Thursday, October 14, 2004

Charger Love.

Sometimes it's best to expect the worst and be pleasantly surprised. Sure, it doesn't take a great deal of commitment, but guys are supposed to be afraid of commitment. Sunday, vs. the vaunted Jaguars, Our San Diego Chargers sent a clear and concise message to the NFL. "Do not...fuck with us." Pardon my french.

For the second straight week, Drew Brees looked like the second coming of Stan Humphries (I'd say Fouts, but that's blasphemy, and Fouts would have thrown for twice the yardage anyway). I don't know where he's getting his spinach, but please Drew, don't change brands. Or your underwear. Or your socks, just to be safe.

More importantly, it turns out we might actually have a guy who can hold down the fort if- and God forbid- "Super Running Back Extraordinare" (I'm still trying out nicknames. Is this one too ostentatious?) goes down for any amount of time. I mean "The Most Luminous NFL Entity Ever to Take the Field" wasn't exactly running all over the place against the Jags, and here comes "The Guy Who Backs Up the Most Amazing Force to be Reckoned With. Ever", who goes ahead and racks up over a hundred yards and his first regular season NFL touchdown.

Stop it, Chargers! You're supposed to be whipping boys, remember? I know I've tried to remind you plenty of times. For that I apologize, and will gladly offer to take any kind of brutal ass-kicking you all would like to dole out. So come on by. It's me, that one jerk-off from that one reality TV show. Pick any one.

In closing, I'd just like to say, I never doubted my beloved bolts for a second. Bring on the Falcons. Bring on anybody. Hell, get the 94 Niners back together, payback is a bitch!

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