I’d Rather Call It TeeCoZee’s NFL Roundup, But Instead, It’s [Friday Thoughts W/ TeeCoZee]

November 29, 2019 by TeeCoZee

Good Moleman. Glue friendly or I’ll take your glue away and then no one will have any glue to glue with! It’s Friday, November 29th, Two Thousand and Nineteen. The weather in Chappaqua is 33° & Pantone 14-3912 and somewhere, somebody is wondering where all the people are. What was once a festive riot has been softened to a calm gathering. Back in ’94, he punched a guy to get closer to the door and now, wait, is there even a door? No, of course not. There’s no doors to mall stores and there wasn’t in ’94 either. So who did he punch and why? The man came to the right place. He’s got questions, they’ve got answers. And me? I don’t mess around with that Black Friday nonsense and I’m also pretty sure Radio Shack doesn’t, either. I’ve also got some things on my mind…

– Working food retail all these years, I’ve learned that the holidays are really hard on some people. This time of year, a good portion of my job is being a personal shopper for people that don’t know what a cranberry looks like [SPOILER ALERT: most people don’t, and then when they see them, they ask you what the hell they’re supposed to do with it. So I keep a can close by to give and assure them that nobody will know the difference [SPOILER ALERT: They would [SPOILER ALERT: If Anybody actually touched it, which [SPOILER ALERT: Nobody will]]]]. So when a bewildered middle aged man came barreling into the store just before closing on Thanksgiving Eve, I knew it was crunch time. He looked at me with eager eyes and asked where he could find…prune juice? I was taken aback because

a. It’s not a Thanksgiving item
b. Nobody drinks prune juice
c. He seemed to be in a really big rush to buy something so inconsequential
d. I’m an asshole

But alas, I had the remedy to his problem. I led him to a creepy, dark aisle in the corner and triumphantly handed him a dusty 32 oz bottle of…ugh…prune juice. He seemed displeased. “This is the only kind you have?”, he asked gratingly. I shrugged. We sell maybe enough prune juice to ensure that it doesn’t expire after 2 years, but not much more. Having a different brand is off the table. “It’s way too big”, he complained. That statement sent my mind through a loop.

As a conniseiur of bevs, I have a very clear image of what beverages typically exist and which don’t. To my recollection, not once in my life have I ever seen a handheld size of prune juice. I’ve never seen it on the shelf, I’ve never seen it in anyone’s hand, it simply doesn’t exist. I can’t picture a commercial where a sweaty athlete sports dude walks up to a cooler, grabs a prune juice with his hand that isn’t holding a basketball and chugging his thirst away. But then again, I just pictured it. It’s just…weird. Weird is good these days. People drink oat milk and enjoy it. No bevs know any bounds in 2019. Somebody could definitely profit off of this. It helps digestion, holds off your urge to pee and has plenty of vitamin K. That…kind of sounds like something sports people need? Somebody should get on the horn with Powerade. This could be the untapped market they need to keep All Sport at bay!

While I pondered this potential cash cow, the man grew impatient and stormed out of the store. I must’ve been spaced out for a long time. Wherever that guy is, whoever he is, I really hope he finds that handheld bottle someday. We could someday live in a world where prune juice is as important as grape. That’s the world I want to live in. Maybe.

– It’s been over 4 years since I last attempted to write about football. For those that don’t remember, I used to do it weekly. In fact this used to be a Football blog. Called Baseball For Dinner. Neat, huh? Since then, the Rams have moved to Los Angeles, the Chargers have moved to, uhh, Los Angeles, and nobody really cares. Kind of like when the Rams originally left LA. Or when the Chargers existed in general. Over the years, I’ve grown farther and farther removed from the sport that I used to revere ad nauseum. I work every Sunday, my cable company dropped NFL Network and oh yeah, I kind of hate football. But I’d be damned if I would let a Thanksgiving pass without stuffing my face full of concussions and yellow flags. One more time, let me dust off this little vehicle that I used to call TeeCoZee’s NFL Roundup!

Chicago Bears 24, Detroit Lions 20
This game started before I even realized what time it was. Any sporting event before 1:05 PM should be illegal. Especially on Thanksgiving. Our internal clocks are already discombobulated enough with the weird dinner times and the fact that there’s a holiday on fucking Thursday. Don’t throw gas in our fire by starting football early. I was still balls deep in making my casserole, burning my hand on said casserole and then icing my hand while still trying to make a casserole when I realize that the game already started. The immediate thoughts that I shouted out loud were:

“Wow, both teams already scored!”
“Wow, the Lions are wearing the worst uniforms that I’ve ever seen in my life!”
“Wow, CHARLIE BATCH IS PLAYING!”

To my dismay, it wasn’t Charlie Batch. Some chump snagged his [surprisingly] un-retired number. Enter David Blough, the Lions ~~turd~~ third-string Quarterback. I wasn’t even aware the Matt Stafford was hurt [he is their quarterback, right?], let alone the poor nameless bastard that was their second-string [He has a name. It’s Jeff Driskel, which is somehow less quarterbacky than David Blough]. To be fair, David didn’t Blough. His first ever career completion was a 75 yard touchdown strike to Golladay. Joe Buck and Troy Aikman spent the whole first half jerking him off like he was the second coming of Charlie Batch. But he’s better than Charlie Batch. It took Charlie 3 games to get his first touchdown. What an idiot! Clearly, David Blough is on a higher plane of existence. The hype wore off by halftime. How do I know this? During the halftime show, the rando country shitkicker musician people were having technical difficulties and we were met with dead silence. While one of the guys pretended to play guitar, unaware of the catastrophe among him, Joe Buck mustered a suggestion:

“Well, uhh, do you want to talk about the first half?”
“…”
“Hmm…”

That exchange is Lions football in a nutshell. At first, there’s something to talk about. You know there’s something to talk about. But the overwhelming feeling of impending doom makes you suddenly disinterested in the subject. And in the true spirit of our lord and savior, Charlie Batch, Blough got sacked for 13 yards when it mattered the most and the game was over. Blough got bloughn. Bluh.

Commercial Break

Nothing spells Christmas like fat shaming the most generous man on Earth and stealing his car. I find nothing wrong with this.

Buffalo Bills 26, Dallas Cowboys 15
Just when I thought I had a grasp on what the hell is going on in the NFL, some fact always comes to slap me in the face. Like the Bills being 9-3. What the hell does that even mean? They’re not going to have a losing season? Why? It makes no sense. That’s not what the Bills are supposed to do. They must be drunk. But oh wait, the 49ers and Ravens are also contenders? Is the year 2026? Did these teams really “rebuild” that quickly? Does the process actually work? Are the Jets good, too? [SPOILER ALERT: They aren’t.] I have very little knowledge of who even plays on either of these competing teams and to tell you the truth, I learned nothing. I was too busy eating dinner and conversing about poop and American Cheese. You know, the things that matter.

I didn’t catch who the Bills quarterback is and frankly, I’m too full and lazy to look it up. But whoever he is, he’s a jerk. In post game interview, he said “hats off to the defense” not once, but twice. And his HAT. STAYED. ON. That’s a very disingenuous contradiction. He obviously doesn’t give a crap about his precious defense. Or else his hair would be exposed to the world. I’m not going to lend somebody a hand while they’re both in my pockets. Take your damn hat off, you phony fuck!

New Orleans Saints 26, Atlanta Falcons 18
The National Anthem was played by a Saxman. In 2019. It was a thing of beauty. Never mind the fact that he showboated the ever-loving shit out of it. The Saxman reigned supreme. Life is good. Just like Drew Brees. He’s just good. He’s not gonna swing his dick all over the place or be an emotionless drone that tries to sell Pizza or insurance or razor blades. No. Drew Brees is just going to be efficient and good. And sell cough syrup.

This Thanksgiving gave us some fancy kickery. In the first game, Lions kicker Matt Prater did a trick shot. On a kickoff, Prater hit a line drive off of a defender’s leg, setting up for an easy recovery. Some real Tony Hawk shit. It stole my heart and kickflipped it for real. The Falcons gameplan was no different. After spending most of the game flailing around like helpless seagulls, kicker Younghoe Koo [amazing name, even better kicker] decided to take matters into his own hands. After a garbage time touchdown, Koo delivered a perfect onside kick that had to get called back, because football. So he made the same exact kick again, recovered by the same guy and there was no flag and everyone cheered, because football. But Matt Ryan is no Drew Brees and Mr Koo immediately found himself back out there to kick a field goal. And what does he do after that? He chips yet another onside kick! Al Michaels is losing his goddamned mind. The Saints fans that stuck around are cheering because it’s the most interesting thing they saw all day. This is something that hasn’t happened in over a decade. It’s why they play the game, it’s a Thanksgiving miracle, it’s–a perfect opportunity for Matt Ryan to shit the bed. Because, FOOTBALL.

All in all, this Thanksgiving has taught me that no matter how long I stay away, football will be waiting there for me. Despite that nicety, it’s been mutilated into a game of arbitrary rules, where men get penalized for merely existing. Kind of like the NYPD. I think I’ll just stick with wrestling until Spring comes…

– I was going to make the trick for you to try this weekend to be to learn Spanish. However, my cousin Zach already beat me to the punch. But that reminded me, I also meant to talk about the Gobbledy Gooker.

Disregard the guys in the front row wearing proto-MAGA hats. Also disregard the shoes that were made by a 5th grader. The Gobbledy Gooker was a gloriously awkward moment in the annals of WWF history. It was a gimmick that always stuck with me, but for some reason, didn’t stick with anyone else. While I thought it was a yearly tradition for the Gooker to be hatched at every Survivor Series, it was actually a one and done. And who was the poor jabroni in the turkey costume? None other than Héctor Guerrero, the less popular brother of Eddie and Chavo. The fact that it was him under the costume further embeds the weird relationship with the WWF and latino wrestlers. For something that was so feverishly popular in Mexico, very few of their wrestlers made it to the limelight until the late 90s. At the time that Héctor Guerrero came to the WWF, the only other latino superstar [to my recollection] was Tito Santana. Tito was billed as being from Mexico, despite the fact that he was born and raised in Texas. Tito was just Vince’s token wrestler to fill every race demographic [like the Hulk Hogan being Irish or Razor Ramon being Cuban despite the fact that they’re both southern trash]. In that regard, Héctor must’ve been really excited to get that call up. Santana wasn’t getting any younger, so he could’ve totally gotten a push to represent Latin America. Instead, they made him dress up as a turkey, shoved him in an egg, and before he knew it, his time in the WWF was over. That’s it. He was hired to be the Gobbledy Gooker and then was immediately let go. I would like to say that stories like these only existed in that era, but I’m sure shit like this happens all the time. Just ask the guys from Two Minute Warning. Or Crime Time. Or the Mexicools. Oof. Almost forgot about the Mexicools.