After Denver’s first, second, third, and fourth quarterbacks all went down with the Wuhan Coof, and the Raiders already drafted Air Bud, the team has been forced to make what may be the worst choice it’s ever made: you.
“Hey, what the fuu–wait, where’s this quote going? The Mean Bean Enquirer?? Ah, I’d better clean this up a bit. Hey, what the shucks do we gotta lose? We choose you. Can’t be any worse than what we got now! We was about to let some clown’s Golden Retriever play QB!”
Unfortunately, you likely weren’t watching NFL Network at 3pm on a Tuesday (because you’re not a pre-divorce dad), so you never saw this press announcement. You’re probably just now hearing this! Well, pick up your phone more often, because the coach left you a voicemail, quoted as:
He’ll repeat that to some effect until your voicemailbox is overflowing with pathetic disappointment and you’ll have to join up! Honestly, there are worse ways to spend a Sunday than getting pummeled and dogpiled by twenty-two muscular sweaty guys! Just ask your Mom! Or…me. Because I am your Mom. That’s right, honeybun. It’s me, your Mommy. I hope you’re wearing clean underwear and washing behind your ears. You need to take this spot on the Broncos. I know we’re Raiders till we die, but Mama wants to buy a boat with your big-boy salary, and you know your Father will refuse to buy me one before I take swim lessons and I don’t wanna. Anyhow, I already told those nice young men you’d play their football game, and I told them all about your big arm you had back in your Pop Warner days and I told ’em about your plantars warts causing you to need to sit out of Middle School, JV, and Varsity ball, and how you’re ready to succeed and your warts are all gone! (I know that’s a lie, hunnybear, but nothing wrong with adding some sugar to your syrup!) Alright, go get limbered up. We will all be proud of you no matter how badly you let us down out there!