Cam Newton wore a Martin Luther King shirt in pregame warmups. But the Vikings D did not embrace the notion of nonviolence. The Bucs vs. Rams game was suspended. Josh Gordon was confused. Did the game smoke pot? The Browns signed veteran QB Charlie Whitehurst. Because when your team is about to surrender, you wave
NFL jokes are back for another year.
A much-needed update.
Editor’s Note: Today’s guest writer is Frank Candor, whose book, Tipping is a Sign of Weakness, was just released. This article has been adapted, with his permission, from the unsaved AppleWorks document on his desktop.” Following Sunday’s Super Bowl, I expected to feel relieved. After all, we’d avoided the nightmare of Cam Newton smiling on a
Niners legend Joe Montana flipped the coin. It’s the first time in two years a decent Niners quarterback appeared at a home game. I feel so bad for all the rich kids with front-row Super Bowl seats who went home without a ball from Cam Newton. What a travesty.
I just flew back from San Francisco, home of Super Bowl 50. And boy, are my arms tired! (From writing that great joke.) I loved it. As a lifelong fan of the NFL, I was like a kid in a candy store. For two weeks, the city was the capital of the football world.
Gambling is great. It can cut through the daunting numbness of life to allow you to feel again, if just for a moment. But gambling can also be frustrating. What are you supposed to do while you wait around to learn the outcome of your wager? This is where prop bets come in. They allow you
Peyton told Belichick this might be his “last rodeo.” I like the idea of a clown coming in to help Peyton get off of the field. A rodeo is a good metaphor. He’s been a Colt and a Bronco. And his last Super Bowl was over in eight seconds.
I’m so happy for Peyton Manning. He played so well, Al Jazeera is launching a full investigation. Tom Brady fared worse in the pocket than a Hershey’s bar.
The subject, bleary-eyed and squinting, rubs at his considerable brow and sits upright. Looking around, he sees nothing but a glinting white. He reaches into his pocket and applies dabs of eye black to his cheeks and monolithic forehead. “Hello,” says a voice, far-off but intimate, powerful yet soothingly gentle. “Howdy,” says Peyton, reflexively turning
