No commentary on the matchups this week (insert applause here). I'm simply too busy with my UCLA application and I'm also being proactive and have begun writing a eulogy for Ryan Fitzpatrick.
So I’m working at our parish’s Monte Carlo this past Saturday night and I start thinking, “Why is it that I volunteer my time for all sorts of church fundraisers but I only go to mass twice a year?” Good question. Why raise money for something I hardly ever attend? And more importantly, why don’t I attend? After a few seconds of deep thought, I ultimately concluded what I always conclude- I don’t attend because I just don’t get much out of the mass.
According to my calculations, I’ve sat through somewhere between 1,200 – 1,300 catholic masses in my lifetime. Just how many times can I say the Our Father, the Apostolic whatever, share the sign of peace, hear about Paul’s letters to the Ephesians, or mouth the words to “One Bread, One Body” and actually squeeze any morsel of meaning out of it? It’s like going to see the same film 1,300 times. An art film. Partly in Latin with no subtitles and more than a moderate amount of required viewer participation. I mean, I know how it’s going to end- with me uninspired and dangerously close to falling over asleep and cracking my skull on the pew. That happened to Scott Davis in the sixth grade and it looked painful & embarassing so I'd rather try to avoid that if possible. Anyway, the only difference from one mass to another is the homily, or as I like to call it, Father's Halftime Monologue.
I’ve always had a problem with the homily. Well, not always, I’ve heard a dozen or so in my lifetime that made me shrug & raise an eyebrow, maybe shake my head and concede agreement. But the majority of the time it’s just some common sense rooted in the “Do unto others” lesson and dished out by a man who’s never had to deal with a wife, raise a family, make a house payment, or work at a job that would fire you if you were to found to be sodomizing a twelve year old boy. Not super inspiring. Instead, I get more inspiration and enlightenment from people who get paid to be interesting and thought-provoking. Those who, if they fail in either category, cease to be employed any longer. I’m speaking of authors, screenwriters, playwrights, talk show hosts, speechwriters, joke writers, songwriters, editorialists, and the people who do the in-store advertising for Steak ‘n Shake (I love their fucking placemats).
What can I say; we each are moved by different messages from different sources. Mine just so happen to come from almost everywhere except the church. That doesn’t mean that I disagree with the church. On the contrary, I still hold almost all of the same values and beliefs that were drummed into my head during my formative years. Not that you necessarily care but I’m pro-life, pro-charity, pro-Golden Rule, and anti-anything that violates the Ten Commandments. Except number ten, I mean, that’s just not seemingly possible. And of course number four is obviously tough for me given the whole premise of this entry.
So anyway, back to the original question- “Why is it that I volunteer my time for all sorts of church fundraisers but I only go to mass twice a year?” The answer is actually pretty easy. I do it because I believe in the church community, more specifically, in the good that the church community can do. The charitable works of the church are almost unparalleled and the lessons & loving support of the community can do wonders for our children’s moral compass and sense of belonging. Plus, Monte Carlo night, the festivals, bingo, - they all involve beer, gambling, and a nice handful of milfs. There are more reasons but you don’t really care. Hell, I’d put down $10 worth of leftover Monte Carlo night poker chips that less than three of you are still with me and actually reading this. I’ll put down another $10 that one of you still reading is Mit. What up, Mit? Catholic boys in the HOUUUUSE!!!
Now, on with the matchups….
Thursday Night
Jets at Patriots- Thou shall not retire, unretire, then seek fortune elsewhere. If so, the Lord shall empower an unlikely force to dash your hopes and generally fuck up your world when you stand on the precipice of glory.
Sunday
Broncos at Falcons- Thou shall not make it look easy as a rookie quarterback. Unless you are a ginger kid. In that case, the Lord shall give you a pass to make up for creating you as a ginger kid.
Vikings at Bucs- Thou shall not pose as a purple version of my son. Unless, of course, you are hella-quick, can turn five yard losses into twenty yard gains, and can smack the shit out of dreadlocked defensive backs.
Ravens at Giants- Thou shall not commit murder.
Raiders at Dolphins- Honor thy contracts and obligations, that your days may be long upon the land despite any deteriorated mental state or simple loss of thine fucking mind.
Saints at Chiefs- Thou shall not go for two when thou’s team is just an extra point away from tying the game with mere seconds left on the clock. Remember this, for the Lord likes overtime.
Lions at Panthers- Thou shall remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy. The seventh day is the Sabbath of the Lord your God. In it you shall do no work: you, nor your son, nor your daughter, nor your male servant, nor your female servant, nor your cattle, nor your pool boy, nor your coaches, nor your players, nor your equipment manager, nor your trainers. For in six days the Lord made the heavens and the earth, the sea, and all that is in them, and rested the seventh day. Therefore the Lord blessed the Sabbath day and hallowed it. (The Lions are not only on their way to 0-16, they’re going to fuckin’ heaven.)
Eagles at Bengals- Thou shall honor thy father and mother. Do not desecrate that which your parents have given you. Shall you find yourself in need of a general manager to help preserve the fruit of your father’s labor, then by all means, hire a general manager. If thou fails to do so, I shall send an inbred militia to your doorstep.
(Oh. My. God.)
Bears at Packers- Thou shall not bear false witness against da bears. Also, no gay stuff.
Texans at Colts- Thou shall not claim that everything is bigger in Texas. I am all-knowing and I can tell you that not everything is bigger in Texas. Case in point: penises. Not many black guys in Texas. Penises are much bigger, on the average, in Mississippi and Uganda.
Rams at Niners- Damn the Niners, Damn them straight to HELL!!!!
Cardinals at Seahawks- Thou shall not think it’s going to be easy to just waltz up to Seattle and bitch slap the defending division champs. What do you think; they’re just going to lay down on the week Hasselbeck returns to action? Whatev. Oh, and uh, thou shall not steal.
Titans at Jaguars- I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage. You shall have no other gods before Me. I don’t care if you’re 9-0, Jeff Fisher is not Me. Would I be caught dead with that mustache? Seriously. Yes Gabriel, I remember the muttonchops I sported, but that was in the 70’s. I let a lot of shit slide in the 70’s. I’m telling you, I have not taken the image of Jeff Fisher. And anyone else who thinks tha- Moses, take off the Titans jersey. Fuck, you guys. You know what, ZAP! There you go, now I’ve just made it so they’re gonna lose in Jacksonville. Maybe at about 4:00 this Sunday you’ll finally believe me.
Chargers at Steelers- Thou shall not deliver cheap shots as a wide receiver. Doing so will elicit a bounty on thine head, a bounty sought by every defensive player in the league as well as my arch angels. Watch your knees, Hines.
Cowboys at Redskins- Thou shall not covet your neighbor's house; you shall not covet your neighbor's wife, nor his male servant, nor his female servant, nor his ox, nor his donkey, nor anything that is your neighbor's. Even his cheerleaders. Okay, maybe his cheerleaders.
Monday Night
Browns at Bills- Thou shall not take this blog seriously. God, if you’re watching (and I know you are), please do not smite me or deliver plague onto my family, friends or cattle. This is all meant in jest and in no way meant to demean you or disrespect you. May the glory and honor be yours almighty father, forever and ever. And the lesson, as always: I’m an idiot. Seriously, I’m heavily banking on the fact that you have a kickass sense of humor. You like pie, right? Let me buy you a slice of key lime and we’ll talk this out. Actually, let’s hug it out first. No? Okay, the pie, then who knows, maybe hugs.
With thirty seven percent of precincts reporting, I am calling the State of Confusion for Barack Obama. Senator McCain and Governor Milfy McMilferstein put up a courageous fight but ultimately did not have enough to bring down the slickly packaged political superstar. In this day and age, flash beats substance, coolness beats passion, introspective inaction beats aggression, and image is everything. McCain is George Thorogood, Obama is Kanye West. McCain is Richard Dreyfuss, Obama is Keanu Reeves. McCain is a bowl of Grape Nuts, Obama is a heaping bowl of Lucky Charms. In other words, McCain drinks alone, makes mashed potato models of terrorists and tries to keep his bowels regular while Obama plays to stadium crowds, cruises across the Matrix and is, well, magically fucking delicious.
All of that aside, the question is, will Barry Obama lead us to better days? Will he lead us to the brink of a socialistic state? Will he naively lead us into trouble with our enemies? Will he lead Congress in an inspired version of Papa Was a Rolling Stone and get his freak on with a shitload of new spending, higher taxes, nationalized healthcare and the free speech-muzzling return of the Fairness Doctrine? (No. Possibly. Likely. Without a shadow of a fucking doubt.) Whatever shall happen over the next four years, we have two groups of people two blame if it goes horribly wrong. As usual, it’s the same two groups that seem to fuck up everything- the young kids and the old farts.
According to the pouty lip gloss of ABC's Diane Sawyer, nearly seventy percent of voters under the age of thirty voted for socialist senator Barack Hussein Obama. In a related story, nearly seventy percent of voters under the age of thirty listen to Coldplay, drink frappuccinos and still live in their parents’ basements. Meanwhile, only twenty three percent of elderly voters managed to drag their feeble asses to the polling stations to vote for the war-wounded veteran senator from Arizona. Although in fairness, sixty two percent of them tried to get to the polls but nearly two-thirds of them got lost, started weeping, and many were subsequently mugged by some of the under-thirty voters who were making their way home from the polls.
Yep, the elderly and the naive youngsters. One group painfully helpless and the other painfully naive. They're same two groups who have the most trouble operating vehicles without incident. They're the same two groups who are most likely not to have the current responsibilities of raising children and home ownership. They're the same two groups who are most likely to fall for a Nigerian email scam. And now again, they've proven to be the two groups most likely to fall for the deception of the left-leaning media.
So, great....fantastic. We've been force-fed a media concocted empty suit propelled into office by kids who have yet to hold down a full-time job and the inaction of those who can no longer hold down a full-time job. No, this is gonna be great, really.
Now if you will excuse me, I must go talk Johnny B down from his roof. And LIVE FROM CINCINNAT, IT'S Election Night Matchups!….
