Somewhere today Coach Slobberknocker is giving up on 'Murica. After all, it ain't the 'Murica he learned all the words to The Star-Spangled Whatchamacallit for, and you can take that to the bank and do whatever it is you do when you take something to the bank.
"Finin' a coach for yellin' at his dumbass runnin' back?" he's saying, incredulously. "The hell's the world comin' to?"
What it's comin' to, it seems, is the Arizona Cardinals indeed fining head coach Jonathan Gannon for a sideline, um, discussion with running back Emari Demercado on Sunday. It was right after Demercado dropped the ball before crossing the goal line on a 72-yard jaunt to Six City, costing the Cardinals a score it could have used in their loss to the Tennessee Titans. So it stands to reason Gannon was not in the best of moods.
Still, it's worth noting Gannon did not do what Coach Slobberknocker would have done, which is maintain a good grip on Demercado's facemask while informing him that he was one sorry sumbitch, and a damn dumb sumbitch besides. Also, if he had a brain, he'd be playin' cornhole with it or somethin'.
No, sir. All Gannon did was walk over to Demercado and yell at him a little, and then yell at him a little more, and then maybe/maybe not brush his arm as Demercado walked away.
Of course, modern times being what they are, it was all caught on video. And apparently that was embarrassing for certain people in the Cardinals organization (which, considering it's the Cardinals organization, they ought to be used to). And so they're getting in Gannon's folding cash for $100,000.
All Coach Slobberknocker can do is shake his head and maybe laugh a little at the sheer ridiculousness of it all.
"Good gravy," he says, or something like it. "They're actin' like this was Georgie Patton slappin' that soldier. Or ol' Woody Hayes punchin' that Clemson linebacker. Shoot-fire, yellin' at his players was nothin' but jumpin' jacks for Woody. Got him all warmed up for tearing up sideline markers and punchin' photographers.
"Why, I bet he and Bo are howlin' up there in Headset Heaven."
They probably are. A lot of crusty old coots no doubt are. Because, no, this is not the 'Murica they came up in, or at least not the 'Murica proscribed by sidelines and 100 yards of turf and large people stomping around on it.
It is, after all, 2025, not 1925, and the world has changed, as the world tends to do. Len Dawson isn't firing up a dart at halftime of the Super Bowl anymore. Fans don't wear jackets and ties and jaunty fedoras to the games. And if Dick Butkus were playing in today's NFL, he wouldn't be playing in today's NFL. He'd be in jail for hitting people too hard.
Some of this has been to the game's detriment. Some of it has not. All of it is the consequence of a corporatized America whose first loyalty is to quarterly earnings, and whose second loyalty is to the omnipotence of the Franchise and its Brand.
So, yeah, a viral clip of Coach yelling at his dumbass running back won't play, even if the dumbass running back did something really dumbass this time. (And DeMercado did). A marquee quarterback getting blown up by a Butkus-channeling edge rusher won't, either.
The quarterback is, after all, the Face Of Our Franchise. And the Franchise -- aka, the product -- is inviolate.
"Good gravy," Coach Slobberknocker says, or something like it. "Football ain't supposed to be a 'product.' It's supposed to be football. Blockin', tacklin', yellin' at your dumbass running back for forgettin' to take the ball into the end zone with him. THAT'S football."
Was football, Coach. Sorry.
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