While ripping to shreds just about everything that spills from the directionless mouth of Jason Witten has ever so quickly become one of my favorite hobbies, I'm not about kill him for being blatantly hypocritical as it pertains to how NFL teams treat domestic abuse and/or allegations of such. Take into consideration every hollow, haphazard, and hackneyed expression he's bungled in his short time as Monday Night Football's unintentional comic relief, and it shouldn't be any sort of surprise that he spent his playing days toeing the company line under the "toe on the line" dictatorship of Jerry Jones. The following may sound strange, as Jason Witten's extensive NFL career was predicated on being built farmer-tough, but we are picking on a guy that's woefully incapable of defending himself if we are going to retrospectively hold him accountable for things he thoughtlessly said while trying not to cause a rift in the Cowboys' locker room. As if his Ron Burgundy-esque display of mental processing in the booth hasn't provided enough evidence, Jason Witten might be the most vanilla person/personality on the planet. I bet he's never even swirled his ice cream, never mind stirred the pot. Even in condemning what the Redskins did by giving Reuben Foster a second chance before the paperwork for his failed first chance had been put through the shredder, he basically offered a boilerplate critique of domestic abuse. If you Google'd 'is it okay to beat women?' the very first result might damn well be a word-for-word transcript of his opinion above, so I'm not about stomp my feet and accuse someone that can barely think on their feet of hypocrisy. Now, if his family truly has been affected by domestic violence then he too looks spineless for ever taking on the role of robotic spokesperson for the moral-less serpent that is Jerry Jones, but I can't tell you I expected him to do anything other than speak on behalf of the safety of his own personal circumstances. That's something that we all do more than we'd like to admit, never mind those whose job security is as weak as Jason Witten's sentence structure.
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In retrospect, the only thing that could, should, or would have gotten in the way of seeing what was easily the Devils' most incredibly inept performance of the season coming was blind hope. After emptying the tank to tie things up late against Winnipeg on Saturday, just about every epidemic that has plagued this team was on full display in overtime. Hesitancy with the puck that led to inexcusable turnovers. The ability to make basic defensive principles look like they were only more of an inconvenience than taking out the trash in wasting their own golden scoring opportunities. The Prudential Center might as well have been popped like a balloon when the Jets' tapped home the game winner, because managing to pull one point out of their ass only made the entire building's deflation that much more palpable after they actively found ways not to get two. Considering an opponent that has built off a dominant playoff series in making the Devils look like they are playing an entirely different sport (and doing so in weighted equipment) this season was en route to 'The Rock', a 60 minute pity party probably wasn't all that unpredictable. That said, the fact that those in attendance last night were initially as optimistic as a mortician with seasonal affective disorder didn't make the unrelenting pessimism playing out on the ice any easier to bear. Long story short, the Devils were pathetic. Overmatched would typically be a good way to put...if they had even bothered to show up to the match. What took place last night wasn't even an ass-kicking, because they barely got off the mat long enough to expose their butt-cheeks. The Lightning got them down and kept them down, but in an extremely casual way that highlighted the depressing disparity between the two teams. I suppose it could be best described as a bullying, because they were ready to play the victim in handing over their lunch money before one single fist even got raised. The truth is that Murphy's Law slammed it's unforgiving gavel down on the Devils, and they've responded by gripping their sticks as tightly as they've clenched their assholes as the season has devolved into one long bout of constipation. It's just as much, if not more so, due to trying too hard as it is not trying at all, and it you needed proof of that then look no further than Taylor Hall. The reigning MVP of the entire league was benched during the second period for letting a routine outlet pass that he could have caught in his sleep last year glide helplessly under his stick only to deposited in the back of his net in a way that made all 73 seconds of positivity provided by Egor Yakovlev's first career NHL goal seem patronizing. There's not a doubt in mind he wants better for this team, but even someone who successfully carried them last year has looked like he knowingly took on two too many bags of groceries in mishandling pucks all over the place as of late. I genuinely can't believe I'm saying this, but his prolonged seat on the bench was well deserved, if only because all ten participants on a perfect penalty kill of a putrid powerplay couldn't all fit into it.
Speaking of the powerplay, there might not be an area of the game in which there lack of confidence proved more laughable. Passes to vacated points. Uncontested cross ice feeds that were closer to being caught by their intended target's mouth, hibachi-style, than landing on their tape. While Brayden Point was comfortably nuzzling his way into an abandoned slot to end up on the receiving end of a play that everyone, except the Devils apparently, knew was coming, New Jersey used their time with the extra man as nothing more than an opportunity to get the game two minutes closer to completion. Hell, they may have failed in doing that, as they were so uninspiring that it felt like even time stood still. Because it made for a fitting ending to the same ole' story, I considered the conclusion of the game reached when Steven Stamkos was left alone in his sweet spot to fire an extremely stoppable shot past everyone's favorite scapegoat, Cory Schneider, all of twenty seconds into his relief appearance. I may have gone comatose after that, because I hear they aimlessly whacked the puck around for another 19 minutes and 40 seconds, but almost everything that came prior was the picture perfect outline for a painting entitled 'The Lost Season'. As inevitable as it's starting to look, I personally think they'd live to regret it if shit-canned John Hynes as an attempted quick fix at a foundational problem. However, they better find some sort of footing fast because they are about 40-some-odd long strokes of stupid away from putting it on sale.
10-2 ain't bad. I mean, you can't really complain about a 5:1 success ratio in just about anything other pulling out, so - while I admit that Michael Thomas comes off as salty in this week's spreading of spite on social media - it's a small price to pay for the amount of sodium he's rubbed in the wounds he's opened in opposing secondaries. To the victor goes the spoils, so - considering the Saints' record - the Cowboys were nothing if not opportunistic in mocking the previously unguardable for a performance in a primetime game that was as underwhelming (due in part to the double-team of questionable officiating, for both teams) as that of the rest of his offense...
That said, even when it comes across as sour grapes, the truth still burns bitterly. Therefore, regardless of being in the right place at the right time when Drew Brees tried to toss one into the turf, Jourdan Lewis isn't exactly setting any snap-count records this season. The court of public opinion is one in which statistical evidence comes secondary to the scoreboard, so Michael Thomas is going to have to hold an 'L' off the field just as he did on the field. However, at least he can take some solace in how heavily weighted that scoreboard has been in his favor thus far. He's emptying the entire economy size can of Morton's this season, and only twice has he had to use it to season his pride. He definitely won't settle for those odds, but Saints' fans are more than happy to.
The Devil. It's either that or a lack of a God, and - while I'm not all that religious - I think I'm more inclined to believe that Nick Saban is either Beelzebub in the flesh or his risen representation on Earth. That might sound like a strong allegation to make, but it's basically blasphemous that the college football equivalent of Goliath came from behind to do what they were supposed to do by winning their conference in a way that makes them seem as sympathetic a success story as David. For the second time in as many years, Georgia's cheeks clenched (or they crapped themselves, depends on how you choose to view the management of the wasted lead that led to the foolhardy failed fake punt that sealed their fate) when all that was left to be done was continue what they had already been doing prior to the untimely insertion of a less-prepared quarterback. Yet, the team that's hard to root for once again proceeded to 'Roll Tide' right over them under the leadership of someone who's hard to root against. As have most uninvested observers, I have grown tired of watching Alabama shit-kick the competitive spirit from the bowels of just about every undermanned team they play, and even I couldn't stop my heartstrings from getting tugged by the warm, selfless embrace of Tua Tagovailoa and Jalen Hurts...
In a way that might as well have played out as the perfect sequel to the sick and twisted screenplay that was last year's National Championship game, the consummate villain somehow retained their reversed role in having their victory scripted as heroic. It's a credit to their untouchable talent level that they can bring former Heisman Trophy candidates off the bench in the blink of an eye, but to do so in dramatic fashion that tempts you, if only for a second, to question whether you want them to finally fucking lose for once is either the stuff of Lucifer or it was written in blood on the contract that was made with him. If the following touchdown wasn't proof that Alabama had a horseshoe that could seat more than Ohio State's entire stadium up their ass...
...then the fact that they won under unholy circumstances was solidified by the fact that the victory jerked tears from the undead eyes of Nick Saban certainly did...
When It Comes To The Reason For The Packers' Meltdown, Why Does It Have To Be One Or The Other?12/3/2018
There seems to be two prevailing schools of thought as it pertains to what turned the Green Bay Packers from a perspective playoff team to a punchline about as fast as Aaron Rodgers can lead a miraculous, last-second comeback against a team he has no business in playing from behind in the first place. 1) Mike McCarthy is a hardheaded nincompoop that actively clashed with the one player that could guarantee his job security beyond the inevitable expiration date of his voice in a locker room that lacks talent. 2) That one player has always been an unruly antagonist (code for 'asshole'), which makes him almost impossible to coach when his...::chokes back vomit::..."arm talent" and accuracy isn't at All-World level that's gotten him praised as a superhuman despite having a very mortal resume. So, I guess my question is, why can't it be both? I don't care how many holes may be on the roster. A coach/quarterback relationship can't erode to a point in which the team their tasked with leading defies the odds by losing to an otherwise unworthy adversary at home without both parties being petty in a way rubs off on the rest of the room. Unless Mike McCarthy's play calls were drawn up on one-ply toilet paper using his own feces, they can't possibly be alone in explaining what we saw from the Green Bay Packers in a stadium that is legendary for it's ability to intimidate opponents far more menacing than Josh Rosen. Aaron Rodgers has definitely been done wrong managerially, as his supporting cast has long been mired in mediocrity, but that doesn't mean he's right in how he's handled it. Of course, he's the transcendent talent so his blame doesn't come part and parcel with unemployment, but that's not the point. The point is that the cheeseheads have stunk in a way that could sting the most hardened of nostrils, so the pointing of just one finger ain't gonna cut it. It's not an apples:apples analogy because the following have an incredibly rare, apple-of-each-other's-eye relationship, but Drew Brees and Sean Payton aren't currently competing for another Super Bowl together if the former didn't stand in support of the latter after three straight defenseless 7-9 seasons. With great power comes great responsibility, and Aaron Rodgers certainly had the power to passive aggressively piss and moan his admittedly average Head Coach out of a job. Therefore, stats aside, he has some responsibility in the disastrous run that preempted his dismissal prior to the end of the season.
Perfect. Just perfect. You don't have to like the Seattle Seahawks, the legendary 'Legion Of Boom, or Richard Sherman (in fact, I'm sure they'd prefer it that you don't) to appreciate how well that orchestrated reenactment embodied the attitude of all three. Like, if the wordsmith who once-upon-a-time coined the phrase "you mad, bro?" felt feelings other than angst than his heart would have grown two sizes in watching his former team, led by his good friend, mock his current team with respect to his legacy.
Richard Sherman can say otherwise all he wants, but spite seasoned his decision to jump ship to the divisive division rival he spent so much time torturing, just as spite seasoned a celebration that pandered to his loud and proud personality in being an unprovoked reminder of both his successes and the 49ers' failures. It had the feel of an ex-girlfriend posting an inflammatory inside joke on a social media platform that the new girlfriend was sure to stumble upon. Yet somehow, that seems super fitting of the extremely healthy love/hate relationship that exists between the Seattle Seahawks and the player that served as their venomous mouthpiece while they bullied their way to Super Bowl glory. That recreation of the defensive play that represents an era that was abbreviated by underlying animosity was near flawless in execution, as all it was missing was an emasculated shell of a receiver acting as Michael Crabtree. However, it just might have been more flawless in theory, as it embraced all that the Seahawks were as a team during their short run of dominance, for better or worse.
On one hand, I have it on the good authority of my own common sense that NFL officials get called worse than "bitch" on a bi-quarterly basis. On the other hand, NFL officials aren't having whistles blown at them and flags thrown in their general direction while risking their physical and mental health by actively cutting short their life span in the name of sport, so catching an attitude in "disciplining" by use of profound personal digs is bound to elicit an "enough is enough" style reaction. I'd typically say the league is sure to have some stern words for a player that attacked the tunnel like it was the goddamn 'A' gap in order to offer up a threat to an associative employee that was as clear as it was empty..
...but then again...
All in all, when your job is primarily to stay the hell out of the way while bringing some sense of regulation to a sport that would probably just be considered barbarianism if not for the presence of a ball, I'd say no good can come from explicitly stoking the competitive fire of a combatant who is tending to his wounds. Like, maybe make sure to steer clear of any and all words that so much as rhyme with "bitch", because even that confusion - which there's precedent to believe didn't exist in this case - is liable to instigate the type of blind, instinctive rage that had a professional battering ram sounding like it gave him immediate Alzheimer's...
In the interest of objectivity, I will say that I don't have all that much of a problem with Tom Wilson facing no discipline, other than the match penalty he received, for his wildly unnecessary and entirely avoidable hit on Brett Seney...
That's mostly because it's neither my brain nor my commitment to making the game safer that's potentially compromised every single time him he takes an apparently inalterable stride on an NHL playing surface. However, it's also because it's admittedly tough to give him a 10-20 game unpaid vacation for something that would land almost anyone else no more than two minutes in the sin bin for interference. The truth is, if you remove the nameplate from the jersey on the back of a person who looked to have the lateral awareness of a locomotive then we wouldn't spend more than six seconds talking about his blindsided collision with a much smaller player. Of course, the man who leaves bodies laying lifelessly in his wake at a rate that was only precedented during a period in which the root cause of concussions was celebrated as much as a much more figurative sudden death is not just anyone else. He's Tom Wilson and the only thing that's even comparable to how much benefit of the doubt he's lost is the amount of wages he's lost while refusing to take any real responsibility for his repeatedly reckless actions. Again, I understand that the NHL's Department of Player Safety was basically stuck between a rock and a place that's as hard as one very specific player's skull when determining whether contact that was mostly to the shoulder of a player who returned to the game soon after was deserving of supplementary discipline. However, while they were jammed up in there, I hope they finally came to the conclusion that Tom Wilson is woefully incapable of changing. While in the midst of a career-best scoring streak that, against the type of odds that even Vegas considers stealing, had some people wondering whether the laughable contract he signed in the offseason was as stupid as it seemed on the surface, Tim Wilson STILL couldn't go ever-so-slightly out of his way to avoid clipping the head area of someone who didn't have the puck from behind. During a moment in which the average player would instinctually shift their route to the puck by 7-8 degrees, someone who had nothing to gain, and is well aware of how hot the interrogation light is on him, didn't hesitate to risk his sustained professional success by plowing right on through the back of an oblivious opponent. What other context do you even need to come to the conclusion that he just can't, or willfully won't, help himself? This particular play wasn't as bad as it looked, but the forewarning it provided that - sooner rather than later - the next one (or the next next one) will be is much harder to deny than it is to discipline.
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