This site does not favor wasting space on the CBA meetings and publicized baloney oozing forth from these tedious excursions into greed induced drivel. We prefer wasting space on just about anything else, from the Hubble’s Ultra Deep Space photos down to the microscopic size of Mike Singletary’s brain. Ha ha. Just kidding, Mike. Old linebacker head. You know me, Mike, I’m not into moral victories.
However, the recent gathering between owners and players accidentally got a little real, baby, and set off some serious repercussions that are too fun to ignore. Jerry Richardson, the owner of the Carolina Panthers, treated Peyton Manning like an ignorant schoolboy and then threw out some x-rated insults to players in general for the exorbitant amount of money he was having to pay them, which they should be grateful for, and which he clearly would like to reduce. This guy spent $100 million or more last year on a team that went 2-14, so you can see where his pain is coming from.
We always approve of break downs in decorum. Decorum is for the Brits. It’s why we whipped their ass in the Revolutionary War. Ha ha. It’s true the Beatles helped loosen up the neckties in the British Isles, but as long as there’s a Prince Charles staring balefully out from the supermarket tabloid section, looking like the weariest old stuffed shirt loser in history, the Brits are still the Brits. Sorry, blokes. Down with the monarchy! Off with the Royal Blather Shires.
Ahem. So Richardson’s rant was refreshing, albeit a bit suicidal. If he owned the 49ers, this would be bad news. But who cares about the East Coast Panthers? Their owner just made every player and coach in the NFL — and college — extremely reluctant to go to work for this creep. It shed a little light on why John Fox, their recently deposed head coach, wanted out of town so bad he spent the year publicly sneering at upper management.
The Panthers new head coach, Ron Rivera, is already frequenting the late night bars after less than a month on the job. Figuratively speaking, of course. We have no direct knowledge that he even drinks. But recruiting new players for his team, and keeping the ones he now has, just got a lot harder. So, at the very least, he’s wringing his hands like a guy with DT’s, whether directly earned or figuratively imposed.
Richardson is a former NFL player, picked in the 13th round in 1959, who lasted just two years in the league, before getting rich via the Hardees restaurant chain, when burgers cost 15 cents, and later the CEO of Flagstar. It’s likely he is cheesed off at the money modern players make, versus what he made in 1959, which was little more than the aforementioned price of a burger. He also is operating with a new heart, of unknown origin, placed within him in 2009. So, we will allow that he might just be a tad wacko and short on patience, and perhaps soon to be permanently retired from the living. Still, he’s running the Carolina show right now and his snarling mug shot is no doubt being plastered onto the dart board walls of many an agent and player as we very scribble.
Richardson’s fellow owners were none too pleased with his outburst, either, since it revealed the inner them so carefully hidden behind phony smiles and platitudinous language. The them that is rich and has a divine right to get richer. And looks at them that ain’t as deserving of their ain’tness. Peons. Us.
I’d like to say we Usses are mad as hell and aren’t going to take it any more, but that line has been used and it was followed up by the line giver running out of anger and continuing to take it anyway. All we want is for these clowns to quit mugging for the cameras and get off the stage. Everyone knows how this is going to end up. The owners will get richer, the players will get richer, and the fans will eat it. The owners and players will smile for the cameras, like they’d just solved world hunger, and the fans will extend their middle fingers at both of them.
Have I mentioned how disheartening February can be? Two more weeks. Two more weeks.