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Let Will Smith of the Future Explain How NFL Football Officially Died in Week 8 of the 2014 Season

By Lord Castleton | Miscellaneous | October 28, 2014 | Comments ()

By Lord Castleton | Miscellaneous | October 28, 2014 |


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We’re past the midpoint of the 2014 NFL season and if one thing is certain, it’s that the league office has been successful in making this sport all about scoring. Even the crummiest, least cohesive NFL teams score more than the characters on HBO’s Girls at an Ibiza ecstasy orgy. They score more than Leonardo Di Caprio at an alternative fuel lecture. They score more than Timothy Dalton at a dimple chin convention.

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Gather in, friends. Come closer. Let us all join hands in the communion of football and picture a future that seems to be pre-ordained. A future where Peyton Manning’s great great grandchildren have vast foreheads, no noses, and throw for twenty seven touchdowns every game.

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Picture a father, pulling aside his young and impressionable son. A quiet talk. A rite of passage between all fathers and sons in the future. He begins to tell him the lore of football, the “ancient game.” Let’s just cast the father first, shall we? How about Dustin Hoffman in Kramer vs. Kramer?

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Nah. Too angsty. Maaaaaaybe Viggo in The Road?


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No, that’s not it either. I need a really amazing father. The kind of father that oozes believability. The kind of father who lays it all on the line for his family. Someone as devoted as Rick Moranis in Parenthood.

But, not, y’know, Rick Moranis in Parenthood. This story has to play in Peoria, baby! I love Rick Moranis like Troy McLure loves Selma & Fresca (is that a problemo?), and god knows both Moranis and McClure have prolific resumes…

…but we need someone with a bit more box office draw. Someone with a track record of big openings. Someone who appeals to “all segments” of the population. Hell, you know what I’m saying. We need Will Smith.

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Seriously? Are you serious? OH MY GOD. Sorry! I mean, I wrote this part for you, but I never thought I’d actually GET you. I mean, you’re the Fresh Prince! Okay, sorry, I’m gushing. Let’s just get into it. You’re a father…

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WHAT THE- SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! I mean, please shhhhhhhh! Ix-nay on the oncussion-cay, alrighty? My hypocritical livelihood depends on-

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What? No! No, boss! PERcussion. Percussion! Me and Will Smith were just talking about Neil Peart.

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Don’t worry. I’m working on something with Will Smith that has nothing to do with the C-word. And it probably doesn’t have very much to do with how the game of football was irrevocably tarnished under your watch.

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You want me to…um…k-

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I can assure you, sir. This website is solidly third class. Possibly second, if you catch their non-football content…

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No! No, I’ll do it. I’ll do it. I mean, it’ll rip my heart out, but I’ll do it. When I think about how much 30 Rock added to my life….I thought I’d never know a money-drunk power-coveting boss-man character I’d love as much as Jimmy James.

Other megalomaniacs came close…

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But Jack Donaghy? Well, he has a special drunken Irish place in my heart.

So obviously, it’ll be tough for me.

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Okay. Deal. You’d better go before he suspects something. Will? Sorry about that. So we were talking about you being a father…

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Uhhh…The Pursuit of Happyness Will Smith? Yeah…um…I’m not sure that’s quite what we’re going for here. I mean, I “enjoyed” watching you sleep on the floor of a public restroom with your kid and all, but-

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Oh! Well, thanks for that, Will Smith, and I really — I MEAN REALLY — appreciate the offer of having Jaden within 10,000 parsecs of this story, but I think we’ll go on ahead without him. And the After Earth Will Smith? How do I put this? That may be the Will Smith we have, but it’s not the Will Smith we NEED.

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Oh god no. I mean, no no no no no. That’s not what we want. That’s like, the opposite of what anyone wants. Listen, dude. Let me break it down for you here. We’re Americans.

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We’re not that difficult to please. We like studs, but we want them to be humble. We love charisma and handsomeness, but we want it to be unpolished and natural. We like everymen. Everymen who are just like us except that they’re way way better looking and cooler and have quippier one-liners and better hair and bravery in the face of certain death and also hearts of gold. And we want them to stay that way. But what happens is that these everymen actually get rich in real life and then they start to surround themselves with sycophants who never say no and they start to believe their own hype and WE STOP RELATING. Let me give you two quick examples of people we loved who ended up alienating us. Here’s a good one. America fell in love with this guy:

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But he decided that he was this guy.


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And that was before any of the racist stuff. Here’s another guy we would have done anything for:

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But then he decided he was this guy:

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And this guy:

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And we were like “what’s wrong with you, you self-important bastard? You should never be in a suit. You should never have a buffed face. You should never get the girl. You were one of us! What happened?”

As a counterpoint, we all fell in love with this broken sonofabitch:

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And I’m pretty sure we’re still in love with this broken sonofabitch:

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And this broken sonofabitch:

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And this broken sonofabitch:

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You see what I mean? Some actors get too big for their britches and some don’t. You get me? America needs the old you for this story, Will Smith. The one we fell in love with.

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No. Absolutely not.

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No.

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…yeah, with a Will. I get it. It’s an idea so smart a turkey might shit it out. That movie was an absolute dumpster fire and the song was even worse. That song makes me want to pay a pair of crickets to live in my ears and deafen me. Are you listening to me at all? Is it just that the Scientology has made you completely lose touch with humans? When is the last time you played a person? Not a superhero or the one person who constantly saves the world or a world famous athlete or a world famous lothario or an elite cop? When is the last time you were just a guy trying to cover his own ass? A guy barely getting through the day, like the rest of us? When is the last time we actually related to you in a role?

Yes! That’s the person we want, Will Smith. That’s the person we need for this story. Put that persona back on and let’s get back to football.

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That’s the feeling of us giving a shit again. Now loosen that tie because you’re in the future. You’re explaining to your son about football. He says “papa, when did football officially die?” and you say that it happened on a day back in 2014.

It was week eight of the NFL season and an unseen force descended on the league, barely noticable, like when you accidently laugh while watching a Jackie Chan movie, and all at once, everyone stopped playing defense.

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And the kid is like “Papa, what’s a defense?”

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Then you say that a defense was a group of men who attempted to try to stop the other team from scoring. For example, if there was a theoretical defense on the field then something like this could never happen:

Or this:

Or this:

Or this:

Or this:

Or this:

Or this:

And then the kid would say, “but Papa, how would these defense stop the offense from scoring?” And the father says, like this:

And the father would go on, and explain that defensive players were often ferocious and handsome and moderately androgynous, like Green Bay Packer Clay Matthews.

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And entire dating websites would spring up around this phenomenon, where men and women would both agree to pretend like they were Clay Matthews when the lights went out.

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It’s more like just a super popular hobby. But the Packers do have some of the best traditions in the league, like when everyone gets together to shovel Lambeau Field. Or my second favorite Packer tradition. Before every offseason practice, kids bring their bikes to Lambeau Field where their favorite players can borrow their bikes to ride across the street to the practice field.

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Oh, that would be the annual Aaron Rodgers Physical Impairment Derby that leads to the Packer Nation Suicide Dance of Breath-Holding. It begins when the Packers phenomenal quarterback gets injured. It happens every year. You can set your watch to it.

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Sometimes it’s a concussion. Sometimes it’s a sprain. This weekend it was a pulled hamstring. But Aaron Rodgers is an incredibly fast healer, so it’s never season-ending. It’s just a reminder about how little they have without him. That’s why he stayed in the game this weekend, even though his hammy was tighter than a Drew Brees spiral. Because that team is nowhere near as good without him. Remember what fake Kyle Orton taught us in week 5?

That NFL backup QB is the best job in the world. Aaron Rodgers was in pain, clearly hobbled, hopping on one leg at times, couldn’t plant properly which affected his accuracy, and they still didn’t call for his backup, Matt Flynn, a man who is making more than a million dollars a season to be professionally crappier than a one-legged man.

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I could be crappier than a one legged man for that kind of money! So could you!

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Thaaaaaat’s great. You know what? I think I made a mistake here. It happens to the best of us. You’re like “I’m an amazing judge of talent! I can take a ruined Will Smith and make him a reborn, awesome Will Smith!” But maybe that’s not in the cards anymore. Maybe I’m too connected to an image of the past and I’m having trouble letting go of it. It’s my fault Will Smith, not yours. I think we’re gonna have to go in a different direction for the father in this story.

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Of course you could, Peter Quinn. You could do anything. But no, we need you out there watching Carrie’s back. What’s going to happen to Saul if you just leave Pakistan? No, I appreciate it, but you’re too important where you are.

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You? Are you kidding? You’re not even an actor! And on top of that you’re so out of shape that I’ll bet your patronus is a sofa.

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No, we really need a much deeper well than you, Sir W. Someone with some real chops. Someone who could convey what the once great sport of football meant to the world, back when there were actually real, live people between you and the endzone. Who’s sharp enough to be that person?

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You’re the one, Khan. You’re the one.

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Well, it used to. I think we just have to wait it out and see how this season goes. Obviously, we’ll continue to put our undying faith in J. J. Watt and hope for the best. In the words of Jonas Salk, “Hope lies in dreams, in imagination, and in the courage of those who dare to make dreams into reality.”

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I agree. Okay, now I’m going to play a clip from Casablanca and as soon as Will Smith starts watching, I need you to sneak up behind him and whack him on the head with this Ray Rice bobblehead.

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Khan, I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship.


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