A: Because he hasn’t alienated all the fans yet.
Q: Why would NFL players go out of their way to alienate their own fan base?
I’d write more jokes, but I might incite cranial-crushing heckling. Meanwhile, as NFL players are likely to discover in abundance today, the job is filling – not emptying – seats.
I care nothing about football: Dumb people getting dumber at every level, for all I can tell. I’m glad Kaepernick and BLM are killing it, and I can’t wait for it to be gone from TV.
I don’t see how snarling racists can kill hockey or golf, but everything else is up for grabs. You set the terms on which I will pay you, and I’m happy to pay someone else. I’m already sold on alternatives to televised sports!
But here’s the story that kills me: Picture a veteran in a wheelchair. His wife stuck it out with him – not always the case – and they scrape up everything they can spare so, once a year, she can shove his wheelchair all the way up into the handicapped nosebleed seats. When some preening millionaire presumes to spit on everything those people have given the best of their lives for – why should they come back?
I’ve been thinking about that guy for months, since this silly business started. I have the character now. His name is Bill Quinn. He’s having fun in Las Vegas right now, but I may give him this story.
Meanwhile, I have a much better use for your Sunday than stewing over seething malcontents: Two #MyKindOfBenedy films about women growing into their adulthood. Accordingly, these are both good for teens and adults, but maybe not for younger kids.
Carrie Pilby is a scared child-genius Cs (affecting Ci in self-defense) who learns in time to trust herself and the people around her – exiting the action as an Sc. That’s a Meg Ryan movie made by Woody Allen, and the film charms repeatedly with sly pomo references – all of them Ci defensive displays. The story arc is Thanksgiving to New Year’s, which I think is a perfect place to work out a big change. Everyone is better by the end, Carrie is a fully-self-responsible adult – and the action turns on a father’s choices: Truly #MyKindOfBenedy.
An Unfinished Life is sloppier as storycraft, and it is just-this-shy of being soap-opera syrupy, but it delivers in every sub-plot. There’s a kid and a bear, so, of course, they steal every scene they’re in. The plot turns when the father-figure steps up – and even the bear is better off in the end. More violence than is necessary or justifiable, but it’s not gratuitous or malevolent. Meanwhile, the celebration of family redeems the entire shaggy yarn.
Your choice is simple: You can reward ugly displays of petulant mutiny, or you can celebrate the cultivation of better daughters with better fatherhood. To opt for the NFL in these circumstances – well, to me it just seems brain-damaged.