Famous athletes have to sign hundreds of thousands of autographs during their career. Easily a thousand footballs, jerseys, and pictures of themselves every single year. You would think that for all these charity events, auctions and fans, it has to get tiring signing your John Hancock over and over again. I know I would hate being interrupted at dinner, constantly badgered for my photo or have someone emailing me continuously asking me for donations.
If you want to be dropped on that stack of dimes you call a neck, gimme a Hell Yeah!!!
Everybody has that one hero growing up, whether it is a musician, a footballer, an actor, a character in a cartoon, a superhero or whoever. We all have brilliant childhood memories of these figures that once they spring to mind in the present day – you are immediately taken back to those ‘good ole days’.
Everyone and his brother has given Paul George props for his on-court performance. He’s a 2 time NBA All Star and a franchise player for the team who was the favorite to win last year’s NBA Championship. I don’t need to reiterate the basketball accolades of PaulStar. I need to give him props for the way he’s handled adversity at the age of 24.
The roar of the arena gets into your spirit and you’re forced to join in with a Neanderthal-like shout. You react to the sound of two helmets crashing with the clenching of your teeth and disposition on your face. You just witnessed a man dehumanize another man, and you do not feel in the slightest bit empathetic. What the hell is wrong with you?! Absolutely nothing. You’re a barbarian, and you enjoy nothing more than watching gladiators spar until the clock reaches 00:00.
Our Peyton who art in Denver, hallowed be thy name. Thy passes come, thy will be done, on Earth as it was in Indy. Give us this day our daily touchdowns, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive Irsay for trespassing against you. Lead us all into amazement and deliver us from Brady… Amen.
Ladies and Gentlemen, members of the congregation; today I read to you from the Gospel according to Peyton.
Today, I want to give props to kickball. To the beloved school yard game of everyone’s childhood and the hardcore sport that women in Indianapolis between the ages of 9 and 40 play. Yes, that’s what I said, and that’s what I meant. When people think kickball, they think of the red squishy ball, playing in a grass field and all this wimpy BS. That’s for pansies. And every time someone suggests I join their “intramural kickball league” I have to decline because I can’t bring myself to play fake kickball, I just can’t. REAL kickball, CYO Kickball in Indianapolis, is a girls-only, play on black-top, all out competitive sport where the Catholic schools in Indianapolis have leagues beginning in 4th grade to compete against the other schools in the area for the glorified honor of the city championship title.