It’s 2013, as you non-hibernating bipeds may have noticed, which means the Mayan’s tenuous grasp of life on earth has been relegated to the basement wing of The Knowledge Building. Down there with the earth is flat fellows.
As usual with these fifteen minutes of fame cults, nobody gave them a farewell dinner, and maybe a gold watch, as they slipped beneath the waves of time and glub, glub, glubbed their way to obscurity. The Outsider has a tradition of honoring those who have dared to be insignificant, however, so here’s to the Mayans. The world champions of midget pyramid building.
Speaking of Dashon Goldson, hasta la vista, baby! The 49ers have … Craig Dahl!
Just flicking your ears, Trent Baalke. We all know you’ll whip into action this week and throw some raw meat to the hungry blogomob.
Goldson. Hmmph. After a couple of years getting torched six times a year by Drew Brees, Cam Newton, and Matt Ryan, the Bucs will decide Dashon ain’t worth $8 mil a year, he’ll get cut, and he’ll probably have squandered all the money playing Emperor of the Entourage. He also won’t be in any more Pro Bowls, Monday or Sunday Night games, probably no playoff games, either. Have a nice career, dipwad. Maybe some team will sign a 32 year old forgotten safety for two or so mil a year and you’ll wind up making less from your $40+ mil contract than the 5 for $25 mil you could have gotten from the Niners. Not that it matters, since you’d squander that, too! Mark your calendars for 2028. That’s about the time Goldson will show up in bankruptcy court pleading with a judge to let him keep his X-box.
Harsh? Bah. As Jim Harbaugh would say, “It’s the sad, tough nature of the business.”
I was kidding about the X-box, BTW. It’ll be obsolete long before Goldson goes belly up. If you look around your house now, everything in it will be obsolete by then — if not next year or the minute after you bought it. Except maybe for the kitchen table. They tend to last even if you don’t eat there anymore. It’s a good place to throw shit you don’t know where to put just yet. You might even find a couple of Irish men curled up underneath yours this morning if you were foolhardy enough to invite them over for St. Pat’s day.
Back to football. Which isn’t occurring. Do you sense the need for some action, Mr. Baalke? We’re not a patient group. You’ve had your above the fray week. Time to go shopping!