Finally.
The very best thing about watching my beloved Manchester United Devils beat down the Toffees of Everton, I liked more what was said BEFORE the match even started at storied Old Trafford on a beautiful sunny day in Manchester.
“We have no more excuses if we don’t beat Everton on Sunday.”
That from the mouth of new manager Ruben Almorim.
Talk about refreshing; all I ever heard the entire rule of Erik Ten Hag was excuses.
Not the right players; I need to pick my own players.
Injuries were at fault.
Everything was everyone or everything else’s fault that United fell to their lowest depths in their entire Premier League history.
The same “no excuses” attitude was on display Saturday as my also-beloved Fighting Irish of Notre Dame qualified for the upcoming College Football Playoff which starts in three weeks.
“We can’t recruit vs the deep-pocket schools.”
“We are limited in recruiting because we don’t accept junior college transfers.”
“We don’t have a conference championship game.”
Blah blah blah.
Shut the fuck up.
We’re in.
Now it is up to the committee to decide after next week’s conference championships exactly who will be seeded where for the final twelve teams to play for the national championship.
We almost screwed the pooch when we lost early, but credit the boys and the staff for running the table and positioning themselves for a first round home game.
ND stadium will be rocking.
Now all you have to do is win three games.
Right.
I have never been a make-an-excuse-for-everything-that-goes-wrong kind of guy. I am, if nothing else, totally accountable for my actions. And since I am so quick to self-condemn, I am also conversely quick to accept the accolades and rewards of effort.
The latter can be very annoying, as the Domestic Despot might intimate if pressed.
Try this.
The next time you are faced with a decision to make concerning fault, first ask yourself: Could it be MY fault?
Then, just for shits and giggles, ask yourself after assigning blame: Who cares?
Boom.
Maddogg did it again.
From my book EMOTIONS: Not your Mama’s ABC’s!
Halftime
The first half could not have gone any worse for the Spartans. They were on the receiving end of an all-out ass-whipping at the hands of the Tigers. The score was 35-0 but it could have been much worse. The players filed into the locker room and you could hear a pin drop when the coach followed them in and slammed the door behind him.
“You are the worst excuse for a football team I have ever seen! Don’t you have any pride? You are playing like a bunch of losers! Are you losers? By the looks of this first half, I would say absolutely yes. You are the most pathetic group of losers I have ever coached. You make me sick. No blocking, no tackling, and no energy. Why don’t you just fucking quit?
Bill, what a stupid play you made giving up that touchdown when you could have just wrapped their halfback up in the backfield. You’re slow, stupid, and a waste of skin! Pat, you call yourself a quarterback? My dog shits better quarterbacks than you! Henry, I hope you jack off better than you block, or you are in for a shitty life. Richard, I wouldn’t cross the street to piss on you if you were on fire. You’re not worth my, or any of the other coaches’ time. Quit fucking around and run the football like we taught you. Gentlemen get your heads out of your asses, or I’ll kick your heads up so far, you’ll never be able to pull them out. Your play in the first half makes me want to puke.”
The coach looked at his starting linebacker Matt Johnson who also had a rough first half. Matt raised his hand.
“Don’t you fucking move Matt. You are a pussy. My own daughter can hit harder than you. You are a piece of shit. Now I’m not asking you, I’m telling you.
You are going to play hard in the second half and don’t even think about quitting! I will run you into the ground at practice on Monday and if you don’t show up, consider that your resignation from this football team. Now get your fucking lazy asses back out there.”
As the players sulked their way back to the slaughter, linebackers coach Ed Steen approached the head coach.
“Coach, pretty rough halftime speech. Think it might’ve been a little too much?”
“Not rough enough in my opinion, Coach. Why?”
“Well, because this is Pop Warner and they’re only eight years old.”
*****
Stay well.
