I am speechless. I mean, except for all that follows. Speechless. This lunatic gibbering bubbling out of the NFL front office is just….gibbering lunacy.
I seriously am starting to wonder: is this all a joke? Because it’s not funny any more, Roger. Or rather…yeah, it is. In fact, it’s fucking hilarious. I finally get it. You can’t be serious.
The fact is, we’re going to have to get Mel Gibson to play Roger in the movie, because Goodell is fucking insane. On two counts: first, for overseeing the mental afterbirth that is the league’s case against the Saints; and second, for offering it to the public, for thinking anyone outside of his media harem is going to buy into this mess.
I can say that now, because yesterday the NFL finally released the evidence it had for use at the players’ appeal, in the form of two PDFs (note: these are large files). I’ve gone through both of those, but I should have waited for Dave Cariello’s thorough and sober (I hate that word) analysis. If you have any questions regarding what’s in the PDFs, go see Dave before anything else.
Don’t do this just before driving or operating heavy machinery.
What we’re treated to here is a seemingly random selection of bad graphics, stupid sayings, and truly juvenile rhetoric that can seriously depress your opinion of professional athletes if you think for a moment that they took it seriously. But it’s more than that: it’s also tendency charts, play sheets, and miscellaneous notes on players and schemes: in other words, filler. Remember that stack of 50,000 documents? Well, these PDFs represent the 200 pages the NFL prepared for the appeal, and by my count 163 of them have NOTHING to do with the Saints’ performance pool. They are nothing but padding.
I think if this represents the best of what the NFL had to offer, the actual count isn’t 37 pages out of 200…it’s 37 out of 50,000. I wouldn’t be surprised if some of those other “documents” are empty Juicy Fruit wrappers.
Still: the Saints did have a performance pool; that much is obvious. Thing is, we’ve been admitting that for months. Fine, we did it, get out the paddle. Fine us ten times the money that changed hands and let’s be done with it. Call Sean Payton back and let us get back to the business of kicking every ass in the NFL.
But no can do, because mean words. One chart shows that the Saints had something called “kill the heads.” Whatever that was. Jonathan Vilma led the team in 2010, with 62 of them. Then there were the “whacks.” Roman Harper led this category, with 15 whacks for the season. So…are these bodies on the turf? Did they all occur during commercial breaks? Is Jonathan Vilma the greatest mass murderer in Haitian history? Because I don’t think the guy is getting the proper credit, Roger. Crank up that media machine.
This brings up a very important question: why wasn’t Roman Harper suspended? All those “whacks”? Surely that’s significant. And Malcolm Jenkins, Scott Shanle, Sedrick Ellis, and Harper all had more “kill the heads” than Will Smith, who was suspended. What’s the reasoning here?
It must all boil down to evidence of actual payments for injuries, and that brings us to what will soon be known as The Infamous Transcript. This is—I am not making this up—a typewritten transcription of unreleased handwritten notes. That’s right: the notes were not released. Not even photocopies of them…just a transcript thoughtfully provided by the trustworthy folks at 330 Madison Avenue. Now I know why Jeff Duncan is all googly-eyed at Roger’s sleight of hand: he can type up his own transcript of notes from the Pulitzer committee and award himself a couple of those babies, no questions asked. Because a transcript is the same as real evidence, right?
Seriously, this is like calling a drawing of a fingerprint evidence.
Predictably enough, media whores like Jeff Duncan and Mike Freeman were duly impressed by such evidence. (If we’re blind homers, what are they? Blind homeless? This is better?) To be honest, I’m tired of donating bandwidth to them. Go read the articles if you wish, but I’m not going to waste any more time or virtual ink pointing out the abject, unreasoning pig-ignorance of these semi-anthropoids. I have more pleasurable things to do, like listening to Willow Smith, or shaving with a hayfork.
But I will enjoy casting them in the movie.
Jeez, not even a thousand words and I’ve run out of things to say. Like I told you: speechless.