Life After Football

After two hours, it hits me why I can’t think of anything to write. What is the football equivalent of post-partum depression? Granted, I’ve not recently passed a kidney stone, but there’s a definite letdown now. There’s something about my lust for men crashing into each other that basketball (professional and collegiate) and gay pornography just can’t satisfy. Trust me, I’ve tried, I’ve tried desperately. The groaning and screaming and creams, they do nothing. I already miss football.

But wait, you ask, what about the wonderment and the spectacle of the Pro Bowl? What of it? Fie upon thee I say. You call that football? I call that a waste of time. Sure, a great way to get players to Hawaii, but do I care? Not one whit. There is no cohesion to these all-star units, part of the brilliance of the regular season involves how these teams have played with each other, have gelled, know each others’ tendencies. Tout American football as the ultimate team sport, then throw together individual achievers for a week? I hardly see the point.

Oh right, money.

If you wanted to reward the players, let them go on break. Long season, grinding their bone and muscle into a fine paste, let them recuperate. Don’t continue on, especially when there’s little at stake, besides monetary compensation. Or, increase the bling. Yes, I know there are tens of thousands for each player, but still, if you want this spectacle, make it worthwhile. Put in some crazy incentives for money based on statistical performance, then let them run wild.

The Pro Bowl tends towards excessive scoring, which you would think might entertain. I derive more pleasure out of adding the score in my head than watching it. One of the worst things about the Pro Bowl is watching direct snaps between centers and quarterbacks. You can always count on at least two botched fumbles per side, and quite often more, if the players weren’t on the same team. Familiarity breeds contempt, yes, but it also engenders smooth transitions.

Due to the exacting nature of the football schedule, I know that they could never adopt a National Basketball Association type of All-Star break. Teams loathe offering up their stars for pointless exhibitions; preseason games often limit the quarters, plays that players participate in. Move it to the middle of the season, and not only will some cry foul for those eight teams that garnered what amounts to a two-week bye period, others will refuse to allow their players participation rights. But is it that much better to let them play in some empty shell of a game when people have already stopped caring, now that the Super Bowl has played out?

Hell, you want an All-Star game? Set it up, but make it touch football. Make it a light-hearted event, instead of the mock-serious, full-on joke it is now. Set up rules for either getting the football out after five seconds, or running the ball after five. Make it two hand touch, allow for light blocking, but nothing so serious that the linemen risk injuring each other. Award style points for celebrations on the field, if you must (I call Chad Johnson). Have Al Michaels and John Madden team up as coaches versus Joe Theismann, Paul Maguire and Mike Patrick. Hell, anoint some Pro Bowl cheerleaders to lineup at wideout and pray no one brings a sexual harassment suit.

This would stave off the post-bowl depression, at least for a week. Don’t delude yourselves, and by extension us, into believing that this is a serious engagement. Let it all hang out, go for the gold. If you agree to have some fun and not pretend it is important, I’ll agree to appreciate the crazy scores.