Wednesday, November 29, 2017

Put a sock in it Ben.

"I want to thank my Lord and savior, Jesus Christ."

Adding, later in the locker room, ...

"When I saw the cornerback peel off and recognized the safety was in a soft drop two, I knew Antonio would make the double move and fly to the post on a wide banana. And suddenly he was free. The Lord works miracles. Thank you Jesus."

Yeah, OK Ben. And this goes for all you other athletes who thump their bibles and their alleged spirituality every time they spot a little red light on a TV camera. 


I have it on good authority, two years of Hebrew School and 6 months of intensive Torah training cooped up with a smelly Hasidic rabbi in Monsey, NY, that the Messiah, the Lord of Lords, the Host of Hosts, was not an X's and O's guy. 

His forte is not unbalanced front lines and in-between the tackles running. Nor is he intimately familiar with the read/option or the ever-confusing, ever-dynamic pistol formation.

And, I'm pretty sure Jesus doesn't spend his time figuring out how to dissect the nickel defense and then, you know, between walking on water and turning fishes into loaves of bread (I may be fuzzy on my Christian miracles), move the pieces around for you Ben Rothlesberger so the Steelers can maintain their lead in the AFC Central division.

The same can be said to you Russell Westbrook, Kevin Durant, Steph Curry and the other glory givers in the NBA. Jesus's thing is moving heaven and earth. Not the high pick and roll. Or the relentless east/west movement of the ball around the horn. 

All I'm saying Russell, is that if you happen to hit that buzzer beating shot at the end of the game, thank Carmelo for setting the pick and Paul George for getting some inside penetration.

Before this post results in angry letters from my Christian friends, let me apologize. No offense was intended. 

But I do hear from Precedent Shitgibbon that the War on Christmas is almost over and I wanted to say my peace before the last shots are fired.

Also, and I hate to get Nihilistic when we're so close to holidays of all stripes, for any of you who want to believe that we are the center of the universe and that some kind of Sky Daddy is looking over us, making us win games, or Oscars, or even getting a raise at our jobs, I offer you this breathtaking look at our incomprehensible insignificance.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Yeah, but his mother used to know something about football. You know, Notre Dame. Not so much lately.