The Magic Carpet

By Larsen B

I am both completely abhorred and abominated at what I read when I logged on to the Sporting News today. It's maybe more about what I didn't read, so to speak, and the void left a putrid taste in my mouth, nose, and an oriface to be named later. All this concocted, conjured drama again... I'm sure you know what I'm speaking of, or rather 'typing' of. I realize that verbiage is just splitting hares (watch your back, Easter Bunny, don't you push me again) but I like to be all properly syntaxed and/or grammarlicious.

In case you've had blinders on, I'm gonna spell it out for you what's been going on right here, right now:

Out of the 10 top news items that fill the homepage of TSN, not ONE of those items is currently about Brett Favre.

Mike Reiss from the Boston Globe on May 10th wrote:

What is it about Brett Favre and his seemingly annual flirtation with retirement or returning to play that turns media coverage of the NFL on its head? Last Thursday, a reporter from NFL Network delivered a live report from Favre's front lawn in Hattiesburg, Miss., and told viewers, among other things, that he watched Favre's wife leave to run errands.

I'm frickin' dying here, omg. OMG! The media is, like, totally slacking... I sooooooo need to know if he wants surgery, does he NOT want surgery, is his bro-mance with Eric Mangini affecting his final vasectomy decision, what's in store for his future- is he gonna co-coach the Colorado Avalanche with Patrick Wah, join the cast of Dancing with the Stars, and if so and they invite his wife- will ABC change the name of the show to 'Dancing with the Favres," does his truck get good gas mileage, when the sun hits just right, can he see the shimmer of my binoculars from the tree branch down the lane, does he change not only his own oil but the filter too, how does he rationalize the extra $10 to get the teatree shampoo package at Supercuts in this economy, when he wipes himself does he fold the TP neatly or scrunch it up into a little ball, has he eaten pork chops since learning of the swine flu epidemic, who's his favorite Jonas brother, why doesn't he return any of my text messages, when he hears the phrase "gung-ho" does he immediately think 'asian hooker,' when he sees the new dos equis commercials does he scoff at how anybody else could possibly be referred to as 'the most interesting man in the world' even if it involves a fictional character in a fictional setting designed and perpetrated only to increase the sales of a second-rate malt liquor, does he use the same diva sparkle spray as I do, does he really wear Wrangler Jeans in real life and if and when they get washed do they get hung to dry on a clothesline that may or may not be within striking distance of a cleverly hidden crazed fan on foot, what does he think of the new Kentucky Grilled Chicken, did he too have a crush on Julie Andrews aka Fraulein Maria upon first viewing 'The Sound of Music,' will he return to football as a Viking, a Brown, a pylon, an Argonaut, a Somali Pirate, how much longer will he stay ambiguously retired and on the last nite before training camp opens this year will he be riding around in the back seat of a white bronco driven by Sterling Sharpe followed by tens of dozens of media vehicles and police lying across the backseat repeatedly pressing the nose of the football against his forehead wishing someone would just tell him what to do?

If I had a dollar for every time I've been there...

I'd still be just as broke, but that's not the point.

I'll tell you what to do, Brett. To quote the mother of Navin R. Johnson, "the lord loves a working man." The economy needs you, Brett, whether it be as a football player, a personal advice columnist in a home decorating-themed magazine, a live bait salesman, a mystery shopper, a lumberjack-ish paper towel icon, whatever....just get a job, man. And you slacker media types better let me know the second he does.

Here's some more drama in my life:

Went to the liquor store earlier in the week to pick up some crisp and cold Canadian brew and they were all out of Labatt's Blue LIGHT. I'm finally down to one freakin' love handle, and now this happens. Nothing accentuates the NHL playoffs like a few frothy beverages from hockey's heartland, so I sucked it up and got the regular Labatt's. I'll just do a few extra crunches, ummm, tomorrow, yeah, tomorrow!

That's it from my sporty camp today. Stay cool, and stay thirsty my friends!

L.B.