As much as the NFL Draft eats at the human soul and emits sulfur and methane in its wake, we may not have given sufficient thought to what happens when it ends.
Read moreAuthor: Ray Ratto (page 1 of 1)
Illustration by Tom Ley
Illustration by Chris Thompson
While Comrade Roth is trying to decide whether to love Alex Rodriguez as his new baseball overlord and Comrade Magary is pretending to be a meth-crazed Heidi Klum, the rest of us are watching the National Football League twitching hysterically about a draft that will be either hilariously surreal or depressingly mundane–I mean, more depressingly mundane.
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Illustration by Chris Thompson
When times are hardest, even the Disney Corporation signs off on the F-bomb. I mean, sure, lots of other unprecedented things happen these days, but this is network TV’s whopper with cheese.
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Illustration by Tom Ley
The NFL Draft has always been a bit of a fraud that everyone buys into because in our wounded culture being a general manager seems like the most fun in the world. It’s how from the original fantasy draft–of American Football League players in a bar in Oakland in the early ’60s–through rotisserie leagues and now to fantasy everything, we hate reality to the point where we elevate fantasy to feel like we’re party of something we’re not part of at all. As fans, we are wallets with feet, and now with shelter-in-place, we are just empty plastic chairs facing a field.
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So, full-on brawl in the Battle Of Alberta including a goalie fight, or Damian Lillard? The choice is yours.
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via ESPN
The 2019 NFL season began for all intent and purpose with Antonio Brown, and, hours short of the season’s end, there is Antonio Brown. We, as they say on cheap old-folks-and-shut-ins-police-procedural-network-TV-shows, are hooked.
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Photo via Wikimedia Commons
Lost in the detritus of the week is the very bizarre and very delightful hiring of Dusty Baker as the new manager for the New Evil Empire. Even the picture of him on the Astros’ own Twitter feed says volumes about the team’s existential crisis.
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Illustration by Tom Ley
In a Super Bowl run-up almost completely devoid of weirdness, contention, absurdity or ghastliness, it should be come as little surprise that nobody has made a thing of San Francisco shutting down the parade route for the team they no longer have a week ahead of time.
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