Thursday, November 01, 2007
Draft #207
Big Girls Don't CryBelieve it or not, there are people out there that don't agree with how the Patriots are going about their business this season. These people will tell you that running up the score is classless and not in the best interest of sportsmanship. To the people making those claims, Hucklebuck would like to invite y'all to go fock yourselves. Sports (and competition for that matter) is all about stripping your opponent of his dignity, ripping his heart out and stomping on it until all the ventricles are dry. There is no room for pity and the stadiums in which the games are played are usually fresh out of tear drop absorbent Kleenex long before the final tick on the scoreboard has tocked.
Winners win and are programmed to do so through tireless practice and superior genetics. Trying to pull the reins back on a team built for destruction is a nearly impossible request. Imagine if you will, you are on a ranch and you come across a clydesdale mounting the stuffing out of a steed half it's size. It's smack dab in the middle of breeding season and the smell of heat fills the air like a heavy sweat. Your friend leans over to you and says, "I'll give you $20 if you go over there and try to break those two apart, like a referee in a boxing match." Do you know what would happen if you attempted such an idiotic stunt? That's right, the clydesdale would trample you dead with his incredibly large horse cack before you could even lift your finger to tap it on the shoulder in a timid "excuse me" type fashion.
So to all of you grumblers out there tapping on the clydesdale's shoulder, please just stop, shut up, and go away before you find yourself on the business end of a horny clydesdale's curiosity. The Patriots and the horse are in the middle of something special and they don't need you or any other Johnny Fairplay trying to rain on their parade.
In sports, there is no greater high than that of crushing your opponent's spirit. My sixth grade basketball team was a bit of a powerhouse of sorts, an unprecedented assortment of athletes with a killer instinct and the will to thrive under any set of circumstances. Was it our fault we were placed in a conference with churches that had below average basketball programs? Was it our fault our full court press was executed so perfectly, teams rarely found themselves crossing halfcourt in the allotted ten seconds? Is it our fault we had a couple of coaches who were sophomores in high school that had a strategy with an emphasis on wins and not "player development"? Sure, our reserves rarely saw the court, but what's the harm in that? A wise man once said, "Ya know, the last time I checked, schools don't hand select their dumbest kids to compete in spelling bees so why should our basketball team be forced to put kids on the court that have a below average skill set?" Brighter words were never spoken. That wise man, was the father of one of our coaches responding to the outcry of parents who were complaining about the amount of playing time their child was receiving.
How was our team supposed to respond to an opposing layup line that featured two kids who were barely big enough to physically lift a ball off the ground, a couple of fatties, and a host of nasally four-eyed freaks that weazed so loudly they could be heard over the sound of the scoreboard buzzer? Were we supposed to let them "stay in the game" for a couple of quarters, jeopardizing our chances for victory? No way Jose!! We pressed and pressed until the opposing school's principal literally got out of his seat and raised his hands in the air in the direction of our coach as if to say, "Enough is enough, we get it, your team is great, could you call off the dogs now?"
But our coach was better than that, he just stared coldly onto the court and watched on as his well oiled machine beat the living piss out of a group of kids so uncoordinated they couldn't even organize a game of hopscotch if you spotted them a sidewalk and a multi-colored pack of chalk. Our coach wanted every parent in that gymnasium, their kids, and their kid's kids to remember this game as one of the greatest ass whippings they ever witnessed. We as players did the only thing we knew how to do on a Friday night during basketball season and that was to demoralize our opponent, raise our respective scoring averages, and go home to a never ending supply of Tombstone pizza and RC cola and laugh about the pathetic effort our opponent just put forth.
Sometimes in life, whether it's an NFL juggernaut on the cusp of an undefeated season, a sixth grade basketball team without of moral compass, or a large horse vaginally penetrating a small mare, you just have to let nature take it's course.
# posted by hucklebuck @ 12:00 PM 
