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Volume 3, Number 10
October, 1998

View From the Cheap Seats Just a few memos from the desk of yours truly

by Dave Lind

  • Memo to you rookie-bashers: Let's just all take a pill and ease off on the rookie QB's. Leaf and Manning may not exactly be setting the league on its ear, but last time I checked they were still rookies and they still had only 4 NFL games under their belts. Anybody but me remember Marino riding the pine for most of his rookie year, or Elway getting yanked practically in mid-pass in favor of Steve Deberg, or Favre getting shown the door by the Falcons (The Falcons!) for sucking so hard in his first season.
  • Memo to you Batch-boosters: And while we're at it, enough with you blowhards trying to compare Charlie Batch with his much-more-heralded counterparts in San Diego and Indy. Manning and Leaf both suffer from the Savior Syndrome. Both are laboring under the oppressive expectation of turning around teams that won a total of seven games combined. Compare that with Batch, who steps in with utterly no expectations to take the place of a wildly unpopular quarterback for a playoff team and is charged with the daunting task of handing the ball off to Barry.
  • Memo to Deion: Next time let me pick the cliff. Nobody...I mean NOBODY tries to kill them self by driving their car off a 30-foot cliff. You could JUMP off a 30-foot cliff and walk (ok, crawl) away with little more than a broken leg. And not to second guess The Lord, but what in the h*&% is he doing saving your sorry butt while he lets perfectly likable people like Reggie Miller, Hank Gathers, and Flo Jo drop dead for seemingly no good reason.
  • Memo to you Plummer-pushers: Please, no more comparisons of Jake Plummer to Joe Montana, at least until the former can show he's capable of leading his team, if not to the playoffs, then at least TOWARD the playoffs. I know a lot of scrawny white guys with no apparent football ability who look more like Montana than does Plummer. And one more thing, "The Snake" is not an acceptable nickname for Plummer, I don't care how much you may have liked "Escape From New York". The name is already taken and unless you want to invoke the wrath of legions of battery-chucking Ken Stabler fans, you desert-dwelling sand-eaters may want to put your sun-baked brains to work and come up with something original.
  • Memo to Iron Mike: Look Mike, if you don't want to fight anymore, just retire and try to fade away with whatever dignity you may have left. Don't put us through this farce of acting like you're trying to get your boxing license back while secretly doing everything in your power to sabotage the proceedings. We all wrote your blow up in New Jersey off as just your usual inability to control your temper. But to grant an interview to Playboy in which you calmly explain that you are a nut and you fully expect to snap at any moment? Yeah, you want to get back in the ring like I want to get back into divorce court.
  • Memo to Miller Genuine Draft: I, like most men of my age, are slaves to commercial advertising. The sacred tube tells us what to wear, what to drive, what to eat, and (most importantly) what to drink. Since most of us have grand visions of becoming better people than we are and sleeping with far more attractive women than we ever could, we have come to identify with those beer commercials featuring bikini models who seem to have been raised in zero gravity. What does not appeal to us is your endless series of commercials aimed at the greasy-haired, heavily-tatooed, El Camino-driving Jerry Springer-watching crowd. Repeat: Underwear models = good. Fat, sweaty heroin addicts = bad.
  • Memo to NBA players: Ok, I know those cushy 8- and 9-digit salaries can sort of warp one's perspective, but I'm here to tell you you're really pissing into your own oatmeal here, guys. You've got the sweetest deal in sports and you're willing to put it all at risk to keep marijuana off the banned-substance list? Am I hearing this correctly? You're holding out for the right to smoke pot? Hello......?
  • Memo to NBA owners: Ok, so you're finding it difficult to balance your billion-dollar revenues against those hundred-million dollar salaries. Believe me, no one sympathizes with you more than I. But let's be honest here, you wouldn't be in this situation if you hadn't all had the fiscal restraint of a sailor on shore leave. If you're stupid enough to give a 9-digit paycheck to a kid who is just barely old enough to vote, then who am I to feel sorry for you. And while I appreciate your efforts to try to sway popular opinion with your politically correct attempt to establish a drug-free work place for your multi-million-dollar daycare center, let me just say this: If marijuana were a performance-enhancing drug my brother-in-law would be leading the NFL in rushing and have hit 75 home runs this year. Lay off the weed! If you want to improve the image of your league, establish a zero-tolerance policy for wife beating.
  • Memo to Sammy Sosa: I was watching your locker room strip-tease following your playoff-clinching win over the Giants and I wanted to say "Thanks". My wife is usually not much a baseball fan, but she was watching when you peeled your shirt of and...well...just "thanks".
  • Memo to Griffey: Hey, Junior. If you try one more time to tell us you're not a home run hitter I'll reach over a slap you myself. How does 150+ dingers over the past three years sound? That's more homers than anyone in baseball with the exception of that Andro-chugging pituitary freak in St Louis. Well spank my ass and touch me lower Daddy, but that sounds like a power hitter to me.
  • Memo to the Niners: Yeah, yeah, yeah, another 3-0 start en route to another 13-3 finish. Ok, so it's not your fault you play in the Pac-10...I mean, the NFC West. But could you please try to remember, the next time you're dancing and strutting like a peacock on viagra after rolling up another 56-6 pasting of East Carolina, that beating up on your fellow NFC West teams is hardly the equivalent of beating an actual NFL team, and should truthfully count as only three-fifths of a win.
  • Memo to the guy in the Coors Light ad: I'm thinking Krebbs could wipe up the floor with your sorry little ass, so you might want to just back out of his grill and cut the big man some slack.
  • Memo to Ken Starr: You have nothing! I've seen the video tape, I've read your pathetic little report, and I say again: You have nothing! Go buy yourself a and a good cigar and leave us the hell alone. Your 15 minutes are up.
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