In just two short weeks from now, San Diego Chargers General Manager and resident Bad-Ass Cowboy A.J. Smith will sit down in his cozy chair, perhaps with a hearty fire burning. He'll scratch little Nicky Canepa behind the ears and feed him a treat. Then he'll get down to serious business of, as he is wont to do, pontificating the third quarter of this San Diego Chargers football season. I know not what the next two weeks will bring (though I can only imagine), but I assume that thus far A.J. will fondly remind himself of how we defeated the Defending Super Bowl Champion Indianapolis Colts in front of tens of thousands of cheering fans at Qualcomm Stadium. He'll praise our efforts in going into a hostile Jacksonville environment and coming to within a touchdown of matching a strong Jaguars team. He'll tell himself that years from now all NFL quarterbacks will be chicken-winging the football all willy-nilly around the field, and that he'll be regarded as a genius for heralding in the pioneer of the art in Philip Rivers. He'll sell your grandmother to a sweatshop and give your sister gonorrhea. Well, maybe not, but you get the idea. The man is wildly delusional and should probably be put away for his own good.
It gets worse. CJ does not think the Chargers will make it to the playoffs. While I certainly respect that position and I can easily see the logic and reasoning behind it, I have to defer to the major assbaggery that is the AFC West right now (Motto: "I swear to God, we'll send one of these teams to the playoffs!"). We are strongly poised to enter the postseason with a record of .500 or-I shudder to even think it-below. And you're all thinking what I'm about to say, even if you haven't been brave enough to say it aloud. If we make the postseason, and somehow miraculously win a wildcard playoff game, A.J. will stand in front of us and with a straight face declare the Norv Turner era a resounding success. I shit you not, he'll say it, Canepa will ape it, and I will go live under a bridge with my imaginary friends Dan Fouts and Stan Humphries.
The only silver lining here may be that I really can't imagine that we're going to get anywhere near the Patriots again this year, and honestly, who the fuck wants to? That team is stupid good and they pretty much make everybody feel like the Tampa Bay (Devil) Rays when they come to town. Football's not even fun anymore with them in it. Unless you're from Boston. In which case, yeah, you're team is fucking awesome, but you still have to deal with being a dipshit. Quite frankly, I really don't know what Bill Belichek is trying to do. I mean, at this point I have to believe the rest of the league is just about ready to disband, and that would leave Bill and all his boys jobless. Merry fucking Christmas indeed (Fuck your "Happy Holidays!" bullshit. Christmas you fucks!).
Next up, a clash between two teams that obviously played well above their abilities last year and are now making their fans choke on it. Bring it on, Baltimore, we're really going to...err...do something when you come to town. Go Bolts. No, seriously. Like, away. Happy Thanksgiving, go share some pie with a Native American.