Sunday, April 5, 2009

Your 2009 Chicago Bears, led by No. 6, Crybaby Sulkypants!

I wanted to start this afresh and really state my opinion about this Bears trade, so if it goes completely the other way, I'll get credit for the reverse jinx. And I hope I am wrong.

But I'm not.

In case you don't care about football (and if you don't, you should really skip this post and wait another two weeks until I write about something else, because this will just bore you), The Great Neckbeard, Mr. Kyle Orton himself, was traded along with the Bears' near-term future for one Jay Cutler, a whiny depressive diabetic with a rocket attached to his right shoulder.

We've had some good times with the Neckbeard here. Evidently the Bears locker room greatly respected him, I'm assuming just for his facial hair prowess, and not for any sort of football-related skill, because that would have been a hallucination. Kyle Orton is many things - a quarterback from Indiana, a former second stringer to Rex the Sex Cannon Grossman, a man who had to grow a beard on his neck because he doesn't have a chin - but skilled at leading a professional offense is not one of them.

It's possible that some of that mediocrity is attributable to his wide receivers, the group of whom receive a big fat "meh." But as much as I love the Neckbeard, the quarterback takes the heat, because he's the quarterback.

So now enter Jay Cutler. Great skillz, no one denies this. But there's the small matter of his being a whiny bitch. Some of you are from Chicago, or have spent time in Chicago, or know what a Polish sausage is (no, not that one, pervs. The other one). And you all know that whiny bitches aren't exactly favorites in the City of Wind and Big Shoulders and Dear G-d You're Not Going to Leave Your 10th Kielbasa On Your Plate, Are You, Waster?

So how exactly is this trade going to help the Bears? I have no idea. In fact, it makes them less interesting. Consider: before this trade, the Bears quarterback situation had drama, and characters, and laughter, such laughter! Who would start next? Who would drastically underthrow Hester, or fumble the ball on a snap? Who would be buried in a ditch by Matt Forte? You never knew, and that was all the excitement you needed when the team was in no way actually competitive! And it took your mind off the sneaking suspicion that the defense was now skating by on reputation alone.

And now? Now you've got talent, obvious and considerable talent under center. You have a solid running game. So there are no more excuses, right? If the offense sputters, it will do so just like every other team - not because the team leader was out nailing the female population of Northbrook every night, or because he was compensating for the loss of Amazon rainforest by cultivating dense lush facial hair - because the quarterback simply blows. So fans will look to the defense, as they have for generations in Chicago. And all they will see is the ghost of Brian Uhrlacher, tinted green with the envious knowledge that now Hunter Hillenmeyer is officially a better linebacker.

So in anticipation of a new era in Chicago, please join me in welcoming the new starting quarterback, Crybaby Sulkypants. Every time he cries a box of tissues will be donated to the United Way, and a dress to the Pretty Ladies Who Are Only Men on the Outside Society.

1 comment:

Sam Adams said...

Not to pscyhoanalyze you or anything, well maybe anything, but you really missed your calling as a pre-2004 Red Sox fan. Oy, what mishigas. You'll get all the hilarity you require from your team by virtue of its newfound panic in trying to mollify Sulkypants by drafting a WR in the 1st round. And due to this obvious panic, your team will morph into the Chicago Jeff Georges; a team gutted by its crippling desire, wedded to the next Great Satan. Suh-weeet!

Back up that hill Sisyphus!