Some people are blessed with athletic talent, others with intelligence, and yet others with both.However, the latter rarely rings true, as one talent or blessing (whatever you may call it) falls by the wayside for the sake of the other. If athleticism and intellect were at a party together, athleticism would probably get laid first, but would eventually end up with a mustard-stained wife beater, beer belly, illegitimate children and a restraining order. Before all that happens, when you think you’re on top of the world, you’re taking pictures of yourself in the mirror with your cell phone, driving a big asshole pickup truck, and shoving wimps into lockers. You think that being able to call plays on the gridiron, as if you’re some kind of general, makes you intelligent and aware. You see some sort of order and organization in this nonsense, when it seems to sensible people that nine out of ten plays end up with a clusterfuck of a pile of men on top of each other, grabbing for the funniest looking ball in sports. Rabid, idiotic football fans will tell someone who doesn’t like or follow the game that it’s because they just don’t understand it. Meanwhile, abject spelling and grammatical errors abound in your written tirade, but you’re apparently fine with that. After all, who needs intelligence when you can throw a ball, or play in a shitty metal band? I’d rather know how to spell than be the most athletic person in the room, for the record.  So, wipe your head grease off the weight bench, stop tailgating me in your monster truck, and prepare to be in the headlines for weapons charges someday. Meanwhile, I’ll sit here, not watching 300 pound men pile on top of each other, with a podcast that “nobody really gives a shit about” (see 80,029 hits in just 8 months).

#theonlypodcast is better than you. You know who you are.