Lions Lose The Mock Draft, Chaos And Stupidity Ensues

 The Lions Fan Ghetto on Friday Night

I’ve been letting stray thoughts sort of coalesce into something useful before I wrote this but everything is still sort of a seething mass of inanity and so if this just comes across like a formless rant, the wild eyed gibbering of some deranged street preacher with a head full of acid and a heart full of hate, well, then forgive me.  But goddamn, man, just . . . goddamn.

Anyway, I suppose I should start at the beginning.  Yes.  The beginning.  That’s always a good idea in situations like these.  Christ, I feel like I’m either giving a statement to the cops or addressing a support group for the criminally insane.  But that’s sort of how I feel at the moment, so I guess it’s okay.

Okay, right, the beginning.  Everything started fairly innocently enough.  I mean, I have a weird love/hate relationship with the draft.  Well, maybe it’s not so weird when you consider that there are a lot of people out there like me who understand where I’m coming from.  At least I hope so or we are doomed as a species.  I love the draft because it gives me a chance to see my team acquire fresh talent, new names, new faces, new stories, new . . . everything.  It is a time of great hope, of possibility and the grandeur of dreams in their innocent youth.  I also hate the draft because people are annoying and I hate them and I want to go stick my head in an oven.

Perhaps I should elaborate.  The thing is, is when the draft rolls around everyone and their drunk uncle thinks that he’s an expert.  Everyone has their little mock drafts, everyone thinks they know – note I said KNOW, not HAS A VAGUE IDEA – what their team HAS to do.  It’s become a terrible thing, rotten and stupid.  I know because I used to be sort of a mock draft junky myself – note I didn’t say a draft junky, I said a mock draft junky.  Big difference.  I used to pore through all the lists, see who was projected where and when and form Ideas and Thoughts and Beliefs and then Ideas and Thoughts and Beliefs turned into Convictions and Convictions turned into They Have To Do This And This And This Or Else Everyone Is An Idiot and then that turned into senseless hair pulling and wild gibbering because my team didn’t win the mock draft and goddammit, this shit is important you guys.

Except not really.  But I’m getting ahead of myself.  Let’s back up a little bit.  Okay, so prior to the draft this year, I did a senseless thing and decided to livetweet the draft – yes, that’s actually a thing now, stupid as it sounds.  Naturally, this led to me getting completely out of control and getting thrown in Twitter jail – also, actually a thing (well, sort of anyway.)  Basically, I was given the equivalent of a live microphone – always a dangerous thing – and I went fucking wild, saying every goddamn thing that came to mind until Twitter sent some dudes in with white coats to take my mic away, slap a straitjacket on me and escort me from the building.  Somehow, this ended up with me doing the Twitter equivalent of riding around in a jeep a la Hard Harry in Pump up the Volume so the authoritahs couldn’t triangulate my position.  I continued covering the draft this way through most of the rest of the night, surrounded by only a few dedicated friends and followers.  Honestly, it was probably the most Armchair Linebacker way the whole night could have gone down.

So, anyway, the only reason I relate all that nonsense is to explain that things were already chaotic and entirely too stupid and the Lions hadn’t even made one goddamn pick yet.  In retrospect, it was a powerful omen for the rest of the weekend.

When the Lions did finally pick, miraculously everyone seemed pretty happy with it.  Building consensus amongst a fanbase is fucking impossible – as the rest of the weekend showed – and so we should all take the relatively sanguine way we collectively handled the Riley Reiff pick as a good sign.  Or maybe it’s a bad sign given that by the time the weekend was over we proved that we were incapable of the basic thought patterns which allowed our ancestors to move, knuckles scraping, from the trees to the savannas many moons ago.

But that is what my high school English teachers would call “foreshadowing” before they sank into their chairs at the end of the day and drowned the stark, naked horror of their reality in a flask of powerful spirits.  Anyway, the pick happened and we behaved like gentledudes and lady-gentledudes (gentleladydudes?  I’m getting confused by my own lexicon here.  Help me out.)  all shaking hands, smiling, patting each other on the back and saying shit like “Good show, old bean,” and “Let’s play cricket on the morrow before retiring to an evening of brandy, poetry and sexual repression.”  It was a civilized night – my shameful jailing notwithstanding – and it led to some high hopes for the rest of the weekend.  Of course there was some minor grumbling, some harrumphs about David DeCastro and some slight nail biting and flop-sweat about the Lions not taking a defensive player, but all in all Lions fans were remarkably well-behaved, almost like they – gasp! – dared to trust Martin Mayhew and the gang.

And then Ryan Broyles was picked on Friday night and all hell broke loose.  The gentlemen from the night before were suddenly beating each other to death with their croquet mallets, the ladies were wielding shotguns filled with hate and anarchy, dogs began howling and packs of raving lunatics began loping through the courtyard, hooting like feral apes, knuckles scraping, throwing their feces at anything and everything, the gentlemen dropped their now bloody croquet mallets and began dabbling in cannibalism, effigies of Martin Mayhew were hastily constructed and then burned by the naked and the damned and the whole world burned while the savages worshipped the fire and spoke in primitive grunts about the end times.

Somehow, I got caught up in all of this and much to everyone’s shock, tried to keep the peace.  It was a futile effort that left me battered and embittered and I spent much of the rest of the night naked, hiding in a cave, prepared to beat the savages to death with their own leg bones.  I think my role as The Voice of Reason actually shocked some people back into civility and rational thought.  I mean, if I was the one telling people to chill out and take a few deep breaths before getting wild then maybe, just maybe, shit had gotten a tad too out of hand.

It wasn’t even the disagreement or trepidation with the pick, it was the instant reversion to LOL JUST LIKE MILLEN THE LIONS WILL NEVER CHANGE AMIRITE shit that was so awe-inspiringly stupid and mind-meltingly maddening.  Let’s get that out of the way right fucking now, okay?  This is not about people not liking the pick.  I can talk to you guys.  Hell, I did talk to you guys.  There was disagreement and there was some sarcastic poop flinging done by both sides but in the end, we all remained relatively rational and sane people, all hiding in the same cave while the savages tore the rest of the world apart.

It’s those goddamn savages who ruined everything and to them I say this – fuck you.  Fuck you, fuck you, annnnnd fuck you.  These are the idiots who just wallow in their own misery and complain just to complain.  It was insane.  After the Lions picked Broyles, they went from criticizing the pick to inane vitriol about how the Lions draft strategy is terrible and about how Mayhew and the gang are worthless shitheads with no understanding of anything beyond the mechanics of spooning applesauce into their mongoloid heads.  Suddenly, Mayhew and Schwartz were drooling idiots who had to wear special helmets every time they tried to brave the outside world.  It was stupid and deranged and it left me wanting to roam the halls of MLIve with a shotgun and an ether rag.

I am not a man easily stunned.  I pride myself on my ability to see this shit coming and prepare accordingly.  But even I was shocked by the sheer level of hyperreactive insanity which took hold of Lions fans.  All facts were ignored.  All positive momentum obliterated.  To these ingrates, we were suddenly back in the dark days of 2008 and we were all wailing like idiots on the cracked floor of hell.  I guess I knew that these people existed – hell, I have made a habit of browbeating them and mocking them here so I definitely knew about them – but they existed as sort of a mutant subculture, easily ignored because they were just too stupid to worry about.  They could sit in their tiny little cells and bleat like idiots, gibbering about THE SAME OL’ LIONS HUR HUR HUR because I assumed most of us had gotten past that.  I mean, after all, 0-16 to 2-14 to 6-10 to 10-6 kinda speaks for itself, doesn’t it?

That’s the thing – the argument against these jackasses is so self-evident that there is almost no need to even make it.  Anyone insisting that the Lions are still the same ol’ Lions, no different than the Millen-era Lions, are clearly living in some bizarre fantasy land in which they get off on their own masochistic ravings, jerking off like lunatics to their own pain, whipping themselves because they have become so twisted and perverted by the years of pain and chaos that to them their own misery has become its own kind of twisted joy.  They live to bitch because, to them, that’s what being a fan means.  It is an outlet for their own stupid rage.  Rather than beating their wives and shotgunning their children to death in their own cribs, they sit at a keyboard and bitch about the Lions because that’s the only outlet for their misery.

Fuck them.  I’ve had enough of their bullshit, with their self-indulgent tripe.  These worshippers of The Fear are a fucking barnacle on our ship and we need to start scraping them off.  Again, this has nothing to do with being critical or wondering if the Lions should have done something else.  This has to do with the assholes who refuse to take one goddamn honest look at the situation and spend their time doing nothing but bitching and moaning and shitting all over anything and everything because they are stuck in a perpetual misery machine powered by their own bile, a picture of Matt Millen plastered in front of their eyes, eyes held open like in Clockwork Orange, while their brains turn to mush and their hearts to ash.  They will never be happy because happiness is antithetical to what they get out of their fandom.  Fuck them.

Every single one of those assholes will read this and gibber on about me being a Kool-Aid drinker or some other horseshit like that, conveniently forgetting that I am not exactly known as Mr. Sunshine myself.  Hell, prior to 0-16, I was the only dude sitting here telling everyone that we were headed for chaos and disaster while everyone else was gibbering on about the playoffs and about Rod Marinelli finally being the right man for the job.  I am not afraid to criticize.  Hell, I am not afraid to outright abuse.  I am the most vicious asshole this entire fanbase has so spare me the bullshit about me being some sort of hippie pacifist who thinks Love is the answer.

The funniest – and most ridiculous – part of it all is that after these assholes spent all of that second fateful day bitching and moaning and overturning cars and setting shit on fire because the Lions were ignoring defense in favor of –gasp! – another wide receiver, the Lions spent the rest of the draft picking nothing but defense, and  - surprise! – this then led to those same people turning around and bitching because the Lions were taking too many cornerbacks.  It was the most damning evidence possible of their fractured and idiotic view of the situation.  It proved inarguably that all they care about is their God-given right to bitch and moan.

You can’t argue with them.  There’s no point.  They will just twist and backtrack and split logic in half with their axes of lies and argue inane points that have no bearing on the original issue.  Arguing with them is a fool’s pursuit, a madman’s game and I’m fucking done with it.  I’m fucking done with them, the sub-mutant ingrates.  This is why I am not like the others, because the others are dumb and heinous and their mouth-breathing insipidity is an affront to all that is good and noble and decent.  They are the idiot peasants banging at the gate with torches and pitchforks, demanding blood, fed only with stupid rage and the fire of their own self-contempt, in need of a target, any target, to distract them from the fact that they are, in fact, utterly worthless and that their lives are meaningless slogs.  They are the cannon-fodder of the gods and I would pity them if they weren’t so goddamn contemptible.  Instead, I piss on them and I drink their milkshakes and . . . I have gotten entirely too out of hand here, haven’t I?

I would apologize but that is what this whole stupid lost weekend has driven us to.  It has made madmen and animals of us all.  The night is dark and full of terrors and so is being a fan of the Detroit Lions, and it’s not because of the actual Detroit Lions anymore but because of that idiot sect of their fanbase who worship hatred and despair and lick the wounds of a crippled god because happiness and hope are so beyond them that embracing madness is their only twisted road to salvation.  Sure, it’s a false salvation but people will cling to whatever bullshit gets them through the night.

As for the actual draft itself, well . . . I’m going to have to write an entirely separate post about that.  I’m sorry it has come to that, but, well, there were things a man needed to say and this man has said them.

I will elaborate on one thing, though, and it’s something I touched on at the beginning of this rambling manifesto.  The Mock Draft culture has finally reached the point where it is detrimental and just a goddamn headache to deal with.  I mentioned that I used to dabble in this bullshit myself before I got clean and started going to meetings for other mock draft junkies where we all detailed our embarrassing experiences and comforted each other over coffee and cigarettes.  You see, it’s all a bunch of bullshit.  Nobody knows a goddamn thing, including all the idiot “experts.”  Every year – every goddamn year – dudes who were supposed to be surefire second round picks fall to the seventh or don’t get picked at all.  My own personal epiphany came the year when Michigan safety Ernest Shazor was supposed to be a borderline first round pick.  Instead he wasn’t even drafted.  BUT . . . BUT THE MOCK DRAFTS SAID HE WAS A SECOND ROUNDER.  Yeah, and the mock drafts don’t know shit.

Again, this happens every fucking year and every year people bray like donkeys because their team doesn’t pick that year’s version of Ernest Shazor.  If a “surefire” second-round pick is still there in the 7^th, doesn’t it make more sense that the Mock Draft creators and connoisseurs fucked up rather than every single NFL team has suddenly developed an incurable case of space-madness? (Why space-madness?  Well, doesn’t it just seem worse than regular madness?)  I mean, it’s not just your team that’s passing him up.  It’s every other team too and I’m guessing not all of them are run by drooling idiots.  Sure, a few are but trust me, you don’t know better than the dudes who run the Patriots or the Steelers, even though you read paragraph long scouting reports on all the players and spent every night watching Youtube highlight videos (they’re called HIGHlight videos for a reason, you know?) instead of actually spending time with your wife and kids.  I’m sorry to tell you this, but just because you spend hours poring over highlights with shitty dubstep soundtracks while your wife sighs and pleasures herself with a vibrator because you are staring slackjawed at your computer screen for the 168^th night in a row, it doesn’t make you an expert on anything other than being a goddamn fool.

And that’s the biggest problem with draft day.  Leaving aside all the roving packs of idiots I discussed earlier, even rational people get tripped up by the draft because they fall in love with their mock drafts.  They judge everything based on what their mock draft says, not on what their team – and the dudes who run it – do.  It comes down to this – do you trust Martin Mayhew and Jim Schwartz?  If you do then everything else should be irrelevant.  I know that is overly simplistic, but the point is this:  if they determine that a specific player fits their system and, more importantly, their plan, and you trust them and their plan, and they go out and make it a point to grab that player, like they did with Broyles or with Tahir Whitehead later in the draft, then don’t you sorta have to give that precedence over your own fascination with your mock draft?  I mean, it’s not like they just shrugged and picked a guy.  They targeted these dudes and then went after them.  At that point, you have to ask yourself why you’re upset and if you still have a problem, then it’s with their philosophy and not with their decision making within that philosophy.

And that brings up the issue of trust.  If you do find yourself questioning their philosophy – and that’s okay, within reason anyway – just remind yourself that they took an 0-16 team, which I’ll remind you is basically worse than an expansion team – and took them to 10-6 and the playoffs within 3 years.  That’s fucking amazing and to me, that’s something that has earned my trust.  To me, questioning these dudes’ philosophy after what they have accomplished is fucking crazy.  What they have accomplished is damn near miraculous and it hasn’t been done with smoke and mirrors either.  This hasn’t been some random turn-around, the sort of phantom playoff run that, say, the Jacksonville Jaguars make every once in a while.  No, this has been a result of a sustained adherence to a larger plan, and that plan has been pretty self-evident – pass the ball on offense, and rush the passer on defense.  They have drafted to those strengths, consistently and with success over the last few years.  Anyone arguing that they haven’t is either a liar or completely insane. 

Their philosophy is forward thinking.  It understands the new reality of the NFL.  It’s all about who can throw the ball.  Anyone who doesn’t understand that just hasn’t been paying attention.  It’s an arms race and the Lions have made it a point to stockpile as many weapons as they can on both sides of the ball.  On offense, they are loading up on receivers, much like the Packers and Saints.  You don’t need two or three top receivers anymore.  You need four or five.  People arguing that Ryan Broyles is redundant and that he has nowhere to play are missing the point – the numbers have changed, the position breakdowns have changed.  You need a deep well, filled with receivers, if you’re going to keep up now.  Defensively, the Lions have put a premium on rushing the passer.  Their philosophy is that in order to stop a passing game – and create turnovers – you need to take away the quarterback’s ability to throw the ball.  If you can do this effectively, your secondary doesn’t necessarily need to be stocked with All-Pros.  Do the Lions need better cornerbacks?  Yeah, they do.  And they know that.  Hence, their drafting of three straight corners in the draft on day three.  I know that’s not good enough for some people since they want someone who can step in and start right now at cornerback but that dude wasn’t there.  I don’t care who you point to, when the Lions had their opportunity to draft, that dude wasn’t there. 

Everyone wants immediate starters when it comes to the draft, and that’s another issue that has just gotten in the way here.  When your team is a piece of shit, yes, that is what you want.  When you have a playoff team, no, you don’t want that because if you’re drafting dudes to start it means that you have to rely upon a rookie as a starter at a key position and let me tell you something, most rookies aren’t very good.  This is why the Lions never drafted anyone to replace Jeff Backus right away until this year.  It’s because whoever they drafted wasn’t going to be any better than what they already had.  Sure, they could have drafted a cornerback just to draft one, and that would have made some people happy, but that philosophy ends up with you reaching for players all the time and that shit never works out.  If you don’t believe me ask Jordan Dizon.  That’s the sort of shit that Matt Millen did – drafting and signing guys because they filled a perceived need, regardless of fit – and it’s fucking insane to see people arguing that’s what the Lions should do today.  Everyone hates Matt Millen for the shitshow he subjected us all to, but it’s become increasingly clear that a lot – and I do mean a lot – of Lions fans have no clue why he was so bad.  It’s maddening and comical to see them bitching at Mayhew and Schwartz and demanding that they do the exact same sort of shit that Millen did.  It’s fucking insane and I don’t even know what else to say.

This has been a lot longer than I anticipated.  That’s because this weekend from hell created a lot of shit to talk about.  The crazy thing is I haven’t even really talked about the dudes the Lions actually drafted.  In fact, I meant to roll the whole draft philosophy thing into another post in which I talked about the actual particulars of the Lions draft but I got carried away.  One thing led to another and now here I sit, almost 4,000 words later, my eyes feel like they’re fried, my fingertips are starting to get sore and I’m making typos all over the goddamn place.  So, I guess I’ll just leave you with this final thought – it’s time to grow up.  The self-indulgent wallowing in the misery of the past has to end.  Fuck Matt Millen and fuck your clinging to him like a life-raft, to your keeping of him in some sort of glass case that you can break open whenever you need an excuse for your own worship of The Fear.  This is not the same ol’ Lions and if you think a single second round draft pick is indicative of anything, you probably need to chill the fuck out.  I love you dudes and lady dudes, but goddamn.  Just . . . goddamn.

Uncovering The Truth Behind The Madden Curse

 Are you really gonna sit there and try to tell me this man isn't cursed?

The cover of the newest edition of Madden was released earlier today and – surprise! – Calvin Johnson is this year’s cover model, probably because he has nicer legs than Kate Upton.  She has better tits though.  I apologize, that was crass.  Calvin Johnson has wonderful tits and a nice, tight ass, and . . . wait, what the fuck is going on here?  Where am I?  Oh yeah, the cover of Madden.  Depending on who you ask, this is either the best thing to happen in the history of the world or the worst.  Yes, it’s worse than the Holocaust.  Lions fans are split into two warring camps – naturally – the first of which insists that curses are bullshit and that people should stop behaving like a bunch of simpering superstitious ninnies, while the second insists that curses are real and that we should burn a few harlots at the stake just to make sure nothing bad happens. 

As for me, well . . . it’s tough to say what my favorite curse is.  Some prefer cocksucker and I agree that is a fine curse.  My childhood best friend’s favorite curse was dickweed and that brings back some fond memories indeed.  But my favorite curse is probably motherfucker.  It’s descriptive, it packs a wicked punch and it implies that the cursed has sexual relations with his or her mother.  (You bet your ass that a woman can be a motherfucker.  I’m no sexist.)

But my beliefs when it comes to curses are of no real consequence.  Neither are yours.  Instead, we must rely upon the cold, impartial hand of science and as a man of science, I’m here to help all of us out in these trying times.  You may be debating whether to chug that bottle of drain cleaner or throw yourself off of a bridge like that coward George Bailey because you don’t know what in the fuck to think about Calvin Johnson being on the cover of Madden, but that’s okay.  I understand.  That’s why we have science, to help guide us through some of life’s most difficult quandaries.  I mean, we can sit here and debate all night long the existential meaning of Calvin Johnson being on the cover and our thoughts on curses.  I’d call you a motherfucker, you’d call me a shithead or whatever you prefer and then we’d go to bed not knowing who was right and who was wrong and nobody needs that.  So let’s just take a look at the facts, and remember, facts never lie, except for the facts that were compiled by that breathalyzer that one time.  Those facts were full of shit.  Anyway, here is how the infamous Madden Curse impacted its various Cover Models:

2001: Eddie George – The man self-identifies with Ohio State University for fuck’s sake.  Clearly he has been cursed with an infant’s brain.  Also, he was rendered impotent after an angry girlfriend attacked him with a blowtorch and a butter knife.  But that’s what he gets for setting up double dates with Steve McNair.

2002: Daunte Culpepper – Became a Detroit Lion during The Dark Days.  If that’s not enough, he was arrested in 2009 for his involvement in a cat-fighting ring and was given 15 hours of community service after a picture surfaced of him pulling a cat’s tail after it lost a matchup to a stray tabby.

2003: Marshall Faulk – Marshall Faulk has been missing since 2008.  He was last seen traveling in the backwoods of the Louisiana Bayou.  Some say he was searching for The Great Willie Young, lord of that bayou, but obviously, like so many before him, especially that motherfucker Kingfish, the former governor of Louisiana, he was found unworthy.  His ghost still shows up on TV from time to time but it has shitty opinions.

2004: Michael Vick – Come on now.

2005: Ray Lewis – Ray Lewis was visited by aliens one night in 2007.  They flew him to the ends of the universe and promised to show him Attack Ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion but just before they reached their destination, he stabbed all of them and was thus denied that awe-inspiring sight.  He then crashed the ship into Baltimore Harbor and had his mind erased by government agents.  This experience left him mildly retarded.

2006: Donovan McNabb – Is Donovan McNabb, the poor bastard.

2007: Shaun Alexander – Had his penis bitten off by a hooker in a Thai whorehouse.  He then received a penis transplant but it turned out that the new penis was haunted and the ghost goes by the name “Phil”.  He was arrested at an airport for arguing with “Phil”, an argument that ended with him exposing himself and attempting to choke the life out of “Phil”.  He is now in an institution for the criminally insane.

2008: Vince Young – Was arrested for getting into a shirtless brawl in a nightclub.  What the police report didn’t tell you was that he was compelled by a little green alien who lives on his shoulder and that a full body cavity search revealed that he was being used as a drug mule by interstellar heroin dealers.  Truly, a cursed man.  Plus, he sucks.

2009: Brett Favre – Ha ha ha ha!  Okay fine, was publicly embarrassed when it was revealed that the ol’ Gunslinger sent pictures of his lil’ Cumslinger (lil’ being the operative word there) to a repulsed female employee of the Jets.  Now he spends his days (presumably) hanging out shirtless with Matthew McConaughey and gibbering like a pilled-up Boomhauer at teenage girls in front of the local arcade and they all laugh at him and refer to him as “the creepy old dude in the Crocs.”  Basically, he’s a sadder, creepier version of Wooderson from Dazed and Confused.

2010: Troy Polamalu – Was mistaken as a woman by a Saudi Sheik who kidnapped him and kept him as a member of his harem for three months during the lockout.  Unfortunately for Troy, it took so long to discover the mistake because it turned out that the Sheik never actually attempted intercourse with Troy.  Instead, the Sheik had a hair fetish and would spend hours at a time just brushing Troy’s hair and braiding it, which wouldn’t be so bad except the Sheik was naked the whole time and would furiously masturbate, ejaculating into Troy’s hair when he was finished and let me tell you something, semen is not a natural conditioner.  Don’t make the same mistake I, er, uh, I mean Troy, yeah . . . Troy did. 

2011: Drew Brees – Kicked in the head by a goat but to be fair, Drew deserved it after insulting the goat’s wife.  The man has no manners.  To top it all off, the goat then ratted out the entire Saints organization to Roger Goodell, who, unbeknownst to Drew, is the goat’s brother-in-law.  Then again, how was Drew Brees supposed to know that Roger Goodell was a goat-fucker?  Sure, sure, all the evidence is there but Drew Brees is just a slow Indiana farmboy.  He’s functionally illiterate for Stafford’s sake.  (See what I did there?)  He’s lucky he can even tie his own shoes.  Plus, he was marked as a demon at birth.

2012: Peyton Hillis – Broke his leg after a raucous celebration in his honor by the Ku Klux Klan.  Also, he was forced to live in Cleveland for a couple of years.  Terrible, terrible . . .

And let’s not forget the original Madden Cover Model, the man himself, John Madden, who hogged the cover for a full decade.  It’s been said that he is actually the originator of the Madden Curse, a powerful wizard posing as a bumbling old man who decreed that all those who would dare steal his spotlight would have their lives ruined.  Others say that all you need to do is look at the poor old fart himself to know that the Madden Curse is real.  Still others say that John Madden is actually the unwilling human vessel of an evil spirit, one which has corrupted both his flesh and his mind, leaving him the fat, gibbering mess we know and pity today.  But what no one knows is that John Madden is actually just the puppet for that evil mastermind, Pat Summerall.  Summerall poses as an old drunk but in reality he is a ninth level Nazi Warlock.  He lives in a secret compartment on Madden’s bus and periodically emerges, naked and enraged, to whip a cowering and whimpering Madden with his own belt.  That’s how he keeps him in line, you see.  He then forces Madden to tap into his vast evil and then channel that evil into the photograph of the latest Madden Cover Model, all of whom are personally selected by Summerall himself as part of a vast and confusing Eugenics experiment gone totally awry.  He is insane and extremely dangerous.  It’s even been said that The Fuhrer himself was terrified of his madness and ate a gun just to escape him and his deadly power.  There are rumors that Al Michaels tried to stop Summerall once in the midst of one of his rage fueled beatings of Madden, but Summerall just shrugged Michaels aside like an old coat and then made Al suck his . . . okay, okay, perhaps I am getting a touch carried away here, but as a species we can’t afford to pretend anymore.  Our very humanity is at stake.  Pat Summerall must be stopped.

Well, there you have it, dudes and lady dudes.  Some pretty power evidence to be sure.  Obviously there is something to this Madden Curse, something terrible and evil and to ignore it is to ignore your responsibility to the human race.  Sure, some would say all this is coincidence and only a great fool would believe in such things but, in the end, here’s the thing . . . who cares?  For the night is dark and full of terrors and did you see that lady on Game of Thrones birth that fuckin’ shadow?  That was wild.  I bet she understands a thing or two about curses and . . .

A Look Into The Future, Starring Neil, Peyote And An Indian Named Two Feathers

The schedule was released earlier today (well, probably yesterday by the time you read this) and just like every year this meant that everyone with a keyboard, working fingers and a moderately functioning brain felt the need to pick it apart and pronounce to the world what the results would be. This is one of my least favorite parts of the football year. I think it’s dumb and essentially meaningless. I understand why everyone does it because, hey, why not? But there are so many moving variables that there is no way to forecast this shit. At least not without heavy drugs and a spirit guide involved. I mean, sometimes you aren’t even aware of what the outcome should be even while it’s happening. Take, for instance, last year’s game against the 49ers. At the time, that felt kind of like a bad loss. By the end of the year, I was just kind of impressed that the Lions probably should have won that game. I mean, the 49ers were fucking awesome last year. We didn’t know that even when we played them, let alone when the schedule was released. There are always a handful of games like that every year, games that make this a meaningless exercise in wankery.

My initial plan was to wait for the schedule to be released and then write a whole piece like the first paragraph, but that felt too assholeish for some reason – even for me – and the thought of it just depressed me. Too much goddamn negativity. Instead, I got a little bitchy on Twitter, complained like an old man about too many night games because I hate feeling like I have to go from drunk in front of the TV to drunk in front of the keyboard at midnight (I was properly abused for this dumb complaint and I apologize for my whiny buffoonery and withdraw my idiot remarks.) and even got snarky with Jennifer Hammond, local Fox personality and occasional sideline reporter for Lions preseason games, who graciously just retweeted my gibberings about Calvin Johnson flying to the moon on a magic horsey instead of slap fighting with me. It was all vaguely embarrassing and I feel dumb having engaged in any of it.

Anyway, to make it up to everyone, I decided to do a little forecasting of my own. But unlike everyone else, I take this shit seriously. It’s a grave responsibility, not for the weak of mind or spirit. I mean, this is NFL football we’re talking about here. And with that in mind, I scored some Peyote from an Indian in a back alley named Two Feathers and enlisted him as my spirit guide. After an argument in which he told me to quit calling him Two Feathers because his name was Mike and that he wasn’t an Indian but 1/8 Mexican on his mom’s side, I prevailed and Two Feathers and I embarked on a mythic quest through both my psyche and the future. Indeed, the world opened up to us in ways that left me both awed and shaken and here, today, I present to you my vision of the future. You might as well not even watch the games because this is 100% accurate. Two Feathers promised.

Week 1: Rams – The season gets off to a good start as Matthew Stafford throws four touchdown passes, a rejuvenated Jahvid Best runs for another and the Lions beat the Rams 38-7. Sam Bradford is concussed by a vicious Cliff Avril hit in the first quarter and Eminem beats Nelly to death in the stands with his own shoes. Sheriff Goodell suspends Eminem for the season and the Lions are accused of being outlaws again. Six people attend Nelly’s funeral. (1-0)

Week 2: at 49ers – The Lions lead 23-17 in the fourth quarter when a giant brawl erupts after Jim Harbaugh makes a wanking motion at Jim Schwartz. Schwartz charges across the field and the two wrestle on the 50 yard line while the San Francisco crowd hoots and throws dollar bills on the field. The game is suspended and finished two days later with both coaches in cages. Mario Manningham catches a touchdown pass after Ndamukong Suh is called for a personal foul for hitting Alex Smith with a Shoryuken on a key 3^rd down stop. The 49ers win 24-23 but The Great Willie Young gets revenge when he scalps Harbaugh live on camera as a giant riot that takes two whole days to quell breaks out. San Francisco is left in ruins and the Lions reputation as lawless thugs grows. (1-1)

Week 3: at Titans – The Lions win 28-14 as Jim Schwartz returns to Tennessee and unleashes his attacking defense, which picks up 7 sacks and as a bonus, Sammie Hill ritually mutilates Chris Johnson as he shockingly announces that he’s converted to Satanism. Sheriff Goodell tries to suspend him but Sammie has the suspension overturned on appeal and Goodell is accosted by the Supreme Court for attempting to violate Sammie Hill’s Civil Rights. Sammie becomes an icon for freedom of religion and a surprise candidate for United States President. (2-1)

Week 4: Vikings – The Lions humiliate the Vikings 48-3. Jared Allen is stabbed by a desperate Jeff Backus in the first quarter. The refs try to throw Backus out of the game but the crowd intimidates them into doing nothing. The shaken Vikings then fold like prison bitches. Sammie Hill performs a black mass for Jared Allen’s soul and sacrifices a live goat at midfield after the game. Old Man Ford is said to be slightly uncomfortable with this turn of events but Ford the Younger sees money and soon the Lions make a killing on merchandise sales of rubber knives, Do It Yourself Satanism kits and Sammie Hill for President bumper stickers and pins. (3-1)

Week 5: BYE – The bye week is fairly uneventful with the exception of the arrest of Amari Spievey for mopery. He contends that the old man wasn’t blind at all and following a quick trial in which Spievey’s lawyer, Gunther Cunningham, tricks the old man into admitting that he can see after all, Spievey is released on a technicality. Sheriff Goodell still suspends him for one game. He announces it would have been more but he’s intimidated by Sammie Hill and he was terrified by the severed goat’s head he found stuffed in his mailbox. He announces that he suspects Ndamukong Suh of terrorizing him but since he has no proof he’ll let it go. For now.

Week 6: at Eagles – The Lions are frustrated by Michael Vick’s ability to improvise and find themselves down 31-7 at the half. It’s just one of those games. Ndamukong Suh takes it upon himself to give Vick a Tombstone Piledriver early in the third quarter and Matthew Stafford and Calvin Johnson manage to tie the game at 38 late in the fourth. The game takes a final turn when Sheriff Goodell appears with a legion of Storm Troopers and an arrest warrant for Suh. He is handcuffed and dragged off the field and in the commotion the Eagles sneak a field goal in to win the game 41-38. A riot breaks out in Philly and the police wagon Suh is stuffed into is overturned and set on fire, allowing him to escape. He goes into hiding and the Lions spend the next week fending off questions from the press and inquisitions from the FBI. Jim Schwartz is lauded as a hero for shitting in a bag and whipping it at a police cruiser in the parking lot. Sheriff Goodell, now balding from all the stress, announces he’s taking a two week leave of absence. In his place, Mike Pereira will serve as acting commissioner. (3-2)

Week 7: at Bears – The Lions win a vicious slugfest, 23-17 on a late fourth quarter Calvin Johnson touchdown. The Monday Night game is filled with blood and vile savagery. Six players die – all Bears – and The Great Willie Young is accused of cannibalism by Lovie Smith. After the game, Acting Commissioner Pereira reviews the tape and announces that Calvin Johnson did not properly assimilate with the ball following the touchdown and failed to become one being, half man and half football as stipulated in the new rule Pereira drew up on a napkin the night before while out getting fucking hammered with Brian Urlacher. He overturns the Lions victory and Detroit riots. Mayor Dave Bing tries to call in Robocop but since Robocop isn’t real, Bing looks like a damn fool and the riot soon peters out when everyone just gets depressed and realizes that burning shit in Detroit is just redundant. The Lions ask the community to come together in hatred of the league and pretty soon “Wanted: Dead or Alive” posters of both Sheriff Goodell and Pereira are seen plastered throughout the city. They vow never to set foot in Michigan again. The Great Willie Young celebrates by fucking Goodell’s wife and going fishing in Lake Michigan. He catches a sturgeon and eats it. It is delicious. (4-2 and 3-3)

Week 8: Seahawks – The Lions massacre the Seahawks 56-3 following seven Matthew Stafford touchdown passes. Pete Carroll is caught trying to solicit an undercover male police officer posing as a transvestite hooker outside of Ford Field following the game. The Lions manage to make it through the week without an arrest of their own and posters on MLive start grumbling that they’ve become “soft.” (5-2 and 4-3)

Week 9: at Jaguars – The Lions, despite missing Presidential candidate Sammie Hill who takes some time off in the run-up to the election, obliterate the Jaguars, 46-7, in front of 17 fans in Jacksonville. Cliff Avril concusses Blaine Gabbard and the Jaguars take the opportunity to announce that they are folding as a franchise. Sheriff Goodell gibbers on about the Lions being “murderers” and “franchise killers” and has to be sedated and hospitalized for an entire week. Lions fans picket his hospital room and harass him all week long. When he is released, he is incoherent and smells of urine and shame. (6-2 and 5-3)

Week 10: at Vikings – The Lions take advantage of a Jared Allenless Vikings team following his death at the hands of Jeff Backus and win another blowout, 48-14. After the game, fans on MLIve complain because the Lions defense gives up two late touchdown passes and openly wonder if Jim Schwartz is really the right man for the job. Two days later, a shaking Sheriff Goodell announces that, under pressure from President Elect Sammie Hill and his cabinet of devil worshippers and Voodoo witch doctors, that he is reversing Pereira’s reversal of the Bears game. An outraged Pereira tries to attack Goodell but is beaten by security and thrown out of the building. President Hill declares him an enemy of the state and announces a one million dollar bounty on his head. Pereira, afraid for his life, goes into hiding. He is never seen or heard from again. (7-2)

Week 11: Packers – The Packers come into the game prohibitive favorites for the Super Bowl and walk out crippled and bleeding. Ndamukong Suh, having been granted a pardon by President Hill, returns and sacks Aaron Rodgers 4 times, mocking his stupid belt celebration after each one. Rodgers has to be helped off the field by his lawyer and agent after the game and he is unceremoniously fired on live TV by State Farm, who tell him that they don't want to be associated with his pathetic image anymore and that if he uses the phrase “Discount Double Check” ever again he will be sued for copyright infringement. A whole nation rejoices. Suh is named his replacement by State Farm and in his first commercial he beats to death the Mayhem dude from the Allstate commercials and claims both his soul and Allstate as his personal fiefdom. Nobody complains. (8-2)

Week 12: Texans – Houston spends the entire game trying to run at the middle of the Lions defense. They are unsuccessful. President Hill activates himself before the game and breaks the leg of Arian Foster. He then claims Foster’s family and sacrifices them on an altar of blood. Foster complains to the Supreme Court but they reject his appeal on the grounds that you don’t fuck around with President Hill because he’ll turn your ass into a fuckin’ snake. Some of Sammie’s teammates become concerned that he is dabbling in fascism and he agrees to tone it down, both for them and the good of the country. Matthew Stafford throws 5 more touchdown passes and accepts an early invite to the Pro Bowl, on the condition that he gets to fuck every Hawaiian woman between the ages of 18-35. Hawaii joyously accepts and even goes so far as to crown him their new king, and as the reincarnation of King Kamehameha. President Hill graciously allows Hawaii to secede under the condition that Stafford and his heirs rule Hawaii forever. Everyone agrees. (9-2)

Week 13: Colts – Andrew Luck is declared legally dead after a vicious first quarter sack from Cliff Avril. He is kept alive via respirator for the rest of the season. The Lions win the game 56-3 and the whole world is now at their feet. Jim Schwartz warns them not to get a big head but he is knocked out by a solid gold chalice thrown by either Louis Delmas or Gosder Cherilus. The incident stirs up a minor controversy but President Hill calls an emergency State of the Union address to smooth over the controversy. A groggy Schwartz announces that he was wrong to try to contain the “warrior spirit” of his soldiers. The Wu-Tang Clan, featuring the reanimated corpse of ODB, reunite to commemorate the event. (10-2)

Week 14: at Packers – Dark days as Sheriff Goodell returns from a private spa/rehab facility on the same day that President Hill is impeached and thrown out of office when it’s discovered that he is Constitutionally ineligible to be President since he isn’t 35 years old. Nobody can explain why this was overlooked during his campaign but people speculate that he performed a mass spell on the entire country. The nation turns against both the Lions and Satanism. Sheriff Goodell takes the opportunity to suspend 90% of the Lions team for one game, causing them to lose 21-20 to the Packers. Ndamukong Suh, Cliff Avril, Ex-President Hill, The Great Willie Young and several others are forced to go into hiding somewhere in the Upper Peninsula. The Michigan Militia mobilizes and armed guards cover the border. Michigan secedes from the union. Ted Nugent tries to assassinate Sheriff Goodell but is captured when he shits his pants in fear. He blubbers on national TV, begging for forgiveness and denouncing the Lions and his fellow Michiganders. Fuckin’ shameful. (10-3)

Week 15: at Cardinals – The Lions are forced to forfeit because they can’t leave the state under penalty of arrest and execution. Lions rookie Kevin Murphy, a Harvard grad and 7^th round draft pick who managed to stick with the team, is found dead in an Indiana cornfield after he dared to cross the border because he wanted to visit friends. His bullet riddled body shocks a nation who finally understand that this shit has gotten way, way too out of hand. A Peace Conference is held but new Michigan Governor Sammie Hill refuses to attend on the grounds that “motherfuckers need to learn them some respect.” The Great Willie Young organizes a raiding party into Ohio that ends with thousands of dead Ohioans and a nation pleading for both peace and mercy. The image of a hatchet wielding Willie Young covered in the blood of his enemies soon becomes an iconic image. (10-4)

Week 16: Falcons – The Falcons arrive via armored tank division to Ford Field to take on the renegade Lions. Shit gets out of hand in a hurry as Ndamukong Suh beats Roddy White to death in revenge for Roddy’s lies about him the previous year. Matt Ryan begs for mercy but is beheaded by The Great Willie Young on national TV. The game ends with the Lions leading 67-3 in the third quarter when the refs announce that they are afraid for their lives. The Falcons forfeit and have to flee with the refs to their armored tank division. A fierce firefight ensues in which Governor Hill unleashes a real life squadron of Robocops, all modeled on The Great Willie Young. Half of the Falcons team are never seen alive again and all of the refs are captured and then lynched on TV as a warning to the rest of the nation. Their heads are placed on pikes at strategic points on the border as a warning that you don’t fuck with the Lions or the state of Michigan. Kid Rock plays a Victory Concert and makes a horse’s ass out of himself. Chris Chelios gets shitfaced and tries to make out with Jim Schwartz’s wife. A minor episode ensues but The Great Willie Young keeps the peace when he beats Kid Rock half to death and fucks that fat lady who plays the drums for him. (11-4)

Week 17: Bears – The Bears nervously agree to play the Lions on a neutral field in the middle of Lake Michigan. Eight Bears players drown during a fierce winter storm. Lovie Smith is frozen in ice and is then tossed into the lake by one of his own players. Matthew Stafford throws 8 touchdown passes in a brutal war of attrition which sees Brian Urlacher have both of his feet and his dick amputated due to frostbite. The Lions win and after the game, an exhausted nation sues for peace. As a concession, Sheriff Goodell is dragged from his office and beaten. He is smeared in shit and forced to walk naked through the desert to the Mexican border, where he is exiled and left in the care of Mexican drug bandits. Governor Sammie Hill and the new United States President, Tupac’s hologram, shake hands in a momentous peace accord. The nation celebrates as the Lions finish 12-4, win the NFC North and clinch home field advantage. Posters on MLive complain that Governor Hill made too many concessions and that the Lions pass defense isn’t strong enough.

I tried to stick around to see what would happen in the playoffs but the Peyote wore off and Two Feathers abandoned me. That fucking savage, after all the land and, uh, blankets we gave his people . . . Anyway, I woke up on a park bench, completely naked, shaking with both fear and awe at what I had seen. I also awoke to a dog pissing on me while its owner, an old lady with snow white hair, stared in shock and awe at me and my manhood. I staggered away from the mutt and tried to ask the old lady for help but she just screamed and called for the police, the withered old bitch. I winced in pain, still not fully recovered from my journey through the spirit world and I fled to the comfort of the library basement, where I hid for the rest of the day beneath a pile of old magazines until closing time. After everyone had left, I stole a dress from a special Jane Austen exhibit and put it on. I staggered into the dark night, clad in only a Victorian dress and wandered home and immediately began writing this. I’m exhausted now and this dress is riding up my ass crack so I’m going to go now and leave you to think about all that I saw. It’s going to be a crazy year. You’re just lucky you have me around to guide you through it. You’re welcome, America. You’re welcome.