In this little corner Roger Pretzel will review his favorite play of the week along with a thoughtful review of what beverage he was imbibing at the time.
Week 9: Mariota Lobs to Fasano for the O.T. Win in New Orleans
I’m pleased that big-ticket rookie quarterbacks Marcus Mariota and Jameis Winston have had exciting first year seasons dotted with as many downs and ups as one might want. I’m a defense minded guy, and there were a ton of great sacks and picks I wanted to select for this week, but sometimes you gotta go for the real-deal highlight. Regardless if it was executed as planned, this one is still a pretty gutsy play call. Granted, the Titans were first and 10 with a field goal given, but you don’t want to give it back to Drew in OT. Mariota bootlegs and even though he throws against his body, the Saints were sold on defending the right side of the field. A real sweet win for the new guy in Tennessee.
Week 9: Human Blood
By day I watch football in the confines of my private sports lair. Thick black drapes block out all light from that hateful star helios, as I sip forbidden nectar from my ornately carved pewter goblet. Night falls splendidly, and I emerge to refill my glass. Know this: I am always hungry, never satiated. I glide over to my personal sidebar only to find my cut-crystal decanter empty. How horrid. How thrilling. I must hunt tonight! I don my black velvet waistcoat. It fits tightly at the waist and broadly at the shoulders just as I like it. It looks especially dashing with my favorite cravat, black navy pants, and shiny leather boots. Finally, I brush out my long platinum hair and apply a touch of rouge to my pallid cheeks. How I wish I could see myself in the mirror before leaving…
At the discotheque, I slide silently amongst the reveling throngs of man-cattle. “How beautiful they are before the slaughter,” I think to myself with a wicked giggle. My heightened senses can feel the amplified pumping of dozens of aortas and the resulting flow of life-wine in time to the music. It kind of gives me a boner, and this DJ is really good tonight.
I request a table and quickly entice some company. They are adequately attractive mortals. One is male, the other female. I order the most expensive bottle of champagne on the menu and do an amazing job of pretending to be interested in the inanities my newfound sheep. My glassy, translucent skin is starting to itch. It’s time to end the formalities.
Me: “Would you two like to come back to my place? I have a terribly expensive wine collection that I unfortunately never get around to drinking.” Of course, they agree.
We Uber it back to my place. I open a bottle of wine but am too antsy to keep the charade up for much longer. As they drink I start to talk about my heroes: Dick Butkus, Barry Sanders, Joe Montana, Dracula…
I strike quickly before the charade can get any more awkward. As I drain the life-essence of my guests, I laugh at the terror in their bovine eyes. Shortly before the male finally succumbs, he sees my collection of Detroit Lions hats mounted on the wall of my sports lair. My eyes meet his in shame.
Dying Male: “You’re a Detroit Lions fan? Good luck, jerk.”
He dies and I drink his blood in cold sorrow. I howl at the moon, shamed.
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