I'm sure I'll be able to follow the game just by listening to my neighbors shout at their televisions and recalling Bayard's open letter to Brett Favre, in which he encouraged Favre to just go ahead and coach the Washington Generals.
10.05.2009
God's Footballer
I won't pretend to know much about football, but my friend Carmine notes that tonight's game pits Brett Favre against himself. America will tune in to see whether this is some sort of space-age cloning procedure, or whether Favre has claimed the same sort of "All-Time Quarterback" position that Jamie from across the street used to demand in Summit Avenue pick-up games.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Posts
2 comments:
Brian,
Your attempt to write about Brett farve with about seven words and colorful, eye-catching image, calls to mind a similar incident of sports reporting when my friend Dave Durrell did his 7th grade biology project on the science teacher's son and University of Michigan All American basketball player, Guard Thompson. While the rest of us (or rather, our moms) were scrambling the night before to throw something together that would at least receive a passing grade, my friend Dave cut out a photo of Guard from Sports Illustrated, tapped it to a sheet of notebook paper, scribbled in the caption "Guard is cool" underneath and turned it in to Mr. Thompson with a straight face. Aside from Andrew Haidle's model of the human digestive system, Dave was the only kid in class to earn a 'A'. So Kudos to you, Town, for your picture and caption! In all honesty, Brett Farve banging around the NFL 4 or 5 years after he shouldve retired probably doesnt deserve any more effort than you gave it.
PS -- feel free to attach this to your blog as a response.
Dan,
One time in a freshman-year high school gym class, I was assigned to play center field in a class baseball game. Knowing that I couldn't catch, the jockish second baseman told me that if any fly balls came my way, I was to get out of the way and he would run out to catch the ball. Three or four batters in, the opposing team knocked a ball directly to centerfield. I backed up, away from the ball, to give the second baseman room to move in, and the ball fell to the ground squarely where I'd been standing. The shortstop ran out to get the ball, but by the time it was back in play, there was a runner safely on third.
"What the fuck, Hinshaw?" said the second baseman. "You didn't even try!"
Years later, though, I travelled to Germany and bought a box of apple juice on the way to Englisher Park.
Fond Regards,
Brian
Post a Comment