Monday, September 8, 2008

Matt Cassel Iz A Believer

Earlier this year, I touched on the fact that Matt Cassel had become the Patriots' resident sports theologian after continuing to struggle with the question of why God hates him so much and does not want him to play football. Behind Tom Brady, it looked as if the next time he played any sort of meaningful snap, it would be in Madden. But all Matt's years of imploring God and promising blood sacrifices have evidently not been in vain. Everyone has heard by now what happened -- Brady got Bernard Pollarded and is a wash for the year, Masshole fans have been committing suicide en masse, and Matt is rather taken aback at the success of his voodoo -- he was hoping for results, but not nearly so fast. He would have really preferred another few months to hide the evidence learn the playbook, dump his wife, and find a better, hotter supermodel to take her place, before turning into a flaming metrosexual and GQ cover boy, plus adding another hundred points or so to his career passer rating. Only then does Matt Cassel, Patriots Starting Quarterback *, feel confident enough to take over the reins.

* He and Aaron Rodgers have a lot to talk about.

Matt Cassel Sees God.

Now Matt, not Tom, will be in control of the Patriots offense, responsible for taking the snaps, reading the coverage, scanning for receivers, perfecting his fist pump, washing his jersey, developing a picture-perfect cleft in his chin, impregnating at least three women out of wedlock by the end of the year, buying a pashmina, bringing Laurence Maroney Gatorade on the sidelines, giving Tedy Bruschi his medicine, keeping Tawmmy from Quinzee in the stands and not on the field, instructing Kevin O'Connell in the serious art of holding the clipboard and pretending he has one iota of self-esteem, informing any gullible young supermodel that happens to be walking by that he's the Patriots' starting quarterback, selflessly volunteering to be the crash test dummy for the Giants' defense to practice on, and serving as Bill Belichick's general dogsbody, whether it's seducing his latest conquest, picking up his dry cleaning, re-painting his car, arranging his newspapers, making his coffee, sharpening his pencils, approving his evil smirk, or bending over in the shower room and taking it like a man after a bad defeat. Not, of course, that this would ever happen to the Patriots. Shock. Horror.

Honestly, you almost have to feel bad for the poor kid.

Get it together, chucklehead.

I'm serious, your days of sitting on the sidelines and dozing off are over.

Come on. Serious face! SERIOUS FACE!

You guys are screwed.

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