters worse, Brad told the joke. Gimp.
7pm: Nearly bedtime. Brad calls Brett again, I can hear that pathetic excuse for chin fluff scraping on the receiver. “….. not sure…. probably will…. gotta look into some Just for Men…. aren’t all Grandaddies meant to have one… couldn’t be arsed to run… see you in September…”
9pm: His face hit the pillow, I’m stuck to the pillow. Off to dreamland now… hmm, I hope they get a mechanical roof on the new stadium with a UV filter or I’m going to bleach to a shade of calico.