Showing posts with label Trubisky. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Trubisky. Show all posts

Sunday, October 28, 2018

Bears vs. Jets: 10-28-2018


Des: Welcome to another edition of the Chicago Bears football pre-game show. The Bears continue their campaign against the AFC East after a tough overtime loss against the New England Patriots. Will the Bears be able to defeat the Jets with a couple of minor adjustments? Or will the Bears need yet another changeover of managerial staff and philosophy, somehow revolving around Ishikawa fishbone diagrams, quality control circles, and layer upon layer of Myers-Briggs surveys?

To answer these and similar questions is our panel of experts: Concord Wainwright Peabody, Captain Silas Charles “idea shower” Red-beard, Modre- the trans-logical guru, the Prissy Minion, Sally McChesty, and special guest tailgater, Drunky McDumbAss.

Redbeard: ARRRH, mateys! Me idea showers are always showers of pure gold! And, if that joke be not blunt enough for ye, mateys, consider this joke: Bears special teams! The Patriots scored two special teams touchdowns, leaving Chicago’s dreams of victory naught but a smoldering pile of ashes not unlike the end result of me every engagement against the British Navy. Curse ye to the darkest depths of Davey Jones Locker, Admiral Nelson!

Des: Thank you, Captain. I’ll pick dirty Beret del Mundo to block.

dirty Beret: Over the rivers of molten cobalt and through the woods that surround a Chinese labor camp to Grandmother’s hovel of unending alienation we go. The horse knows not the way to guide the once proud matriarch to a nightmarish cylinder of ersatz interaction with one’s abandoned spawn. Thus singeth the tuneless overlapping denizens of Charlie Brown’s parents’ station wagon as they hurtle, unrestrained by flimsy seat belts and the three to four panel sense of foreboding that permeates every 1950 to 1970 Peanuts comic strip, to the You Tube studios of this horrific dystopian alternate universe remake entitled For What Should We Be Thankful, Please Tell Me, Charlie Brown? And, yet, be this truly an alternate universe, or merely an uncovered layer of this world we wish we had never made?

Des: At last, dirty Beret, you have accomplished what no one asked for, or wanted: A bridge between the overt horror of Halloween and the covert horror of Thanksgiving. Concord Peabody. You have some grumpy advice for Bears viewers?

Concord: Look on the bright side, Bears fans: If the Bears suffer a mid-season slump, we can entertain ourselves with mindless mumblings of some random White Stripes song, like Dodger fans do.

Des: Circle gets the square. I’ll choose Drunky McDumbAss for the win.

Drunky: Irish Mist enfoggens my noggin!

Des: Isn’t Irish Mist a little pricey for you, Drunky?

Drunky: Not if it’s homemade Irish Mist from Ellie Mae McGillicutty, which I’m led to believe is actually Early Times Whiskey with crushed Honey Comb cereal stirred in.

Des: As you would expect, the Prissy Minion inhabits the center square.

Prissy: Des, you’ll always be my secret square. Or the Secret Squirrel to my Morocco Mole.

Des: Now I remember why you were banned from the show

Prissy: Oh, Des, just because I can’t shower you with praise the way Joe Buck does when he talks about Clayton Kershaw doesn’t mean I can’t recognize the enduring genius of a cultural icon who once wrote, “There’s no other place like the world/There’s no other place I’d rather be/There’s no other place like the world/So sit right back and take it away from me.” You can run from your cultural legacy, like Trubisky, or you can stand in the pocket and throw it for a touchdown.

Des: Or, like most Bears quarterbacks, I can throw it into the end zone, only to have it intercepted. Prissy, this may be the only time you have ever referred to football in this football pre-game show. Congratulations! Doctor Sally McChesty. What are your thoughts?

Sally: Apparently, I’m supposed to be the angry feminist stereotype on this show, and I’m going to rant about how Rose Byrne started as a feminist icon on Damages, but has now been reduced to a beleaguered wife in a series of cookie cutter comedies. How is that supposed to be funny?

Des: It’s not. It’s supposed to fulfill the third part of our show’s charter: “It’ll make you laugh, it’ll make you cry, but, most important… it’ll make you think.”

Sally: Uh, actually, that’s the slogan for Archie Andrews at Riverdale High, the Archie title that desperately tried to tackle the social issues facing the troubled teens of the 1970s and 1980s. It kept me from drag racing. End transmission.

Credits: the “Drunky McDumbAss” character was created by my cousin Jeff, whom I wish were here to make his creation funnier. And a million other way more important things.

Saturday, November 4, 2017

Bears vs, Packers: 11-12-2017

Des: Welcome to another edition of the Chicago Bears football pre-game show. The Bears face off against the Green Bay Packers, in what is still somehow the greatest rivalry in football even though the Packers record against the Bears has been 38-18 from 1990 onward. Will the Bears take advantage of a team weakened by the loss of their blandly charismatic leader? Or will Chicago fans continue to invest their hopes and dreams in a dismal quarterback despite all evidence to the contrary?

To answer these and similar questions is our panel of experts: Concord Wainwright Peabody, Captain Silas Charles “Papa John” Red-beard, Modre, the trans-logical guru, the Prissy Minion, Doctor Sally McChesty, Drunky McDumbAss, and our washtub-strumming Sage of the South, Ellie Mae McGillicutty.

Redbeard: ARRRH, matyes! I have awakened from me Kraken-esque slumber to announce me “Chum Bucket of the NFL”, the one team that will fail to win a single game this season. Although both the Cleveland Browns and the San Francisco 49ers both deserve this “honor” with their 0-8 records, ‘twill be the 49ers that will ultimately fail to celebrate a single win this year, thanks to the “Kaepernick Curse” which has been placed upon them. These curses are well-nigh impossible to shatter. Just ask the Washington football team, although I think I painted far too broad a stroke with that particular curse, having afflicted the entire NFL East with mediocrity at best, with the exception of the Philadelphia Eagles, whom I foresee playing against the New England Patriots in a Super Bowl that no one will watch after everyone with the tiniest bit of political awareness decides to boycott the NFL, even though sports media will desperately try to drum up interest by casting the Eagles-Patriots matchup as a metaphor of the eventual 2020 contest between Donald Trump and Deval Patrick. I won’t say which team represents which candidate, but I think everybody knows.

Sally: That’s a grim, uh, vision, I guess, of the future of football.

Redbeard: Aye! But, wait! There be more forebodings of even more future evil: Having destroyed football, television, social media, Civil War re-enactments, pizza, and both Star Trek and War (somehow), it be only a matter of time before President-for-life Donald Trump destroys all remaining American institutions: rock music, Coca Cola, the American automotive industry, and apple pie.

Sally: Do you really think Donald Trump will be “President-for-life”?

Redbeard: Well, president for the rest of Drunky McDumbAss’s life.

Drunky: Hey, wait a minute…

Sally: What about NASCAR and country music? Aren’t those American institutions?

Redbeard: Sure, but not in a good way.

Sally: Your Chum Bucket pick came really close to coming to fruition last year with the Browns… they only won one game and were the worst team in the NFL.

Redbeard: Aye, me beauteous maiden, whom I totally will not ask to hold a Microsoft Tablet whilst I view a replay to decree whether Kaepernick’s knee hit the ground before he broke the plane of American awareness of difficult racial issues.


Sally: That’s good, because you’re one hammock misadventure away from being the aquatic Harvey Weinstein. Sit back and watch, sports fans, as the Bears play in a game in which your awareness of the outside world will slowly creep back into the periphery of your consciousness during every prolonged replay review.