Tired of what he calls “false accusations of racial insensitivity,” Washington Redskins owner Daniel Snyder announced today he will change the team’s name to one that “should be popular with players and fans alike.
“It’s time to honor the fact that over 70 percent of NFL players are Negroes,” Snyder told reporters, “which is simply a result of natural selection and their jungle roots. The guys who survived and passed along their genes were the guys who could outrun lions and tigers.”
The team’s new name, Snyder said, will be The Washington Colored Guys.
“This whole Redskins controversy has just become too much of a distraction,” the team owner lamented. “We want to get back to the business of playing football.”
Snyder said he has already assigned artists to work on a new logo reflecting the spirit of The Washington Colored Guys.
“I told them I want something simple yet powerful,” he said. “I’m personally leaning toward a really muscular Negro guy carrying a spear in a threatening manner. And here’s the
ingenious part: The words ‘colored guys’ would be etched on this really huge bone through his nose.”
When asked if he had tested the new name through focus groups, Snyder said he considered that unnecessary. “I have a good instinct for these things,” he smiled. “Some of my best friends are colored guys, and I know they are going to be thrilled to finally get the recognition they deserve.
“I mean, really, how many Indians are playing pro football? I should have changed our name to The Washington Colored Guys years ago. It would have saved me a whole lot of aggravation.”
When an American man says he doesn’t like soccer he puts it out there like a boast, as if his scorn for the most popular game on the planet suggests something grand about his virility.
He will go on to tell you he’s a fan of real football, the U.S. pastime, where each of the 120-plus plays in a game have a beginning, a middle and an end. American football makes sense, man. There’s always something happening.
On the flip side is the guy who thoughtfully strokes his chin and claims soccer is a chess board come to life – the beautiful game – an athletic ballet playing out a choreography designed by the gods themselves.
It may be all that, but millions of its most rabid followers barely register on the evolutionary scale. I first met some of them in the 1990s on a night in Bosnia – the Croatian sector – while standing on the patio of a fifth-floor apartment. Suddenly, gunfire broke out – pistols and AK-47s on full-automatic – and when bullets began chewing up a wall 10 feet away I went to my belly and wondered what had sparked the firefight below.
It wasn’t a firefight. Dozens of men on
the street, crowded around a portable radio, had just heard that the Croatian soccer team had scored a goal in some tournament or another. Thus they celebrated as all third-world countries do when something joyful occurs: by spraying lead in all directions and to hell with anyone on the receiving end.
But this is neither an indictment of soccer or a shout-out for football. What sports we obsess over is solely determined by accidents of birth. If you’re Brazilian, soccer is your passion. Born in Chicago – it’s football all the way.
In the end – beautiful or not – they’re all, and only, the games people play.
Shiite Muslims, Sunni Muslims, wild-eyed bearded men with ridiculous unpronounceable names – it’s all too much for Americans to understand.
What we do know is that despite years of training by U.S. troops and outnumbering al-Qaeda insurgents 10 to one, Iraqi soldiers are dropping their weapons like a hot pork sandwich and running home to their villages with a single burning question on their lips:
“Where’s my goat herd, dude?”
The al-Qaeda crazies threatening to conquer Iraq are not dropping their weapons because they believe their Sunni Muslim god is better than the Shiite Muslim god, and both gods are a damn-side better than the Christian god. They’ll get to us next.
But like the Iraqi soldiers, the insurgents have one love, one passion, that supersedes all of their murderous religious fanaticism: herding goats.
As one expert on Middle-Eastern men put it: “No matter what he may be doing – making love, eating, engaged in combat – he will drop everything if he sees more than one goat
standing unattended in a field. His DNA demands that he immediately herd the goats into a single unit and watch over them.”
And therein lies the solution to preventing the most radical Muslims in Iraq from conquering the just-a-little-less radical Muslims in Iraq. Instead of military intervention, President Obama must launch a massive airlift of goats, dropping thousands of the animals by parachute wherever the war is raging.
Soldiers from both sides will immediately throw down their arms and go back to being the one and only thing God put them on Earth to be: goat herders.
Since the Democratic Party thrives on selling the Blue Collar Narrative – “We’re all about income equality and helping out the po’ folks” – Democratic politicians squirm like worms on a hook when they‘re outed as filthy rich.
So when Hillary Clinton was asked by Diane Sawyer this week about all the cash she and Bill have raked in since leaving the White House (over $120 million in speaking fees alone), Hillary went for the rags-to-riches defense:
She and Bill were “dead broke and in debt” when his terms were up, she said, but thanks to hard work and an undying belief in the American dream, they were able to pull themselves up by their bootstraps, etcetera, etcetera. (I made up the bootstraps, but that’s what she was shooting for.)
Now, “dead broke” means different things to different people. My first reaction was an image of Hillary and Bill living under a bridge somewhere in D.C., warming themselves over a newspaper campfire, rocking a hungry and weeping Chelsea to sleep with mournful lullabies.
“Don’t you worry, child,” Hillary coos, “your
daddy’s gonna buy an old Chevy tomorrow and go lookin’ for work.”
They slept then, these brave blue collar patriots, huddled in love beneath a single blanket stolen from the Lincoln bedroom.
Gosh, I’m so naïve. Turns out that during this dreadful period of “being broke,” Bill and Hillary bought two mansions worth over $5 million and never missed a lobster dinner. Worse, the Clintons now have three times the reported net worth of Republican George W. Bush, he of the “rich man’s party.”