Happy the day before a new decade, the science-fictiony 2020s, in which exploding technology will violently explode in colorful exploding geysers of exploding flame and fresh idiocy.
Kind of like Our Only Available Exploding Impeached President, last seen drooling in his soup and muttering something about dangerous windy wind and how it will kill America if we don't stop it.
But enough about 2019.
2020 is fresh, it's new, it's What's Happenin' Now. And so the Blob is here to do its annual Blob thing, which is rip off shopworn New Year's bits about what's going to happen in the year ahead, only turn them upside-down, sorta.
In other words: Welcome to What Won't Happen In 2020.
In January, the New England Patriots will not get to the Super Bowl again, a shocking development that leaves much of America bereaved. Or not.
"Gee, it won't seem like the Super Bowl without the Patriots in it," America will say (or not). And also, "Golly, I guess there's no reason to watch if there's no chance to see Tom Brady get squashed like a bug and Bill Belichick's scowl grow even more scowl-y. Well, except for that new Geico ad."
In other news, the NBA season will not end, even though it seems like it should have ended ages ago -- like, say, in 1625.
In February, the Super Bowl will not fail to disappoint again, even though the Ravens find new and exciting ways to use Lamar Jackson as a placekicker. L-Jack outscores Aaron Rodgers five field goals to four, and the Ravens beat the Packers 15-12 in the worst Super Bowl ever played until next year's Super Bowl.
In other news, the NBA season again will not end, even though we're up to 1777 now and LeBron James surprised the Hessians by crossing Wilshire Boulevard in a stretch Hummer.
Speaking of the NBA ... in March, Zion Williamson, the guy everyone has been waiting to see play since that long-ago day in 1625, will not return to the New Orleans Pelicans' lineup. The Pelicans will not issue a statement saying "Zion will be back any day now," and "He continues to make great progress," because that would just be cruel.
In other news, the NBA season will not ... well, you know. The league will not issue a mildly petulant statement to the effect that "Look, we're hurrying this along as best we can," and also "Come on, it's only 1825 and Zion isn't even back yet! Quit whining!"
In April, Duke will not win the NCAA basketball title, and neither will Kentucky, Kansas, Gonzaga, Michigan State, Ohio State or any of them others. This is because the NCAA will not allow them to play in the tournament, a fit of pique triggered by that (expletive) (expletive) law in California that forbids member schools from exploiting their athletes just to make money.
"Fine! We'll let Directional Hyphen Tech State win the title, then! See if we care!" the NCAA will not say in a statement, although it wants to.
In other news, the NHL will not say "Hey! Our season goes on forever, too! What about us?"
Although it wants to.
In May, Zion Williamson again will not return to the Pelicans lineup. The Pelicans will not release a statement that says "Any day now! Really!" because people would just laugh.
In other news, the NBA and NHL will not engage in hand-to-hand combat to see which league's season can last the longest. This is because they're only up to 1905 now and everyone has moved on to baseball and NASCAR -- both of which last forever, too, but haven't started to congeal yet.
Also, the Indianapolis 500.
In June and July, Tiger Woods, after not winning the Masters and the PGA Championship, will not win the U.S. and British Opens. Instead, "Tiger Woods," an exact animatronic duplicate of Tiger Woods that first appeared at last year's Masters, will win them.
The appropriate ruling bodies of golf, however, will declare "Tiger Woods" victories invalid, citing some arcane golf rule about outfit coordination. Charl Swartzel will be awarded the titles instead, on account of "Charl Swartzel" is fun to say.
In other news, the NBA and the NHL, locked in a fight to the death, will not end their seasons even though the Sacramento Kings and Quebec Nordiques have won their respective titles. Instead, they'll both immediately begin their seasons again. The league offices will not issue matching statements that say "Neener-neener-neener," although they want to.
In August, Zion Williamson will not return to the Pelicans' lineup. The Pelicans will not release a statement, only video of a Pelicans' executive whistling tunelessly and looking at the ceiling.
In other news ... oh, forget it.
In October, the Cubs will not make the World Series again. The baseball gods will not release a statement to the effect that "You must be this tall to ride this ride," and also "Besides, we let you win in 2016. Quit yer bellyachin' and go home."
Although they want to.
In November, Our Only Available Exploding Impeached President, now raving about "tiny invisible liberals from the Ukraine" who've clandestinely "injected socialism into our drinking water," is not re-elected. This is because he's simply claimed victory, declaring that elections are "fake news."
Amazingly, almost half of America will not say "This guy is bats**t!", instead opting for "Well, that all makes sense to me."
And last but not least ...
In December, Alabama, Clemson, Ohio State and some other SEC school will not make the College Football Playoff. This is because the NCAA, still mad about the California thing, will not allow it to happen even though they're all undefeated. Instead, just for spite, they put Notre Dame and Sarah Lawrence -- a college that doesn't have a football program -- in the title game.
"Neener-neener-neener," the NCAA will not say in a statement.
"Finally! Another national title!" Notre Dame athletic director Jack Swarbrick will also not say.
"Sarah Lawrence? That's not even a real school! Fake news!" OOAEIP will also not say.
Nah. He'll say it.
Tuesday, December 31, 2019
Monday, December 30, 2019
Put him in, Coach
The dream lives, America. Or maybe you're the only person in these United States who wouldn't want to see Jerry Jones line up at wide receiver for the Cowboys.
Or how about Robert Kraft? Yeah, that's ticket. Robert Kraft running one of Gronk's old seam routes, huffing and puffing, old-man legs shaking, wishing he hadn't misspent his youth trolling seedy massage parlors in Florida strip malls.
Yes, the world would be a better place, or at least yea more hilarious, if NFL owners would do what that hockey guy did the other night. Because who wouldn't want to see his or her team's owner suit up and say "Put me in, Coach"?
That's what Robbie Nichols did in a Federal Prospects Hockey League game, because the team he owns, the Elmira (N.Y.) Enforcers, was down to about five players because of injuries and so forth. So Nichols literally took one for his team, lacing on the skates and lengthening the bench for the Enforcers as they took on the Danbury (Ct.) Hat Tricks.
Now, Nichols is 55 years old, but it's not like he never played the game. A former Philadelphia Flyers draft pick back when dinosaurs strode the earth, he played a pile of years in the American Hockey League and the old International Hockey League. Alert Fort Wayne Komets fans will recall him skating against their team with the hated Kalamazoo Wings, and also with the San Diego Gulls.
In fact, Nichols was one of the big guns on the Gulls team that, 27 years ago, won 62 games and then got swept by the Komets in the IHL Turner Cup finals.
That was 1992-93. And Nichols was already 29 years old then.
Now, he's, well, not 29 anymore. But by God he can still go top shelf on you. Or hit you in stride tape-to-tape. Or skate his wing like ... like ...
Well. Like a 55-year-old exec, presumably.
I mean, let's not get carried away here. It's not like Nichols is or ever was Gretzky, after all. Just like, if you suit up Jerry and split him out wide down there in Dallas, it's not like he's going to beat the corner on a go route.
Nah. More likely, he'd wait until the game was over, seek out the nearest available TV camera (because there's nothing Jerry likes better than an available TV camera) and talk about how, by golly, Jason Garrett's all right by him.
Just like normal, in other words.
Or how about Robert Kraft? Yeah, that's ticket. Robert Kraft running one of Gronk's old seam routes, huffing and puffing, old-man legs shaking, wishing he hadn't misspent his youth trolling seedy massage parlors in Florida strip malls.
Yes, the world would be a better place, or at least yea more hilarious, if NFL owners would do what that hockey guy did the other night. Because who wouldn't want to see his or her team's owner suit up and say "Put me in, Coach"?
That's what Robbie Nichols did in a Federal Prospects Hockey League game, because the team he owns, the Elmira (N.Y.) Enforcers, was down to about five players because of injuries and so forth. So Nichols literally took one for his team, lacing on the skates and lengthening the bench for the Enforcers as they took on the Danbury (Ct.) Hat Tricks.
Now, Nichols is 55 years old, but it's not like he never played the game. A former Philadelphia Flyers draft pick back when dinosaurs strode the earth, he played a pile of years in the American Hockey League and the old International Hockey League. Alert Fort Wayne Komets fans will recall him skating against their team with the hated Kalamazoo Wings, and also with the San Diego Gulls.
In fact, Nichols was one of the big guns on the Gulls team that, 27 years ago, won 62 games and then got swept by the Komets in the IHL Turner Cup finals.
That was 1992-93. And Nichols was already 29 years old then.
Now, he's, well, not 29 anymore. But by God he can still go top shelf on you. Or hit you in stride tape-to-tape. Or skate his wing like ... like ...
Well. Like a 55-year-old exec, presumably.
I mean, let's not get carried away here. It's not like Nichols is or ever was Gretzky, after all. Just like, if you suit up Jerry and split him out wide down there in Dallas, it's not like he's going to beat the corner on a go route.
Nah. More likely, he'd wait until the game was over, seek out the nearest available TV camera (because there's nothing Jerry likes better than an available TV camera) and talk about how, by golly, Jason Garrett's all right by him.
Just like normal, in other words.
A few brief thoughts on NFL Week 17
And now, this season's final edition of The NFL In So Many Words, the nutrient-packed, vitamin-fortified Blob feature of which critics have said "Look at all those nutrients and vitamins!", and also "Now take them out of here as quickly as you can!":
1. It's Monday morning and the Patriots have locked up the No. 2 seed in the playo--
2. Wait ... what?
3. The Dolphins?
4. In FOXBOROUGH??
5. "Finally! Our long national nightmare is over!" (Detroit fans)
6. "Heh." (The Pistons, the Red Wings, the Tigers)
7. In other news, the Super Bowl bound Browns!
8. Also, the Super Bowl bound Cowboys!
9. "Hooray! My job is safe now!" (Freddie Kitchens, Jason Garrett)
10. "Heh." (Browns, Cowboys)
1. It's Monday morning and the Patriots have locked up the No. 2 seed in the playo--
2. Wait ... what?
3. The Dolphins?
4. In FOXBOROUGH??
5. "Finally! Our long national nightmare is over!" (Detroit fans)
6. "Heh." (The Pistons, the Red Wings, the Tigers)
7. In other news, the Super Bowl bound Browns!
8. Also, the Super Bowl bound Cowboys!
9. "Hooray! My job is safe now!" (Freddie Kitchens, Jason Garrett)
10. "Heh." (Browns, Cowboys)
Sunday, December 29, 2019
(L)ooking (S)orta (U)nbeatable
So it's Sunday morning now an-- ooh, look! Joe Burrow just threw another touchdown pass!
Anyway ... it's Sunday morning and the national semifinals are don-- ooh! Another one!
... the national semifinals are done, and we've got our matchu-- dammit, Joe! Stop throwing touchdown passes long enough for me to complete a sentence, will y--
Well, shoot. He just threw another one.
Which is to say, LSU's first Heisman Trophy winner since Billy Cannon threw touchdown passes all day, or at least all of the first half. LSU came one point short of dropping a five-spot on poor Oklahoma in that first half, and that was because Burrow threw seven touchdown passes before the marching bands took the field.
Seven touchdown passes! In one half! And then he ran for another six in the second half, just, you know, for kicks.
I guess that was Burrow's way of saying "Heisman jinx? Pffft. I got your Heisman jinx right here, pal."
I also guess LSU's 63-28 lamination of the Sooners means the Tigers are on a different level from most folks, which might also include the 29-23 survivor of the other semifinal, defending national champion Clemson. Everyone sort of forgot about the Other Tigers after they were nearly upset by North Carolina at the end of September, but then they went about crushing the life out of various Woffords and Wake Forests and Boston Colleges, and then atomized Virginia 62-17 in the ACC title game.
And, well ... here they are again.
Not that they looked particularly scary last night. In fact, for much of the game it was Ohio State that looked scary, going up and down the field on Clemson's vaunted defense like a man cutting his grass. Justin Fields threw for 320 yards and a touchdown on them. J.K. Dobbins gashed them for 174 yards, averaging just shy of 10 yards a carry. The Buckeyes piled up 516 total yards, lived in the red zone all day, and probably would have won had a fumble return for a score not been called back and a helmet-to-helmet hit on Clemson quarterback Trevor Lawrence not kept a key Clemson drive breathing.
Also, Lawrence, not really a runner, ran for 107 yards and hoofed it 67 yards for six in the dying moments of the first half, getting Clemson back to 16-14 after trailing 16-0.
Also, he connected with running back Travis Etienne on a short pass that Etienne turned into the go-ahead score with a minute or so to go.
Also, Clemson then ended Ohio State's last chance with an interception in the end zone after a Buckeyes receiver ran the wrong route.
If this all makes it sound like the football gods were inordinately affectionate toward Clemson, well ... they were. It's why the Other Tigers, unbeaten though they are, will be underdogs to the LSU Tigers in the national championship game.
Could be another 63-to-whatever dance party for LSU, given what Ohio State did to the Clemsons. But the Blob wouldn't put a lot of coin on that. As last night proved, strange things happen when you give Trevor Lawrence a football and let him jack around with it.
Stay tuned, in other words.
Anyway ... it's Sunday morning and the national semifinals are don-- ooh! Another one!
... the national semifinals are done, and we've got our matchu-- dammit, Joe! Stop throwing touchdown passes long enough for me to complete a sentence, will y--
Well, shoot. He just threw another one.
Which is to say, LSU's first Heisman Trophy winner since Billy Cannon threw touchdown passes all day, or at least all of the first half. LSU came one point short of dropping a five-spot on poor Oklahoma in that first half, and that was because Burrow threw seven touchdown passes before the marching bands took the field.
Seven touchdown passes! In one half! And then he ran for another six in the second half, just, you know, for kicks.
I guess that was Burrow's way of saying "Heisman jinx? Pffft. I got your Heisman jinx right here, pal."
I also guess LSU's 63-28 lamination of the Sooners means the Tigers are on a different level from most folks, which might also include the 29-23 survivor of the other semifinal, defending national champion Clemson. Everyone sort of forgot about the Other Tigers after they were nearly upset by North Carolina at the end of September, but then they went about crushing the life out of various Woffords and Wake Forests and Boston Colleges, and then atomized Virginia 62-17 in the ACC title game.
And, well ... here they are again.
Not that they looked particularly scary last night. In fact, for much of the game it was Ohio State that looked scary, going up and down the field on Clemson's vaunted defense like a man cutting his grass. Justin Fields threw for 320 yards and a touchdown on them. J.K. Dobbins gashed them for 174 yards, averaging just shy of 10 yards a carry. The Buckeyes piled up 516 total yards, lived in the red zone all day, and probably would have won had a fumble return for a score not been called back and a helmet-to-helmet hit on Clemson quarterback Trevor Lawrence not kept a key Clemson drive breathing.
Also, Lawrence, not really a runner, ran for 107 yards and hoofed it 67 yards for six in the dying moments of the first half, getting Clemson back to 16-14 after trailing 16-0.
Also, he connected with running back Travis Etienne on a short pass that Etienne turned into the go-ahead score with a minute or so to go.
Also, Clemson then ended Ohio State's last chance with an interception in the end zone after a Buckeyes receiver ran the wrong route.
If this all makes it sound like the football gods were inordinately affectionate toward Clemson, well ... they were. It's why the Other Tigers, unbeaten though they are, will be underdogs to the LSU Tigers in the national championship game.
Could be another 63-to-whatever dance party for LSU, given what Ohio State did to the Clemsons. But the Blob wouldn't put a lot of coin on that. As last night proved, strange things happen when you give Trevor Lawrence a football and let him jack around with it.
Stay tuned, in other words.
Saturday, December 28, 2019
List-ing to port
It's List Season again here on the celestial calendar, as the closing-time lights come up and 2019, drunk as a lord on his year's high-octane crazy, starts to warble "Show Me The Way To Go Home."
This means a couple of things.
One, it means an endless stream The 50 Greatest Movies Of All Time lists, and The 50 Worst Movies Of All-Time lists, and The 50 Worst Star Wars Movies Of All Time lists, Which Is Every Single One Except For The Original Star Wars According To Every Crashing Star Wars Bore In America.
(I mean, come on. These people actually talk about the Star Wars "canon." As if it's ecclesiastical or something, and not what it is, which is a science-fiction movie franchise that has made George Lucas an immense wad of cash.)
And two?
It means the Blob feels compelled to jump fully clothed into the madness with a List of its own. It will call this list "The 10 Dumbest Things In Sports In 2019":
10. Everyone saying "Tiger Woods is 23 years old again!" after he won the Masters, then realizing he was not, in fact, 23 again, when he went on to miss the cut in the PGA Championship, miss the cut in the British Open and finish 21st in the U.S. Open..
9. Antonio Brown being so annoying the Steelers didn't want him anymore, even though he was the best receiver in football.
8. Antonio Brown signing with the Raiders for goo-gobs of money, then being so annoying the Raiders cut him before he'd even played a game for them.
7. Antonio Brown, etc., etc.
6. Conor McGregor, etc., etc.
5. The Colts saying "We stand behind our 46-year-old kicker who can't kick anymore, because he's still better than Cody Parkey, dammit."
4. The NBA's 19-year-old rule, because everyone knows 18-year-olds are too immature to play in the NBA, even if they're LeBron James-level good. This is on account of they haven't achieved that magical Wisdom Growth Spurt that happens when they turn 19.
3. (tie) The world chess championship, in which neither combatant (Magnus Carlsen and Fabiano Caruana) managed to win a single game in regulation, namby-pambying through 12 straight draws. And, the National Spelling Bee, in which the judges finally said "Screw this, nobody's gonna miss a word" and declared an eight-way tie for the title.
2. NFL officiating.
1. NFL officiating. (Because it's worth repeating.)
This means a couple of things.
One, it means an endless stream The 50 Greatest Movies Of All Time lists, and The 50 Worst Movies Of All-Time lists, and The 50 Worst Star Wars Movies Of All Time lists, Which Is Every Single One Except For The Original Star Wars According To Every Crashing Star Wars Bore In America.
(I mean, come on. These people actually talk about the Star Wars "canon." As if it's ecclesiastical or something, and not what it is, which is a science-fiction movie franchise that has made George Lucas an immense wad of cash.)
And two?
It means the Blob feels compelled to jump fully clothed into the madness with a List of its own. It will call this list "The 10 Dumbest Things In Sports In 2019":
10. Everyone saying "Tiger Woods is 23 years old again!" after he won the Masters, then realizing he was not, in fact, 23 again, when he went on to miss the cut in the PGA Championship, miss the cut in the British Open and finish 21st in the U.S. Open..
9. Antonio Brown being so annoying the Steelers didn't want him anymore, even though he was the best receiver in football.
8. Antonio Brown signing with the Raiders for goo-gobs of money, then being so annoying the Raiders cut him before he'd even played a game for them.
7. Antonio Brown, etc., etc.
6. Conor McGregor, etc., etc.
5. The Colts saying "We stand behind our 46-year-old kicker who can't kick anymore, because he's still better than Cody Parkey, dammit."
4. The NBA's 19-year-old rule, because everyone knows 18-year-olds are too immature to play in the NBA, even if they're LeBron James-level good. This is on account of they haven't achieved that magical Wisdom Growth Spurt that happens when they turn 19.
3. (tie) The world chess championship, in which neither combatant (Magnus Carlsen and Fabiano Caruana) managed to win a single game in regulation, namby-pambying through 12 straight draws. And, the National Spelling Bee, in which the judges finally said "Screw this, nobody's gonna miss a word" and declared an eight-way tie for the title.
2. NFL officiating.
1. NFL officiating. (Because it's worth repeating.)
New Year's eclipse
So a whole pile of Some Bowls have been played the last couple of days, and if you were paying attention maybe you caught snippets of North Carolina and Temple in the What's That Bowl, or Wake Forest and Michigan State in the Hey, You Bowl, or somebody and somebody in the Bad Boys Mowers Gasparilla Bowl (an actual bowl actually played.)
And now on to today's festivities, when something called the Camping World Bowl will be played in, um, Florida, I think.
This bowl has even less chance to blip the radar than the Bad Boys Mowers bowl, because later in the day Clemson plays Ohio State and LSU plays Oklahoma in the two national semifinal games, which are also bowls but I forget which ones. (Cotton and Peach, I believe. But don't hold me to it.) And that's significant because the Camping World Bowl involves a Notre Dame team that, unlike everyone else playing this weekend, is not 6-6 but 10-2.
Think about that for a second: The program with its own private TV deal, the program that can out-lore every other college football program in America, will be an afterthought today. Either the Fighting Irish will beat Iowa State or they won't -- it says here they will, and handily -- and, unless you're an officially licensed Domer, no one is going to notice. Most of America will flip past it the way it flipped past North Carolina-Temple or Michigan State-Wake Forest or Texas A&M and Oklahoma State in the Hi, My Name Is Bowl.
Notre Dame was never supposed to be this kind of warmup act, on account of it's spent a lot of years and money and Knute Rockne Leahys building the game's most enduring and far-reaching brand. When Zephraim Cochran finally invents the warp drive and human beings make first contact with the Vulcans, they'll all be wearing throwback Ron Powlus jerseys. Count on it.
(OK, so not Ron Powlus jerseys. Brady Quinn jerseys.)
In any case, this is a strange case, like a Broadway production playing dinner theater in Hay Bale, North Dakota. It's much more Twilight Zone-y than last year, when Notre Dame actually played in one of the two national semifinal games. And it's the most glaring example, perhaps, that while Brian Kelly has raised Notre Dame football to a level more commensurate with its brand, it still hasn't gotten to the Clemson/Alabama/LSU/Ohio State level -- or even the 1988 Notre Dame level.
In other words, there is more work to do, as everyone around the program acknowledges to their credit. In the meantime, sit back at noon today and enjoy the Whatchamacallit Bowl.
Sorry. I mean, the Camping World Bowl.
And now on to today's festivities, when something called the Camping World Bowl will be played in, um, Florida, I think.
This bowl has even less chance to blip the radar than the Bad Boys Mowers bowl, because later in the day Clemson plays Ohio State and LSU plays Oklahoma in the two national semifinal games, which are also bowls but I forget which ones. (Cotton and Peach, I believe. But don't hold me to it.) And that's significant because the Camping World Bowl involves a Notre Dame team that, unlike everyone else playing this weekend, is not 6-6 but 10-2.
Think about that for a second: The program with its own private TV deal, the program that can out-lore every other college football program in America, will be an afterthought today. Either the Fighting Irish will beat Iowa State or they won't -- it says here they will, and handily -- and, unless you're an officially licensed Domer, no one is going to notice. Most of America will flip past it the way it flipped past North Carolina-Temple or Michigan State-Wake Forest or Texas A&M and Oklahoma State in the Hi, My Name Is Bowl.
Notre Dame was never supposed to be this kind of warmup act, on account of it's spent a lot of years and money and Knute Rockne Leahys building the game's most enduring and far-reaching brand. When Zephraim Cochran finally invents the warp drive and human beings make first contact with the Vulcans, they'll all be wearing throwback Ron Powlus jerseys. Count on it.
(OK, so not Ron Powlus jerseys. Brady Quinn jerseys.)
In any case, this is a strange case, like a Broadway production playing dinner theater in Hay Bale, North Dakota. It's much more Twilight Zone-y than last year, when Notre Dame actually played in one of the two national semifinal games. And it's the most glaring example, perhaps, that while Brian Kelly has raised Notre Dame football to a level more commensurate with its brand, it still hasn't gotten to the Clemson/Alabama/LSU/Ohio State level -- or even the 1988 Notre Dame level.
In other words, there is more work to do, as everyone around the program acknowledges to their credit. In the meantime, sit back at noon today and enjoy the Whatchamacallit Bowl.
Sorry. I mean, the Camping World Bowl.
Friday, December 27, 2019
Resolution time!
And now, as we resume Blobbish activities after a couple of days of festive-ing ("I KNEW it couldn't last," you're moaning), it's time to look ahead to a new year, a new decade, a new chance to wipe the slate clean, turn the page, make solemn vows to be a better, thinner, more spiritually elevated you..
Or, you know, just say "Ah, crap, it's January again."
In any case, this is the time of year when those of us who love to set ourselves up for failure sit down to make New Year's resolutions.
New Year's resolutions are the best kind of resolutions, because they don't actually ever resolve anything (or hardly ever). Plus, if you break them, there's no real punishment. No one's going to clap you in irons or garnish your wages or make you run laps if you fudge on your New Year's resolution to run laps in 2020. There'll be a momentary twinge of remorse, and then it's on to the dessert you resolved to cut out in the new year.
In this spirit, the Blob presents, not its resolutions, but the resolutions some folks in the sporting world might make before shamelessly break them two or three days in:
"I resolve not to even LOOK at another quarterback, even though Tom's kinda gettin' up there and losing his looks and, you know, not really the Trophy Quarterback he used to be." (Bill Belichick)
"I resolve not to even LOOK at another team, even though Bill's eye is wondering and the magic is gone and I just know he's tomcatting around for his next Trophy Quarterback." (Tom Brady)
"I resolve to hire me a new, sexy flavor-of-the-month coach and then stay out of his busin-- ooh, look! A sexy flavor-of-the-month quarterback! Let's draft him!" (Jerry Jones)
"I resolve not to work for Jerry Jones ever, ever ev-- ooh, look! It's the Cowboys!" (Jerry's next hire)
"I resolve never to recruit another one-and-do-- ooh, look! It's the next LeBron James/Kevin Durant/Zion Williamson!" (Every upwardly-mobile college basketball coach in America)
And last but not least ...
"I resolve not to subject Blobophiles to more pointless posts about my crummy Pittsburgh Pir-- dammit! Why did they ever get rid of Gerrit Cole?" (The Blob)
Or, you know, just say "Ah, crap, it's January again."
In any case, this is the time of year when those of us who love to set ourselves up for failure sit down to make New Year's resolutions.
New Year's resolutions are the best kind of resolutions, because they don't actually ever resolve anything (or hardly ever). Plus, if you break them, there's no real punishment. No one's going to clap you in irons or garnish your wages or make you run laps if you fudge on your New Year's resolution to run laps in 2020. There'll be a momentary twinge of remorse, and then it's on to the dessert you resolved to cut out in the new year.
In this spirit, the Blob presents, not its resolutions, but the resolutions some folks in the sporting world might make before shamelessly break them two or three days in:
"I resolve not to even LOOK at another quarterback, even though Tom's kinda gettin' up there and losing his looks and, you know, not really the Trophy Quarterback he used to be." (Bill Belichick)
"I resolve not to even LOOK at another team, even though Bill's eye is wondering and the magic is gone and I just know he's tomcatting around for his next Trophy Quarterback." (Tom Brady)
"I resolve to hire me a new, sexy flavor-of-the-month coach and then stay out of his busin-- ooh, look! A sexy flavor-of-the-month quarterback! Let's draft him!" (Jerry Jones)
"I resolve not to work for Jerry Jones ever, ever ev-- ooh, look! It's the Cowboys!" (Jerry's next hire)
"I resolve never to recruit another one-and-do-- ooh, look! It's the next LeBron James/Kevin Durant/Zion Williamson!" (Every upwardly-mobile college basketball coach in America)
And last but not least ...
"I resolve not to subject Blobophiles to more pointless posts about my crummy Pittsburgh Pir-- dammit! Why did they ever get rid of Gerrit Cole?" (The Blob)
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