From the Crow’s Nest
by CLINT YOUNTS
I believe I have previously written about those loony prognosticators and one crazy Mayan calendar that predicted the end of the world is approaching fast. I also recall being a bit cynical of these soothsayers in past columns, doubting their theories, visions or drug-induced hallucinations. I might’ve even used some unflattering term describing these individuals. If so, allow me to apologize now because after months of research and close observation, I also believe the world we once knew will soon change dramatically, altering the lives of every warm-blooded American.
Thanks to the greed and mulish stubbornness of a few powerful individuals, our world will soon crater around us, creating a void that may never be filled. Men will wander through the streets on Sundays, screaming and crying, not knowing what to do. That’s right, folks, our world is fixing to crumble come September because the NFL season is swirling around the crapper and may be lost forever. Oh, pray it’s not so!
I’m not real sure what all the trouble is over in NFLville, but there’s a lot of squabbling between the greedy players with bulging biceps and bloated bank accounts and the stubborn team owners who have more money than the California state treasury. Players want more money and fewer work days, while the owners want to rule the world. There’s probably several other grievances that I don’t know about, but that’s not the point. Both sides have tons of money, and all they have to do is play one game one day a week. Meanwhile, there are millions of hard-working souls working five days a week, earning less than what Peyton Manning makes during the pre-game warm-ups, who look forward to Sunday just to be able to sit back, drink a few beers and watch football. And now, they may take that away from us.
The last report I got from the negotiations is that nothing has been settled, and no side is giving in. It seems the NFL is heading for a nasty divorce, oblivious to the crying children, wearing their favorite NFL apparel, sitting on the couch with an unopened beer in one hand and an idle remote in the other. What about them? What are they going to do every Sunday afternoon and Monday night? Who is going to get custody of the TV remote?
Most of the world won’t have to suffer through this up-coming, lethargic, NFL-deficient season. Other countries will go about their routine lives, toiling through the work week, then relaxing at home, sipping tea or wine, watching rugby or lacrosse. Meanwhile, here in the USA, men will be flipping through all five-hundred channels on their big screen TV, searching for anything that will keep the wives from asking, “Want to go with me to the Outlet Mall?”. Now, I don’t know how it is in your household, but Maw and I made a pact 20 years ago that states between Labor Day and Super Bowl Sunday, the remote control stays in my Cheetos-stained hands, and there will be absolutely no HGTV or Food Network appearing on the big television during the weekend. I suspect there is a similar treaty in place in most homes here in Texas and perhaps up in Green Bay. If not, there should be.
What will we do this fall on Sundays? What will be our excuse for not raking the leaves or fixing that leaky faucet? What’s gonna keep us glued to our recliner for six straight hours every Sunday? Is it proper to drink beer while watching reruns of “The Waltons”? How can we keep from spending our Sunday afternoons walking down endless aisles at Ikea? Oh, it’s going to be a long year.
Hey, Jerry Jones! If you or any of your money-clutching cohorts are reading this, please, for the love of Tom Landry, stop your bickering! Give in a little and shorten the pre-season. Donate a million or two to the players’ long-term health insurance policy. Open the doors to your stadiums. Help us poor, football-loving guys out! We need the NFL. We can’t live on college football alone. We need our Cowboys, Texans and Titans! If I have to endure another three months of watching houses getting flipped or angry housewives in New Jersey, I will simply go insane. Give me football or give me death!
