We’re nearing the midway point of the 2009 NFL season, and here in Philly it’s been another painful ride thus far thanks to McNabb and the Eagles.
Fortunately for area folks, Jimmy Rollins and the South Philly Bombers (Motown) will soon be squaring off against Derek and A-Rod’s Big Adventure (Summer’s Eve) later this week in a ‘roid battle of the bats. This World Series will either end with Philly burning because Philadelphians are happy about the team repeating, or NYC burning because Philadelphians are happy about the team repeating or mad because they lost to the Yank-these.
I don’t hate McNabb. I really don’t. He and his mother are not only responsible for getting me to eat Campbell’s Soup, but to also consider the idea that sometimes a pro QB –who pukes in big moments, sits on the sidelines more than a husky kid on a track team and throws more bad passes than a drunk frat boy–that sometimes a man needs his mother’s teat to help him through the bad times life.
As a matter of fact, because of how his legacy is sure to be remembered I’ve come to consider McNabb the “Condom Quarterback”.
What’s a “Condom Quarterback” you say?
Allow me to explain.
The Kids Don’t Get It Explains How Donovan McNabb is a Condom:
- In my early, randy college days, my friends and I went everywhere with a condom in our pockets. Parties, professor office hours, bars, dorm meetings, keggers, the dining hall–we were ready. The condom stayed in the pocket , because, well, that’s where it needed to be. But then, when the “time” came, it was never really effective–you’re suddenly making a mad scramble to get it, fumbling with it, palms sweaty, teeth gritted…and so, something was always lost when it was probably easier just having it out of the pocket. And sometimes, because it’s been in the pocket so long, when it does come out, it looks a little old and worn. I mean, that condom’s been in the pocket for a long time now–and really, you’ve only let it stay in your pocket at this point only because you’ve had it for so long, and at this point, you’re determined to see it finally get used–even if it means it might not really be any good anymore and may well break at the big moment. And now, presto, it’s like 9 years later and you’re the dad with the crackhead baby that everyone associates you with– you know, like Andy Reid with Donovan, or Andy at the family dinner table. That’s Donovan.
- Like a condom, Donovan’s almost like sensation of the real thing (like say the Manning boys)–but falls just a bit short.
- If it’s on, someone’s sure to be getting f-cked in the next 48mins.
- His arm: I mean, sure, we’d all like for that arm to be magnum-sized, but really, who are we fooling? It’s pretty average.
- Might score a lot, but ultimately doesn’t produce.
- …with all that being said, the condom’s still the safest, surest bet man’s got to date. Better than the pump-and-pray method (Kolb). Better than just trying to do it yourself (Westbrook). And it’s certainly still better than going raw dog (Vick).