Ah, to silence the critics. There is nothing more satisfying than to defy those endless haters and analysts who think that they know sports because they speak vociferously and say, “Awesome baby!” or because they were married to Roseanne and therefore must know something about 300-pound linemen.
According to these critics, Pete Sampras was so old that he couldn’t hit a tennis ball harder than Dwayne Rudd could thump his chest, and Pete’s trademark forest-like chest hair was starting grow out his ears. While Pistol Pete probably would have liked to blast his 129 mph serves through the skulls of these doubters, he had to settle for blowing past an overmatched Andre Agassi to win the US Open.
In D.C. this week, Redskins’ Head Coach Steve Spurrier’s Fun ‘n Gun offense was supposed to fire with the power of a $5 pink water pistol when finally matched against an NFL regular season defense. Instead, the Redskins put up over 440 yards of total offense while playing like a Madden video gamer’s wet dream: The ‘Skins went no-huddle on fourth-and-inches! They threw for the endzone on third-and-six from the Cardinals’ 25-yard line! They went for it on fourth-and-forty from their own six-yard line! And, like the typical Madden gamer, Spurrier was so hard core during the game that it resulted in his own bodily harm; we guess he doesn’t mind a little bit of blood or $25 replacement Playstation controllers.
Common knowledge also held that last year’s Patriots were a fluke. There was no way that they were talented enough to repeat as NFL champs; instead, the Steelers were the ones going to the title game. Well, it turned out Kordell Stewart realized it was high time he started playing badly again and Tom Brady was right when he thought he could do better than Tara Reid. After Monday’s game, he deserves at least Beyonc?.
Fortunately, with all these faux-losers out of the critics’ minds they can finally focus those who deserve to be lambasted. We can now officially remove the title of “America’s Team” from the pathetic Dallas Cowboys, whose Sunday night performance makes us wonder if they would have beaten Georgetown’s football team this weekend. Speaking of America’s Team, the “Dream Team” more resembled the hellish creature in Mulholand Drive than an actual basketball squad. And lastly, next time some guy named Hootie Johnson opens his mouth to say anything, we give him this piece of advice: Silencio.
