There is, in my educated opinion, a special room deep in the bowels of Hell devoted entirely to containing the sick, sadistic sons of bitches who spend their lifetimes designing and stocking medical waiting rooms. No, seriously, what kind of malevolent, vengeful miscreant bolts horribly uncomfortable, plastic bubble seats around the entire goddamn outside of a room and then fills the interior with a series of low-lying coffee tables placed strategically, agonizingly just out of reach so cretins don’t put their bloody feet up on them? That’s not even the worst of it however; I mean for the love of christ, look at the horrifying colors these people choose to fill their decorating pallet with – beige, dusty rose, mutherfucking mauve!? If for some bloody insane reason I ever wanted to spend that kinda time staring at the interplay between various shades of peach, I’d almost definitely just attend a fucking Chardin exhibit instead thank-you very much. Truthfully however, the most insipid aspect of the whole wretched experience is the wonderful variety of fascinating and always topically-current magazines these rat-bastards provide you with – simply so nobody goes completely postal while wasting precious hours of their life trying to address some minor medical issue or another. Magazines like twenty year old issues of Time, Women’s Health Quarterly and the ever-present Good Housekeeping. Are you fucking serious? What kind of chemically lobotomized Stepford Wife needs or wants a two hundred page, full color magazine to tell her about fucking housekeeping of all goddamn things – as if this sitting in an off-red waiting room, on a plastic bubble seat and having to navigate your way past random outstretched feet just to get a goddamn magazine wasn’t a terrible enough experience in the first place; somehow it’s also necessary to feel like shit about your own slovenly personal habits while staring at pictures of glamorous kitchens and polished tableware, priced literally thousands of dollars out of your range.
I mention this here and now because just this past week I had the utter misfortune of having to visit a licensed practitioner of medicine to deal with an extremely delicate, medical problem of an intensely personal nature – my seemingly magnetic bloody attraction to taking multi-score favorites against the line despite the fact that I know full goddamn well it’s almost impossible to consistently cover large spreads in modern, professional football. After last week’s horrifying seven and seven record against the spread, I realized that I desperately needed to reach out for serious, psychological help – whether it be in the form of electric shock therapy, or powerful, psychotropic drugs designed to help me suppress the urge to literally set money on fire week after goddamn week. So, in the interests of both my mental and financial help, I endured the terrifying, Kafkaesque hellscape of my local doctor’s waiting area long enough to speak to a trained professional, prepared to deal with just this sort of creeping malady of my diseased, subconscious mind. Before we got started however, I felt it was absolutely vital to our future relationship that I set this goddamn head-shrinker on the right course of treatment; before we wasted expensive, billable hours on a bunch of touchy-feely nonsense that wouldn’t help a cynical degenerate such as myself in the first place:
“Now listen here Ma’am” I told her, carefully working my voice a firm, confident tone that would make it clear I wasn’t about to tolerate any bullshit here. “I am not your average, two-bit, bus looney who’s wandered in here off the goddamn street, doctor! I have no interest whatsoever in undergoing hypnosis, I don’t want to talk to you about my bloody childhood and I’ve never had a single fucking dream about cigars – which I find repugnantly smelly despite being a cigarette smoker myself. I am here for one simple, easy to explain reason my good woman – I need you to help me exterminate the little goddamn voice in my head that keeps suckering me into dropping serious cheddar on fake good teams like Atlanta and Arizona against fat lines; even when I actively realize these kinds of wagers rarely work out in the salary cap era of pro football. Now, where do we go from here?”
She paused momentarily, but soon I thought I might have laid it on a little too thick however, as her face began to contort into a terrifying mask of what seemed like stress and revulsion to me at the time. Desperately attempting, to diffuse the awkward situation, I tried to calm her down again so we could get started on the hard work that no doubt lay ahead – before I was completely fucking broke.
“I’m sorry, was that a little too forward? I don’t mean to be a curmudgeon; it’s just that I’ve never quite trusted headshri…”
Suddenly, the doctor cut me off by bursting out into a loud, vaguely humiliating giggle that rang with pure and unadulterated glee, before finally replying, “That’s wonderful Mrs. Illingworth but I think you might have the wrong appointment – I’m Doctor Maureen Jones, your gynecologist.”
(Week 8 NFL Picks: home teams are in caps with my choice to win listed first. Once again, our legal department will have me hosed down with bug spray and dropped into the middle of a Republican, gun-nut, survivalist convention with the words “Hope and Change” tattooed across my forehead if I don’t remind you that these picks are for entertainment purposes only and that gambling with money you can’t afford to lose is a terrible goddamn crime – unless apparently you’re a large enough corporation to demand and receive an obscenely massive government bailout to make it all better again on someone else’s dime afterwards, in which case it’s just “economic stimulus.”)
PATRIOTS (-8) over Dolphins:
Is there any experience, in all of the human condition more horrifying than watching a dominant New England team suddenly lose all interest in playing fucking defense up two scores, late in the fourth quarter? The carnage starts early this week as our Thursday Night Football match-up features a surprisingly life-like Dolphins squad that was left for dead almost a month ago and the aforementioned goddamn New England Patriots. Forget the Tom Brady Revenge tour, the dominant storyline so far this season for degenerate gamblers has rapidly become Bill Belichick’s utter fucking disdain for covering any spread larger than a single touchdown. The really frustrating part however is that at no point in time during this entire process has New England ever looking like anything except the best mutherfucking team in the National Football League. The Pat’s inability to cover doesn’t come from talent, execution or scheme but bloody apathy, which makes them virtually fucking impossible to predict from week to week. On the other side of the equation, Miami comes into Foxborough with a nice little two game winning streak that doesn’t mean a goddamn thing because it came against two teams that would struggle to go .500 in the Mountain West Conference. Is it possible that Dan Campbell is a master motivator and not just a sadistic meathead who’s benefiting entirely from not being as singularly fucking hated as fired headman Joe Philbin? Sure, it’s possible, but it’s going to take a lot more than bullying two of the shittiest teams in the NFL’s most staggeringly inept division to prove that. If this were a ten point line, I’d be tempted to pick Miami and if it were six and a half I’d probably bet my entire fucking house on the Patriots. As it stands, I’m reasonably confident New England is at least eight points better than Miami; now the question of whether or not the Pats give a shit about how much they win this game by, is another goddamn riddle altogether.
Lions (+4) over CHIEFS:
Look, before we go any further here, I feel it’s extremely vital to our mutual well being to establish that I don’t actually like either fucking team in this game and I strongly advise you not to wager on this bizarre spectacle of outrageously terrible football. In addition to the normal chaos and carnage surrounding a game between two staggeringly awful football teams, the Lions are six goddamn days off firing everyone in the mutherfucking building except the two bumbling, ignoramus mediocrities most directly responsible for a lost season – GM Martin Mayhew and head coach Jim Caldwell. Actually, can we stop and talk about just what in the Sam hell is going on with the Detroit front office for a moment here? First, on Monday and precisely three entire weeks after it’s too late to contend for a playoff spot, the Lions drift into full fucking crisis mode and fire Joe Lombardi; because any time you can fire a young, former QB coach with no track record whatsoever as an offensive coordinator to replace him with an even younger former QB coach with no track record whatsoever as an offensive coordinator but also named Jim Bob Cooter – you snap fucking do that right? Now, after flying to another bloody fucking continent, Mayhew is openly running his gob about how the Lions will be buyers, not sellers at the trade deadline, and some sheer and utter fucking nonsense about how they’d win the championship every year with twenty-two Matt Staffords on the team. Setting aside the fact that I seriously question Matt Stafford’s ability to play on the offensive line, Mayhew sure sounds like a desperate, delusional tin-pot dictator who can hear the mobs assembling outside his villa and intends to go down firing doesn’t he? The shit has clearly hit the proverbial fan in Lions-land ladies and gentlemen, which is precisely why I’m going to take Detroit here and pray that four points and a possible dead coach bounce get us to the finish line. There are very, very few potential wins left on the Lions schedule folks and while a lot of people seem to be pretty high on the Chiefs after beating Pittsburgh last week – they’re also forgetting that the Steelers were running essentially a high-school version of their normal offense; with almost no spread action or screens whatsoever because they were starting a third-string quarterback who couldn’t beat out Mike Vike’s rotting corpse for the job these past two and a half months. Look for Caldwell to get the job done and keep the rampaging mobs at bay for one more week before it all comes crashing down during a hellacious, terrifying November when the Lions may not win a single fucking game.
PS – did I just write that entire paragraph for the expressed purpose of typing out the words “Jim Bob Cooter” (twice now)? You fucking betcha, Sparky.
Vikings (+1.5) over BEARS:
There seems to be a prevailing thought amongst the gambling community that the Minnesota Vikings are not nearly as good as their record would indicate and the fact that they haven’t won in Chicago since 2007, somehow means they’ll find a way to lose again this week. This is, to put it bluntly, complete and utter goddamn horseshit; we’re talking about a Bears team that managed to find a way to lose to the bloody Lions after having the lead handed to them on a plate by incompetent officiating for fuck’s sakes folks – does it even matter if the Vikings are overrated and due for an eventual, soul-destroying fall back towards .500? There’s still plenty of time left this season to bet against Teddy Bridgewater’s noodle arm and a Viking’s defense whose best asset many actually be the fucking schedule maker; this game is definitely not the moment to start. As far as the Bears go, the most interesting news out of Chicago this week is the revelation that the Bears had to call the police after releasing enraged sociopath Jeremiah Ratliff when the three hundred lb defensive tackle revealed that he “felt like killing everyone in the building” before later returning to sate he “wished staff member’s children would die” and declaring “I am the devil.” Ratliff, as you will recall, was the charming individual who almost got into a fist fight in the Dallas locker room with Jerry Jones after the Cowboys owner maybe, sorta, directly implied that Jeremiah wasn’t trying hard enough to come back from injury for a Dallas team that desperately needed him to make them suck slightly less but still lose in the playoffs. When the best news out of your team all week is that you’ve finally realized you should cut a mutherfucker who was too goddamn crazy for the organization that wrote the modern fucking book on enabling deranged, homicidal athletes – you’ve got bigger fish to fry than extending an eight game home winning streak against the objectively superior Vikings.
Buccaneers (+7.5) over FALCONS:
Okay Atlanta, I hate to say this but it’s not me, it’s abso-fucking-lutely you and I am done throwing good goddamn money after bad betting on a team that can’t even cover a four and a half point fucking spread against the Zach Mettenberger-led Titans. I have never, in my entire life, seen a more secretly rancid six and one team than this year’s edition of the Falcons and at some point, the chickens of mediocrity will most assuredly come home to roost this season for Atlanta – probably in the opening round of the NFL playoffs because the rest of their schedule isn’t even remotely damn intimidating whatsoever. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that said schedule, combined with the emergence of second year running back and suspected demi-god Avenger, Devonta Freeman, is pretty much entirely why the Falcons aren’t starring down the fucking barrel of another disastrous six and ten season – remember this in January my friends. Will Atlanta win this game? Almost assuredly – after all, they are playing a team coached by the fossilized remains of Lovie Smith’s career, quarterbacked by a guy dumb enough to steal fountain pop at a Burger King in the middle of a national fucking championship run and missing number two (in more ways than one) wideout Vincent Jackson. Does any of that mean I’m prepared to lay seven and a half points on a fucking Atlanta team that hasn’t covered in weeks against mediocre competition and will spend all day chasing reinvigorated, cutback assassin Doug “Muscle Hamster” Martin? Nope.
SAINTS (-3) over Giants:
In the fine art of gambling, it is sometimes important to trust yourself and what you know to be true from verifiable observation, while simultaneously ignoring recent on-field results that have gone against you because Matt Cassel is to quarterbacking what Brandon Weeden is to, well, also quarterbacking. Nevermind, the point here is that Eli Manning is basically done, the Giants can’t pass block worth a shit anyways and their entire offense runs through a gimpy but still occasionally formidable Odell Beckham Jr. This is not, in any way, shape or form, a good goddamn football team and the only reason Tom Coughlin hasn’t been put out to pasture already is because New York plays in an NFC East division that makes the term “raging dumpster fire” seem like a casual bit of understated witticism. Now Manning walks into a building he’s never won in, against a suddenly resurgent Saints team that’s flooding the field with extra tight ends in a desperate, but so far successful attempt to keep Drew Brees from being literally murdered on national television behind one of the worst offensive lines in a fucking league absolutely chock full of terrible offensive lines at the moment; including the one the Giants will be bringing in on Sunday. Further complicating matters for New York, the Aints suddenly ain’t having much trouble generating a pass rush behind the superhuman efforts of unhinged, champagne-spraying barbarian Cameron Jordan who has amassed five sacks in his last two games, albeit against terrible goddamn offensive lines in Indianapolis and Atlanta – are you catching the theme here folks? If I were an offensive tackle in the NFL right now, I’d be doing everything in my goddamn power to get released from my contract and cash in for literally all of the fucking monies this offseason when the NFL attempts to staggeringly overcorrect its offensive line woes as a collective entity. In other words – fat guys are about to get paid large because even baseline, competent pass-blocking is enough to give you a significant edge in modern pro football. As far as this match-up is concerned however, all you need to know is that it’s awful hard to win a game on the road, in a deafeningly loud domed stadium, when you can’t rush the passer to save your life and you can’t fucking pass block well enough for your aging, never was all that great anyway quarterback to save his.
49ers (+8) over RAMS:
For those keeping track at home, yes, I have now just bet on Matt Stafford and Colin fucking Kaepernick in the same week and no, I’m not entirely sure this doesn’t start the process whereby fish boil in the sea, sacred seals are broken and a vengeful, smiting God brings about the end times for wretched unbelievers. Frankly, I’m no more fucking comfortable with this thought than you are my friends, but at the end of the day I have seen nothing at all that has convinced me the Los Angeles Rams should be favored by eight mutherfucking points over any other team in the NFL – let alone a divisional opponent, coming off ten days rest and while the Rams are starting a fucking two hundred and thirteen lb safety at outside linebacker. Yes, the Rams defensive line is fearsome, but their secondary isn’t scaring anyone at this point and frankly the whole fucking defense has been all over the map this season on a quarter to quarter basis. On the other side of the ball, it doesn’t take a genius to see that the entire Rams offense now depends completely on the superhuman talents of certified man-beast and likely best runningback in the NFL – Todd Gurley. Nick Foles, who really wasn’t anything to fucking write home about in the first place, has clearly regressed since arriving from Philadelphia and it’s only a matter of goddamn time before some enterprisingly meathead defensive coordinator realizes you can stack up to nine men in the box against the Rams because their quarterback has never learned to run a real fucking NFL offense and is only dangerous on the kind of deep, play-action passes coach Jeff Fisher lacks the testicular fortitude to call with any damn regularity whatsoever. Don’t get me wrong, I’m pretty sure San Francisco will ultimately find a way to lose this game; probably on a poorly timed Kaepernick interception that features absolutely no 49ers even on screen when the ball is picked off. That does not however mean I’m insane enough to lay eight points on a Rams team that’s only averaging eighteen fucking points a game just because every Tom, Dick and Harry wants to bro-marry Todd Gurley. Go home Vegas, you’re either drunk or you think I am.
BROWNS (+5.5) over Cardinals:
Well, it has finally come to this – after weeks and goddamn weeks of (mostly) losing money betting on a very good, but very unpredictable Cardinals team to overcome massive spreads, I am no longer comfortable wagering on them as a five and a half point road favorite against a Cleveland Browns squad that will welcome back cover-busting machine Josh McCown and one of the few remaining single press-coverage assassins left in the NFL in cornerback Joe Hayden. I mean, objectively the Cardinals should be able to handle this – Cleveland’s defense is goddamn awful, can’t stop the run or the pass, and the Arizona attack has so many weapons at its disposal that it’s a mutherfucking miracle Vladdy Putin hasn’t publicly called for its immediate dismantling under one nuclear arms treaty or another. Then again, the Cardinals should have been able to handle a nine point spread against a genuinely putrid Ravens squad and they should have been able to beat a Steelers team starting reanimated zombie Mike Vick at quarterback before eventually replacing him with someone or something named Landry Jones under center the week before that. As far as I can tell, there is no definable rhyme or reason why Arizona finds new and fascinating goddamn ways to keep games horrifyingly “interesting” in the fake Chinese curse sense of the word; just as there appears to be no known reason aside from divine intervention by a cruel and sarcastic God for Josh McCown’s mysterious ability to perform precisely well enough to obliterate thousands of three team parlays, but never actually win a fucking football game. All I know is that when you add the two of them together, you get an unpredictable, pigskin mess that will probably end with me punching my television six or seven fucking times when a late Johnny Football interception seals the cover for Arizona the week after I finally give up laying more than a goddamn field goal on them. Let’s just move on.
Bengals (-1) over STEELERS:
For starters, let’s firmly establish the fact that I’m fully aware Steelers quarterback and resident Fat Bastard impersonator Ben Roethlisberger will be playing because he’d have to be clinically fucking dead to miss what will likely be the most important game of Pittsburgh’s season. Ben is being coy with the media right now to fuck with Cincy’s mind and try to force them to prepare for two different quarterbacks and essentially two different offenses at the same time but, if I know that he’ll be starting you can sure as shit bet the Bengals do too. Furthermore, asking if the Steelers are a better team with Roethlisberger at quarterback instead of noted dog-lover Mike Vick or “that fucking ginger kid from Friday Night Lights” would require pretending either of the latter two options were any goddamn good at the position in the first place – of course Pittsburgh is better with Big Ben under center. The question however, is “are they better than Cincinnati” and on that matter I’m going to have to say I’m not really sure they are folks – even at his best, Roethlisberger has never been as good at protecting the goddamn ball as Andy Dalton is right now and frankly, the Bengals just might have the best fucking offensive line in the NFL this year. Furthermore, the Steelers secondary has been a work in progress at the best of times all bloody season and now you’re going to tell me they can stop mutant, homicidal werewolves like AJ Green and Tyler Eifert with a banged up corner and without strong safety Will Allen who’s on the shelf with a fucked up ankle? The magic recipe for containing the Bengals offense is to make Andy Dalton shit himself in terror by getting to him before his receivers get open to disrupt his timing; at this exact moment, the Steelers have neither the pass rushers, nor the pass coverage specialists to accomplish that task – expect the Bengals to finally exercise their Heinz Field demons and win a close one when Dalton heroically outduels an obese (probable) rapist in the fourth quarter for great justice.
Chargers (+3.5) over RAVENS:
Ladies and gentlemen, get your mutherfucking goggles on because this game, like nearly every goddamn game featuring either one of these two teams; is going to feature an absolute metric shit-ton of points my friends. With Philip Rivers and to a lesser, definitely not “elite” degree Joe Flacco, going against a couple of defenses virtually incapable of stopping offenses, any fucking offenses whatsoever, from scoring – they just might knock out Baltimore’s antiquated power grid just running the electronic scoreboard at M&T Bank Stadium. Will both quarterbacks combine for over a thousand yards passing? It isn’t entirely out of the question at this point, although you’d have to think the Ravens at least will try to control the clock with Justin Forsett on the ground – while they can that is; before Rivers builds up a large enough lead against a Baltimore secondary that consistently leaves receivers wide fucking open, week after week and regardless of opponent. Just ask yourself this question for a second – if a staggering failure-monkey like Colin Kaepernick can find uncovered targets all day against the Ravens, what kind of damage will a bloodthirsty, surgical, bomb-tossing psychopath like Philip Rivers do to them this Sunday? This is a man with a fundamental fear of God in his heart and eight mutherfucking children – the entire state of Maryland isn’t prepared to handle the kind of pain Philip Rivers endures on a daily basis and now I’m supposed to believe he’ll let himself be shown up by the likes of Joe goddamn Flacco? I simply disbelieve; plus we’re getting three and a half points to take the Chargers and conversely I’d have to lay the same amount on a one and six team even if I wanted to pick the Ravens – which sounds like a recipe for chaos, carnage and financial ruin if you ask me.
TEXANS (-3.5) over Titans:
Sweet mother of god – this game is a thing, that is actually happening and somehow, despite all logic that would indicate otherwise; there are people who are actually going to pay real cash fucking money to watch this staggering exhibition of mind-blowingly terrible football occur! Does the UN know about the plight of these poor, helpless fools who think they’ve actually purchased a ticket to a professional football game and not a horrible exhibition of fucking psychological torture? Won’t anyone do something to stop this madness?! Assuming this answer is no and that this contest does indeed occur, we are once again presented with the delightful opportunity to bet against the quarterback-like substance known as Zach Mettenberg; who is replacing the injured Marcus Mariota for the second straight week and managed only a pathetic seven damn points against a Falcons defense that probably couldn’t stop eleven randomly selected schoolchildren from dropping a couple touchdowns on them in garbage time to be perfectly fucking honest with you. Are the Texans actually good enough to be giving up more than a field goal against any team in the NFL? Strictly speaking – no, but this isn’t a bet for Houston so much as a bet against a goddamn horrible Titans team that can’t stop the run and will definitely, without question be starting the worst quarterback of the twenty-eight teams that will play a game this weekend. Between you, me and the rat-fucking NSA agent reading this column because I typed the word “bomb “ a few paragraphs back; I’m pretty certain that DeAndre Hopkins alone will outscore the entire bloody Titans offense by more than three and a half points this Sunday.
Jets (-3) over RAIDERS:
The first 4PM (ish) match-up this week fills my heart with infinite sadness as I simply cannot experience the subversive joy I get whenever I lay big money on Derek Carr, Amari Cooper and the Oakland Raiders, this time around. Of all the weird, wild and depressingly tone deaf stories in the NFL this season, I think the Raider’s sudden emergence as the bad team that beats the holy shit out of other bad teams might be my favorite. Unfortunately, this week Cooper finds himself at home, but on Revis Island and while I don’t doubt the young, superhuman wideout’s ability to beat an older, creaky Darrelle Revis a couple of times in pass coverage – I do fucking doubt the Raiders ability to keep Carr upright and conscious long enough against the bloodthirsty marauders in the New York front seven for Cooper to be a real difference maker this game. Things really don’t get much fucking better for the Raiders on the ground despite the continued development of 230 lb rampaging monster Latavius Murray at halfback, because the Jets are only allowing just a touch over seventy rushing yards per game and Oakland’s offensive line is going to spend most of the day flat on its goddamn ass – once the Raiders fall behind against a New York defense that’s still absolutely fucking irate they let Tom Brady walk all over them in the fourth quarter last week. The Jets will waste too much time plowing Chris Ivory into a solid Oakland defense for a complete blowout, but New York should win comfortably and stay on track for a painful, heartbreaking loss in the wild-card round of this year’s playoffs.
Seahawks (-5.5) over DALLAS:
Okay, dark and cynical deities of the everlasting wager – I have duly learned my lesson from last week’s betting on Matt Cassel for any goddamn reason whatsoever debacle and will therefore bet against Dallas this week no matter how completely unreasonable the line may be. Wait, what’s this – the line is only five and a half points after Seattle tore San Francisco’s goddamn heart out on national television in a season-saving, team defining victory? What is this unearthly madness; did all of Vegas somehow miss the three mind-warpingly fucking bad interceptions Cassel threw against a Giants defense that is objectively unworthy to carry the Legion of Boom’s luggage to and from the goddamn airport?! Folks, at times like these, I’ve learned the best thing you can do is send a polite thank you note to the kind benefactor most responsible for your unexpected fortune, so here’s mine –
Dear Nyarlathotep, the Crawling Chaos:
Thank you oh terrible and mysterious overlord for driving the wretched unbelievers in Las Vegas utterly, stark-raving mad in time to allow this unworthy acolyte to bet heavily against The Fallen One, Matt Cassel at a reasonable rate- despite it being nigh-certain he’ll be lit up like a goddamn Roman candle by Richard Sherman and Seattle’s excellent safeties. Unfortunately, my present legal situation prevents me from offering your eminence the customary tribute required in this situation; it is therefore my sincerest hope that you’ll accept the partially used Tim Horton’s gift card I’ve enclosed in lieu of the loyal legion of unblemished souls I’m normally supposed to provide here. Please give my best to Azathoth, wish him luck with that whole “blind idiot god” thing and hug the twins for me. Finally and once again, thanks for coming through for me big guy – I’ll get you back on the “Releasing Hastur from his eternal prison” project as soon as humanly possible.
Your (mostly) loyal servant of madness and upheaval,
Packers (-2.5) over BRONCOS:
Beware my fellow degenerate gambling freaks; this week’s Sunday Night Football match-up has the potential to unleash horrifying, parlay-destroying West Coast voodoo on thousands of bettors worldwide as the Packers march into Mile High Stadium for a game that will run well past their normal East Coast bed times. Strange and mysterious things invariably happen when you’re talking about the temporal bio-rhythms of finely tuned, highly regimented specimens of human athletic ability – which is why teams from one side of the country often get blown out in 1PM games on the opposite coast, and teams from the other side often fail to cover the goddamn spread late at night in the same situation. Furthermore, despite the fact that nearly everyone I’ve talked to is pretty confident the Packers will absolutely nuke a Denver squad led by a quasi-lifelike replica of Peyton Manning; the truth is Green Bay’s offense has been shockingly fucking mediocre for weeks now and things aren’t going to get any easier against a Broncos pass rush that might genuinely be trying to end a mutherfucking quarterback’s life before the goddamn season is out. With all of that having been noted however; the chance Manning will be able to move the ball without throwing interceptions like a JUGS machine set up for fielding practice against an almost equally ferocious fucking Packers defense seems so minuscule, it’s hardly worth mentioning except as a vehicle to denigrate an aging, broken down Manning while the opportunity is still available – you see what I did there, right folks? It might only be by a fucking field goal, but I firmly expect the Packers to win this Sunday night match-up of unbeaten teams when the final whistle blows in into the cold, thin Rocky Mountain air at the conclusion of this celebrated contest. (Dear NFL Films, I can write this Steve Sabol-type shit for days and in my sleep – call my agent.)
PANTHERS (-7) over Colts:
Finally, this week closes off with another game that features ominous portents of doom and gloom but this time of the proverbial and dreaded mutherfucking “trap game” variety for Carolina. Wait – didn’t I say this exact same fucking thing about their week seven match-up with the Eagles? Yes, because the simple goddamn truth is that undefeated teams built around running quarterbacks and elite defenses have an almost unwavering historical tendency to completely fucking shit the bed if you can force them to pass the ball from behind on the scoreboard. Of course, the problem here for the Colts will be an absolutely bloody porous Indianapolis defense that is likely completely incapable of stopping Carolina’s run game. Furthermore, while things would probably be a lot easier on the entire Indy offense if blundering moron Pep Hamilton actually fed Frank Gore the pigskin a little more this week against a sneaky-bad Panther’s run defense – so far, Indianapolis has shown no interest whatso-fucking-ever in establishing the run and taking pressure off their young, wounded franchise quarterback. The Colts are simply too dysfunctional to beat, or even cover the spread against Carolina right now in my opinion and as much as this win might seem vital for an Indianapolis squad hovering a game below .500 at the moment; the honest to god truth is the Colts could probably win the AFC South and thereby, make the playoffs with a losing record this year – because that entire fucking division is a steaming pile of malodorous dog shit that still unfortunately has a guaranteed NFL playoff seed attached to it . Remember however, eventually, someone is going to force Cam Newton to beat them over the top multiple times in a game and despite his vast improvement as a quarterback as well as his repeatedly discounted leadership abilities (cough because he’s black cough) – I just don’t think he has either the accuracy or the goddamn receivers to actually pull it off.
Last Week: 7 – 7 – 0
Season: 55 – 47 – 3
- Nina Illingworth