When Fall arrives the sensible denizens of Sarah "You-Betcha" Palin's "true America" paint their faces, grab their foam-rubber "number one" pointy-fingers and gorge on weenies and coors light at the tailgates of their Ford Broncos before barfing into garbage cans and staggering into an arena. FOOTBALL!!
Yes, football. Not that homo-magnet Eurosport correctly called soccer. We're talking chest-bumping fanny-slapping "let's put on spandex pants and writhe about in the mud like real men" FOOTBALL! The manliest sport since gladiators pranced about in sandals in front of an audience of dress-wearing men with laurels in their hair. It oozes more testosterone than Turkish oil-wrestling.
Our rabidly loyal readers will recall when we did the public service of explaining the "ins and outs" of soccer. They will also remember when we peeked into the dugout and spied on the boys of summer. Now, for our international friends, we are shedding light on the nuances and delicate shadings of that peculiar sport that starts with a high-kick and ends in a shower of ice cubes and Gatorade.
Below are snippets of exchanges between various tight ends and wide receivers as overheard on the field. No thanks necessary.
Coach: Yer fanny's lookin' real purty.
Player: Gee, thanks coach!
Coach: Seeing you all bent over in that huddle gives me some kookie ideas.
Player: Um, time-out's almost over, coach.
Coach: Just making sure the next time a man makes a pass at you that you'll be wide open.
Player: Uh, well I'm defensive tackle.
Coach: A trivial detail.
Player: Gosh, coach. I feel kinda funny when your finger explores my man-cave.
Coach: Relax, killer. Just looking for my wedding ring.
Player 1: Guess who?
Player 2: Heavens to betsy! You startled me!
P1: I've been watching the way that enormous linebacker jumps all over you. It's making me jealous.
P2: Don't mind him. He's just trying to grab my pigskin.
P1: Remember when our couples counselor said you belittle my feelings? It seems every time I turn around some virile beast is throwing you to the turf and grinding his meaty person all over your supple physique.
P2: They mean nothing to me. No matter what positions we play in, you'll always be in posession of my ball.
P1: When you talk dirty like that it makes me wanna kick one through your goal posts.
P2: Tonight after Ugly Betty I'll catch your pass in my end zone if you like.
(to the tune of "There's No Business Like Show Business"):
Player 1: There's no jazz-hands like my jazz-hands
Like no jazz-hands I know!
When the pigskin sails between my uprights
Every time I'm tackled in the sack
Every time I feel those certain ass-pains
When I've got grass stains
Upon my back!
There's no spandex like man spandex
What man spandex can show!
Yesterday they threw you in the icky ground!
You score a touchdown and prance around!
Check the glossy Fosse moves I've finally found!
These jazz hands that I has! These jazz hands that I has!!
Player 1: Hey, what's the big idea?
Player 2: I saw your back field in motion and I couldn't resist.
P1: Say, that's a big helmet on your head.
P2: That's what all the tight ends say.
P1: You're not using any lube. That's unnecessary roughness!
P2: Enough lip! Bite some turf and take it like a man!
P1: You're gaining some serious yardage in my home territory.
P2: I'm getting ready to punt.
P1: I think I have to fart.
P2: Block that kick!
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