ED. NOTE: Gerald is the office psychopath. But he is also a human being. A human being with opinions. Every now and then we see fit to provide Gerald with a platform to express himself.
I’d never watched a football game until this week. (I have come close. Because I am a social guy, every year I accept an invite to a Super Bowl party, only to eat so much spinach artichoke dip during the National Anthem that I have to ask the host where their personal bathroom is because I am going to be in there for 3+ hours and I don’t want to interrupt the flow of the festivities. It’s not weird or anything. I usually make a joke like “do you have a private bathroom that I can destroy?” He usually laughs and walks away but it’s assumed that it’s cool if I camp out in there because of the joke.)
That changed this week. With the news of Adrian Peterson and Ray Rice dominating the headlines for domestic violence, I could not ignore this barbaric game any longer. I was intrigued. I didn’t catch many of the details as I caught a bit of a stomach bug and was in the restroom much of the week, but here’s what I heard:
There’s a league comprised of giant men with violent tendencies, who go around hurting people without consequence. And that’s what they do OFF THE FIELD.
It never occurred to me to inquire what happens in an actual game of football. But if that’s what they do off the field, can you imagine what they do ON THE FIELD?
As a fan of casual violence, I could not resist any longer. I took the plunge and watched a whole day’s worth of the NFL. I’d seen some pretty fucked up things in my life (when I was at the Kansas City science museum I took the “Tornado Simulator” twice so you know how I do), so I set my expectations to “high” and booked it to a bar to check out the action.
So how’d it go? After hearing so much about the violence and the head injuries, let me describe the ways in which I was let down:
-Nobody punched anybody in the face (and there were plenty of women in the stands).
-They’re all wearing armor for some reason.
-There were absolutely zero decapitations.
-What else? Oh, each team had a small white man who specialized in kicking the ball, and despite being half the size of the others and wearing less armor, not one person impaled him with the goal post.
-At one point everyone left the field for 15 minutes for a water break or some bullshit.
-I’m pretty sure one guy hurt his brain and was unconscious for a few minutes, but when I high-fived the strangers at the bar, everyone kind of looked at me weird like I shouldn’t be celebrating and calling my parents to tell them what a great day I had? So let’s just act like that one never even happened.
-I guess a few guys sprained their ankles or whatever. Pretty sure one guy broke his (or her?) elbow, but he was wearing long sleeves so I couldn’t really see it anyway.
I was expecting some real, no-holds-barred violence, but all I got was escapist fare. I saw a bunch of highly motivated athletes doing their best to win games for their respective cities.
And this isn’t the first time I’ve been let down after choosing to indulge in new interests after making the mistake of following the news.
I didn’t start watching golf until I heard that Tiger Woods was sleeping with every girl he saw. Then I turned it on, and he barely had sex with anyone. In fact, nobody has sex with anybody because they separated the men from the women like an orthodox synagogue.
And don’t get me started on the music industry. During the Phil Spector trial I decided that music was something I might enjoy, so I went and discovered the albums he produced. Get this: Nobody got murdered during Let It Be. The only person hurt by that album was me because I skipped a return trip to Kansas City to listen to it.
I have learned my lesson. So, no thank you, NFL. My life is just fine without your deception.