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WITHOUT Commercial Interruption
The scene is the press room at Redskins Park in Ashburn, Virginia. What, you thought you were about to get some Tolkien deal? Listen, pally, in My Media Market, there are only two stories today, and one of 'em is just that we should go buy bread, milk, toilet paper, bottled water, batteries, and liquor, because there might be a snow flurry sometime in the next 24 hours. But the other story is the real big one, The Second Coming, known in more secular circles as The Return of the King. And since My Media Market is the Capital of Your Little World, that country we like to call Not Canada (we assume, as we always do in our heinously arrogant but it's kinda cute, right? Way that you're not one of those unAmerican types), I think this needs to be your story too.
A small man comes to the podium. He is the owner of the Chesapeake Watershed Region Indigenous Persons, an actual football team in the National Football League, a team that you would, if you hadn't already heard me some other locals babbling on about this for the last 48 hours, recognize by its burgundy and gold coloration and its recent, by which we mean well-past-decade-long and still counting, tendency toward extreme suckage. The owner's name is Cliched Irish Ballad. He was, until yesterday, also known as Lord Voldemort.
Cliched Irish Ballad: Okay, so as you all know, we…
Entire Washington Press Corps : (Foams at mouth) Shut up, Folksong Boy. Did you do it? Is it true? Has He returned?
Cliched Irish Ballad: Stuff it, ya hosers, eh? It's my ball, right? So it's my show, right?
Entire Washington Press Corps : (Cowed) Yes, Lord Vol…er, Mr. Ballad.
Cliched Irish Ballad: That's more like it. So as you all know, we machine-gunned Dobby the Elf and got him to voluntarily look like he did it himself. So we—and when I say "we," I mean me and my incredibly tall and leggy and unnaturally blonde wife Tonya, who is not in any way a former stripper or masseuse—needed a new plaything, and I figured, "Why not my boyhood action hero?" And so, I introduce to you, ladies and gentlemen of the cowed and fawning Entire Washington Press Corps and all of you public little people who are out there absorbing this on your televisions and radios, the head coach and Uberreichsfuhrer of the [ed. note: Chesapeake Watershed Region Indigenous Persons], Joe, Jesus El Senor Christo Super Mayamaya Jefe Gibbs!
Entire Washington Press Corps : Ooooooohhhhh….aaaaahhhhhhhhhh….slurp….
The Messiah : Thank you, thank you. I'd like to introduce my family, Pat and Coy and JD and their wives Mary and Heather and their children Aesop and Gretchen and Cain and Abel and Joe Jesus El Senor Christo Super Mayamaya Jefe Gibbs II and little Tiny Tim. We're just superexcited to be bringing you the Rapture, and we know that we're going to have to work very hard to make it happen. And that's why I've hired for my coaching staff this guy who just got fired from the Bills, and both of my sons, and the only two guys who used to coach for me and aren't dead, and Joe Bugel, who used to coach for me and is…what's that word…oh yeah. Undead.
Now we know this is going to be tough sledding because we're in a tough division and our entire team is composed of 300-pound primadonna ballerinas. Except for that immobile lump of turkeyturd that some call our quarterback, but who we prefer to call Patrick, You Dirt-Eating Jacka$$, Get Yourseff Off the Darned Turf Again. And for that other quarterback…what's his name…that Filarski kid…
So yeah, it's a tough division. We got that guy up in Philly, the Human Cheesesteak…Porky…geez, why can't I think of his name? And the new guy up in New Jersey…what's his name…new guy…and then The Tuna. Lord knows it's tough to make Tuna salad, heh heh.
Which reminds me, the first time I did one of these, I really sucked. But then I won y'all three Super Bowls, so you didn't really care in the end. Remember? Three? Super Bowls? See the ring? Well, you can't see it, because I didn't wear it, because I’m trying to be humble here, but trust me, that's a pretty good secret decoder ring you get when you win Three of them puppies. Three. The number after two. Super Bowls. Three.
And speaking of those, I've brought along, for no reason other than to give you warm fuzzy nostalgia, a bunch of guys who played in those Super Bowls, including the Incredibly Huge But Loveable and Soft-Spoken Offensive Tackle Who Is Now a Local Hero, and the Guy Who Was Famous Back Then Because He Was a Black Quarterback But Shoulda Just Been Famous Because He Was Pretty Darned Good and Sure as Heck a Lot Better Than the Drunken Fvck He Replaced, and the Drunk Quarterback Who Went To a Really Heinous University and Then Played for the Bloody Iggles, But Then Redeemed Himself By Being the Greatest Local Hero Since Sammy Freakin' Baugh and Is Now a Slave to the Local Press Establishment. Who never played for me, but you people are sluts for him, so I figured it couldn't hurt.
Now I'm going to tell you some goofy and meaningless and really not very funny story about the Offensive Tackle and using it to work in further references to my over-the-top religiousity.
And then I'll just repeat the last six paragraphs for about 45 minutes, using the word "super" a lot, and then I'll take your questions.
(The Messiah repeats the last six paragraphs for about 45 minutes, using the word "super" a lot.)
Famous Sports Columnist for the Washington Fence Part Who You Know Because He's on That Big Freakin' Sports Channel Show "STFU, I'm Going To Talk Over You Now" and Whose Name Sorta Rhymes With That Sweet Roll Store at the Mall, Who Is Actually a Fairly Giant-Sized Jacka$$, According To My Office Mate, Whose Best Friend Used To Date Him Until He Gave Her Some Unspeakable Disease or Something: I forgot what question I was going to ask because Landru's introduction was so over the top and brutally libelous.
The Messiah: (Repeats paragraph four.)
Famous Smarta$$ Sports Columnist for the Washington Fence Part Who You Know Because He's on the Same Show as the Last Guy and Because He Thinks He's Dave Freakin' Barry But Sure Nuff Ain't: Coach…is it okay if I call you Coach?
The Messiah: (Repeats paragraph five.)
Columnist for the Washington Fence Part Who You Might Know Because He's a Really Good Baseball Guy Who Should Pretty Much Stick to Baseball: Do you think sabermetric analysis will ever get the attention it deserves in the football world?
The Messiah: (Laughs nervously and way too loud. Uses the words "super", "hard", and "work" in every possible permutation, then trails off.)
Totally Not Famous Columnist for the Washington Lunatic Fringe Who You Absolutely Don't Know: Why have you rejected the teachings of the Reverend Sun Yung Moon? Will you marry me in a mass ceremony with the rest of my paper's newsroom? Did you know that when Clinton was President, he got blowjobs?
The Messiah: (Looks confused.)
Famous Chick Columnist for the Washington Fence Part Who, In My Humble Personal Opinion, Really Kinda Needs to Be Slapped Around a Bit, But Who Writes Pretty Good Anyway and Seems to Know Almost As Much About Sports As My Sports-Smart Chick Friend Bebo and Who Put Out a Pretty Good Novel and Whose Daddy Put Out a Few Really Good Novels: Are you going to give Pat and Tonya any say in personnel decisions, or are you going to stick to the same old tired genderific hierarchy?
The Messiah: Pat? Honey?
(Crowd members speak:
Person in Crowd #1: Joe El Senor Gibbs healed my cancer!
Person in Crowd #2: When Joe Jesuchristo Gibbs touched my grandmother, she cast aside her walker and entered the Marine Corps Marathon!
Person in Crowd #3: Life really sucks since I had to give up bacon, egg, and cheese biscuits. I wonder if this guy can clear my arteries.
The Messiah: Okay, I'm gonna go look at film now, cause we gotta go beat us some Tuna.
(All channels return to regular programming, which, at the time this aired, consisted of national news programs entirely pre-empted by this press conference…)
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