From the Beard of Chilly

Good morning Vikings, it’s been another slow week in this Purple Nation in which we live. Thankfully for me, I’ve been able to occupy my time with some healthy doses of Red Dead Redemption and the fantastic Lost Finale. But how, I hear you ask, is Ol’ Mr Childress coping in these dark times? Well, let’s delve into the wonderful world of his Beard to find out…

8am: I’m still a 5 o’clock shadow of my former self. I’m not going to take it personally though, it is hot after all, and now the whole legion of Vikings players have taken a period of hair fasting, in honour of the mullet that was. We don’t grow, until it grows back.

9am: Brad has been sat in front of his computer for 45 minutes now, just staring at Twitter, considering whether to open an account. If I were him, I’d’ve signed up the moment that jackass opened his mouth. “Oi! Sharper! I’m stapling a bulls-eye onto your nutsack, and we ain’t gonna call Jared and Pat off you until you are whining like the little bitch you are!” I wonder if that would all fit into 140 characters…

10am: Brad didn’t sign up. He got all the way to the end of registration, even had his username as heartofachampion, then wussed out. Ended up calling McKinnie and telling him that Sharper said he was a gimptard in the hope that the gimptard takes the bait and has a handbags at 10 paces battle in cyberspace.

1pm: After a spot of lunch and a tribute to Phil Hartman, it’s time for Brad to embarrass himself on the golf course. Luckily he seems to have ditched his fisherman’s hat in exchange for an all black get-up (did I mention it was a hot one today?). He is a very strange creature.

3pm: The going is slow on the course, but it’s all for a good cause. And it’s nice to see the lads out on the course, having fun. Pat can’t quite bring his arms together to grab a putter on account of his rotund figure, All Day is racing the ball to the hole, Kleinsasser can’t hit the ball off the tee, Visanthe is living up to his nickname of The Shank, as he hooks balls left and right (though he might just be aiming at Sharper who I swear is stalking McKinnie following a healthy volley of Twitter abuse at lunchtime. Haven’t seem much of Jared, after the first hole he snapped his driver in half and now is sat up in a tree, using the two halves as make-shift spears to throw at ducks.

5.30pm: I was wondering when this good day was going to take a sour turn. Brad got all the way to the 16th green, when Judd Zulgad asked him about Brett’s surgery… “What are you talking about? Surgery? You must have him mistaken for another nearly retired Quarterback called Brett?”…. Silence…. Then I start quivering (actually it was Brad’s lip, but believe me, I was scared for my own safety), and Brad storms off.

7pm: 2 tickets. One for speeding, the other for driving whilst using a cell phone. Brad couldn’t wait to call him. Now he’s on the hard shoulder playing nicey nice with Sgt. Bob, who doesn’t realize that the bearded man staring back at him from the driving license is the same man in the driver’s seat, with a rather pathetic me below his nose.

9pm: After the “misunderstanding” Brad is back at home, and mumbling to himself… “Obviously was me? I don’t look that different do I? I thought I looked homeless back then (OUCH!)! Guess I’ll have to get a new license now, one for when I’m looking ‘rugged’ and one for when I’m looking ‘respectable’!”

10pm: Finally he realizes why he was pulled over in the first place, then gets angry, then calls Brett back. “WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME ABOUT THE SURGERY? I HAD TO FIND OUT FROM JUDD BLEEDIN’ ZULGAD! YOU DON’T HAVE THE HEART OF A CHAMPION, YOU DON’T EVEN CARE ABOUT ME, YOU’RE JUST A MEDIA WHORE…… look Brett, I’m sorry… I didn’t mean that…. of course I do…. sorry I’m just a little annoyed at always being the last one to find out… I know you do………… I am….” Ugh!! Sometimes I’m glad that I no longer extend all the way up to his ears, this way I don’t have to listen to the drivel on the other end of the line…

From the Beard of Chilly

Good morning Vikings! It’s time for my weekly insight into the world of Chilly’s Beard. Be warned there are some minor, very minor Lost spoilers in, mind you that last episode was spoilt before it made it on the air… oh damn!

10.30am: Brad got up early to go to the gym today, and is now home “filling up the tank” as he likes to put it. I don’t mind going to the gym, I just wish he didn’t get changed in front of the mirror, slyly kiss his bicep and wink at himself when no-one is looking.

11.00pm: It’s TiVo time. For the next 4 hours, Brad is going to undo all his hard work at the gym, by eating his special “trail mix” (crushed Doritos mixed with guac, salsa, humus and Chipotle Tabasco) and catching up on Lost, House, The Office and anything by Seth MacFarlane.

3pm: Ahh, fresh air, my old friend! Only you can save me from the Lost induced beard scratching marathon that Brad is now in the throes of. I must say I can’t blame him, what that funny waterfall was all about, I fear I’ll never know, and don’t get me started on the script… At least House was more coherent, though Brad can’t stop yelling out “It’s naat a tooomor” whenever the docs are all sat around their table. Eeehhhhh…

3.30pm: Brad’s in a sulk. He keeps pacing around the garden, reaching to his ear as if trying to grab his on the field headset, only it’s not there. I think he’s bored, really bored. In all fairness it has been a very slow week, but come on man, you’re Brad F’in-Childress, the world is your oyster!

4.00pm: He’s in a bigger sulk now. Apparently he didn’t like the oyster comment. Why? Because oysters produce pearls and pearls are round and shiny. So what am I trying to tell him? To polish his bonce apparently! And now he’s crying about it to Brett.

5.45pm: An hour and a half! 90 whole minutes of sobs, and incoherent blubberings down the phone, but at least he’s finally over it. Suppose I have Brett to thank for that. I thought it was all over when Brad said he was going to bring the tache back and be gone with me, but the mere mention of Tom Selleck snapped him out of it.

6.15pm: I guess I spoke too soon. Brad’s cranky once again. Yeah, we’re all patched up but he’s now jealous of Brett. “Why does he get all the attention? I call the plays *ahem*, I choose the team *ahem*, what’s he got that I don’t?”… “Me?” I said.

7.00pm: Early bedtime, probably for the best. Not like anything is going to be happening any time soon. Just hope this cabin fever wears off soon.

From the Beard of Chilly

We’ve got a hung Parliament in Blighty! Huzzah, life is good! And that slimeball-toff-w*nker David Cameron is going to have to do some serious dealing if he’s going to become PM. But all in all, election night has been pretty disappointing. Nick Clegg, leader of the Lib Dems has had to endure some disappointing results, and is left to marvel at our electoral system that sees someone who gets around 23% of the vote only take about 10% of seats in the House of Parliament. Whilst Gordon Brown is hanging in there, but only just. I’m hoping for a Labour coalition government because the Tories are scumbags who are going to line the pockets of the aristocracy, but I’m gutted the lib dems didn’t get more seats…

But enough of Politics, its time for our weekly visit to the mind of one of football’s greatest figures. I’m talking of course of Chilly’s Beard.

3.30am – Brad can’t sleep, so I can’t sleep. Every time I drop off the bugger grunts something about a “good football team” or “how do you like these Wranglers?” STFU!

8.25am – So first he keeps me awake, then he oversleeps. Useless Brett Favre Bobblehead Alarm clock apparently decided to wake him up when it’s ready, despite being told numerous times to sound off nice and early.

10.03am – Late to court, Judge is not best pleased. Not looking good for my unrelated brothers from 2 different mothers.

12.00pm – This is why I hate court. Brad get’s restless, so he chews on his pen. Then he grabs that soggy pen with his stubby fingers, twirls it around, and then rubs those stubby, soggy fingers through me. After nearly 2 hours of this, I’m starting to smell like an Alice Cooper fan after a night of Jager-bombs. And then to cap it all off, the court rules against my boys! If only the Bobblehead had gone off an hour earlier, I could have arrived and intimidated the judge with my magnificent bushyness.

12.45pm – Pat’s been crying, and Kevin is nursing a hoagie the size of… well let’s not get into that now. I think Pat’s worried about losing his place to BigMac. Personally I’d love to throw that mug into the trenches, teach him a lesson about what happens when you piss of Roger Goodell. As for Kevin, well, while he’s engrossed in his bread-bundled, meaty-magic, I’m wondering if Loady can manage the load if we subbed him in. Like Maccy, he’s a couple of sandwiches short of a picnic, but he’s big, and scary, and big, maybe it’ll toughen him up a bit.

2pm – Some would call it lunch, I call it the frenetic shovelling of pot pie into hole in face. I think he’s stressed. Can’t blame him. He just got a call from Gov Pawlenty. Back-stabbing SOB.

3.30pm – My “ears” are burning. Brad decided to invite Rick, Jared and Tahi to go “intimidate” Pawlenty who decided he didn’t like the stadium bill despite crowing on about it a couple of months ago. Basically Brad just kept yelling “Heart of a Champion” whilst Rick tried to sign Pawlenty as our new DT, and Jared kept asking Tahi why he’s still there. Then Rick got bored and started playing Risk on his iPhone, and Jared said he’d treat Tahi to chicken wings after Tahi started sulking. On their way out the door I swear I heard Jared mutter; “I’ll show you what a dozen is”. This left Brad, red faced and feeling rather foolish. Think they’re going to try and work something out.

5.35pm – After a few awkward man-hugs, Brad left Pawlenty’s place with a revised bill. Whiskers crossed.

8pm – Brett called. Brad was a bit grumpy because Brett usually calls at 7, but he said he was busy laughing at JaMarcus Russell. “Funny you should mention that…” Brad said, “… he’s our Plan B if you don’t show.” It’s going to be a long summer.

Ash Clouds of Doom! And Chilly’s Beard

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.

Day 1:

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.