For one fan, it’s NFL at its cheesiest
MY NATIONAL Day of Outrage has now reached its second day. I am now thinking of extending it to a National Week of Outrage.
The best part of my Tuesday — and I’m sure I’m speaking for Packers fans everywhere — was that first 10 seconds or so, just as you wake up. The brief period at the start of your day when you’re not sure what day it is, where you have to be, what you have to do and what happened the night before.
But it took just six seconds before the flashbacks arrived. The ones of M.D. Jennings’ flipping interception-that-wasn’t-an-interception-that became-Golden-Tate’s-flipping-game-winning-touch-down. The ones that have this nervoustic I developed entering its’ second day as well.
Monday night was bad enough. It was right around midnight when I witnessed the Packers get hosed by these Clown College rejects posing as NFL referees, costing my team (that’s right, my team, pally. I’ve been a shareholder since 1996) a victory with the most unbelievable of calls. Now it’s one thing when you blow a call against the Jaguars, nobody knows or cares. But now these scabs have started infecting my private life.
As Moe, Larry and Curly huddled, millions of viewers across the country (at least those outside of Seattle), not to mention every Monday Night Football commentator, agreed that the final determination would be a Packers interception resulting in a Green Bay victory.
But as the unthinkable left the referee’s lips — “The call on the field stands” — Marie, my better half, chose not to make eye contact with me as she whispered, “Well, I’m off to bed.”
“That’s the worst flippin’ football moment in the history of flippin’ football moments,” I said, (leaving out certain quality words as this is a family newspaper). I was expecting a modicum of sympathy. Instead Marie, the Jets fan, fired back, “Hey, it’s one game. I lost Revis for the year.”
We are now thisclose to counseling.
Tuesday was no better. Upon arriving at the dental offices of the esteemed Dr. Don Safferstein, he shrewdly waited until he numbed my mouth with novocaine — crimping my ability to converse — before scoffing at the Packers finish. Scoffing. I’m an NFL owner. I’m sure Bob Kraft’s dentist didn’t scoff at him after the Patriots lost to the Ravens Sunday night. I need to floss more, visit the dentist less.
Finally I stopped by mom’s house for a little lunch. She’s known me since I’ve been a little Packer backer and would give me the sympathy I required. But before I could even utter, ‘Hi, mom,’ she holds up the Daily News and asks, “Boy, what happened to your Packers?” Et tu, mom? Then she made me a ham and cheese sandwich. Wisconsin cheddar. The flippin’ novacaine made chewing quite the adventure.
So where do we go from here with NFL wins and losses being determined on a weekly basis by the Marx Brothers? At this point — whenever my National Days of Outrage conclude — the only way I can move on from this abomination is to view the NFL as a sitcom. Thursday night you have NFC scab refs and the winless Browns. That has the potential to be funnier than the “Big I Bang Theory.” n fact, why not let Sheldon and the Big Bangers referee the game? Now that’s comedy and they couldn’t do any worse than the current crop of Roger Goodell’s miscreants.
All this so Goodell and his owner friends can save a little coin in their billion dollar league by nickel and diming the regular referees. Now we get clueless replacement refs at $9.50 an hour, which if my math is right, is about $90 less per hour than this counseling is going to cost me.