1.) Baker Mayfield this year, Kyler Murray next year. When will NFL teams figure out the player can sometimes be the product of a great coach or system? Baker Mayfield will be out of the NFL in five years, or at least relegated to a backup role, if Cleveland doesn't put a similar system around him. And Murray will be another version of Mayfield's 2018 campaign as a 2019 rookie. All too often we see these RPO quarterbacks ready to break into the NFL with dreams of grandeur to change the way the NFL is played. And, to be fair, it has worked for some. However, nine of the last eleven recent NFL MVP's have a few things in common, opposite of the "new" offensive NFL; pocket-passers who have sound mechanics, unquestionable IQ, leadership and know how to actually throw a goddamn football. These names are future Hall of Famer's; Manning, Brady, Rodgers and Matt Ryan (maybe not HOF material), and this year it's looking like Drew Brees.
Today we see musicians as people who press buttons on an iPad and make up ridiculous sounds and mumble rap. Back in the day it was Bach and Mozart. Brady and Brees are Bach and Mozart. Mayfield and Murray are the Chainsmokers.
2.) No one will beat Alabama in the CFB Playoff. And six teams won't help the cause, neither will eight ... let's end the silly debate.
3.) Do people just stop working once the Holiday season arrives? The roads are jammed, the restaurants are packed and everyone is seemingly in my way. The older I get the more I loathe December. Christmas used to be fun. But now it's ripping and roaring through crowded streets buying shit and running up a credit card balance for five minutes of present opening fun.
As a non-practicing sometimes believer, who at the very least, respects and acknowledges Jesus Christ, how in the hell did we get so far away from the original concept?
4.) That "country western" bar I visited a few weeks ago was not "country" and it damn sure wasn't "western." It was basic white people dancing to mid-2000 wedding songs by a guy wearing a backwards hat and khaki cargo shorts, and the temperature was 39 outside. Fuck that place. Three pretty single ladies shaking their soon-to-be not single asses off to Usher's "Yeah" with guys creeping around doing the cracker-ass dice-roll dance knowing a 3am pantless rendezvous is the direct result of endless Fireball and syringe tubed jello shots.