Thursday, November 30, 2006

That Certainly Would Explain It...

Thers has just tipped me off to a Startling Confession from my interception-throwing namesake:
Do you see now, people? Have you finally fucking figured it out?

I do not like football. I don't know how much clearer I can make that point. This sport blows. Everyone's running around and hitting each other... yikes. All I wanted when I was a kid was to hang out with my mom in the kitchen and make some zucchini bread. But nooooo, everyone's all like, "You're a Manning. You should play football!"

Fuck that. You should hear my dad in interviews. "We never pushed football on the boys..." Yeah right, old man. I just fell into this shit naturally. It had nothing to do with the family football games we played every afternoon for SEVENTEEN FUCKING YEARS, Dad. Or the film study sessions after dinner. No, that was for fun. Ass.


Give me squash. There's a sport. You got two guys in a box swatting at a dead superball. Now THAT I can get on board with. No coaches. No annoying family members telling you about how "great the game is". None of that crap. Just you, some other sweaty guy, and lots of grunting. Bliss.

I got a bigass signing bonus, you know. I could play that shit all day. All I have to do is prove to everyone that I'm not good enough to play this bullshit football. Critics say I'm inaccurate. Wanna bet? I'm the most accurate fucking passer in the world, people. Those aren't interceptions I'm throwing. They are FUCKING CRIES FOR HELP.


I'm gonna get out of this game. And if it means throwing another 20 dead-on picks and costing the Giants the playoffs, then fuck it. I'm doing it. You can't stop me. Nothing will keep Eli from that squash court.
I don't know why I never saw it before. And I wondered why he seemed to be actively trying to lose games.