For years thy visage hung upon thee as a malevolent spectre cast its vile shadow upon the cheeriest of days. Thou arrivest again and again to spoilst the joy of ardent followers of thou gridiron heroes of the Land that His Majesty King Charles dost bequethest his name to. Game after game, season after season, thy bringest thy darkness to thou warm and illumined halls of celebrations. Tailgate after Tailgate, postgame after postgame, thou has desecrated all thy desires for simple joys, for thou removest victory from thy grasp as a doting mother snatcheth away anything that which harmeth thy child. There is little that thou cannot blacken with the merest whisper of thou possible arrival to the company of thee – Though the intent of thou is benevolent, by the nature of the black cloud thou is eternally bound to, the sight of thou bringeth unintentional ruin to the mechanizations of thy Carolina Panthers.
So, where wast thy visage today, O Schleprock?
Thou expected thy arrival as sure as the winter bringest the snow. When sadness and tragedy befallest our adversary for the weekend, it was sure to be an emotional ally to overwhelmst thou most dogged of efforts. Thou hast experienced this as recent as last season, when thou broughst the darkness of the fate thou carryest as Jacob Marley is burdenst with the chain forged by the vice and vile of thy errant life. Thou madest the Chieftains of the Lands of Western Missourah as a potent force, as toothless as thy were, and fittest to thy love yet another defeat, stinging, demoralizing, and yet, fitting.
Thy expected thy timely arrival today – WHERE WAST THOU, O SHLEPROCK???
Thy must remindst thou, that the company of men with the snarling predator on thy helmeting is the target of the slings of thou odious malfeasance…
And yet, thou desirest to further darkenst the days of the Norsemen… And as thou contemplatest thy absence from thy sideline, the sun breakest the cover of cloud to brighten the skies of His Majesty King Carolus… be still thy pulsing heart – a sign of hope???
Shleprock, O Shleprock, thou hast thy permission to stayest away from this day forward, through thou contest at home with the Rams Of Saint Louis, to thou contest at the Land That Sherman Didst Burn against the Birds that Royalty Dost Sport.
But to be the kind and hospitable member that thou ist,
We leave a spot at the table for thou…
If thy hast a reply, thou mayest
Email thee –