Alright guys listen, it’s not looking good right now. We’re down 21… Kowalski busted his knee up pretty bad, and I have this really nasty sore that showed up on my lip before the game. Check it out, that’s got to be one of the nastiest little guys I’ve ever seen! It almost seems like there’s a sore growing on top of the other sore doesn’t it?
But now’s not the time to panic. We’re still in this thing! We have the whole second half and hopefully the redness and swelling will go down by then, because I’m going to TGI Fridays with the wife and I’m pretty much out of chances, okay? Don’t let me down.
There’s gonna be nights when you feel so broken and used up that you spit the ball gag out of your mouth.
What am I talking about? You guys can’t let me down, as long as you try as hard as you can, and leave everything you have out there on that field, you’re winners in my book. We’re made for this! Remember when we were down by a field goal with two minutes left against Lakewood? Remember how focused and prepared they were to come into our house to play? They gave us hell! They punched us right in the mouth from the very beginning of the game, and they dominated us throughout.
We could have chalked it up, and called it a day. We could have conceded defeat and walked off the field, but DID WE QUIT?! HELL NO! WHAT DID WE DO?! We minimized our mistakes, established the run game, and I fired a gun into the bleachers.
Looking back on it, that was a huge mistake on my part. I regretted it almost immediately. But what was worse: doing a cocaine/heroin speedball before the game and not being in total control of my actions, or that interception you threw into double coverage that ended up costing us the game Devin! Why would you do that Devin? You had an open man running a flag route towards the sideline. That would have stopped the clock, and put us in field goal range, but you wanted the touchdown didn’t you, you greedy, insidious sack of shit?
It happens though… in life, sometimes, things aren’t always gonna go your way. You’re gonna get knocked down. You’re gonna take hits. They’re gonna call you humiliating names, and there’s gonna be nights when you feel so broken and used up that you spit the ball gag out of your mouth and ask yourself, “Why on Earth am I paying this woman to do this to me?”
But then you realize, as you rest upon that wooden torture device while cleaning her boots with your tongue, that you’re more than just a disgusting leather-clad pay pig with sissy pathetic man parts. You’re a wonderful human being who hurts yourself to feel alive. You use the pain she rewards you with so you don’t feel the numbness anymore, because serving Mistress gives you an orgasmic sense of purpose that you’ve never felt before or perhaps ever will outside the confines of her dungeon.
You know the old saying, “It ain’t the size of the dog in the fight, it’s the size of the fight in the dog”? Well that’s true boys. I know that for a fact, because my cousin operates an underground dog fighting ring, and it happens all the time. I saw it myself, and I won two grand when Little BoBo ripped Big Kingston’s throat right out of his neck. Blood spattered everywhere, and I honestly had no idea there was that much stuff inside necks!
If there’s anything I want to say to you boys it’s this: I love you.
I know, I know, it sounds silly, but it’s true. And I hope that someday when you look back on all of this as old men with families, depression, and delusions caused in part by repeated head trauma, that you have enough strength in your knees to walk to the cupboard and open that bottle of pills you’ve become addicted to, and remember that it’s only a game; and games are supposed to be fun.
So let’s have fun, guys.
Well, that about does it for me. I’m going to head out of here now before your coach shows up. It was a pleasure meeting all of you. Good luck next year, and if anyone has like fifteen or twenty bucks I can borrow that would be awesome. If not, I’d be glad to wrestle you for it.