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#I say this only half-jokingly if any of you are in Philly and need a roommate hmu
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I love your amrev art sm it'd my favorite I think you're my favorite artist on here, please make more art
Hey anon I'm crying a little bit, here are some sketches just for you
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mcstarr · 7 years
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drunk boyfriend tag
summary: dan and phil get drunk and film the boyfriend tag (similar to what shane dawson did) tags: alcohol, so much sweetness and cuteness your teeth will hurt, extreme fluff by: angelboydjh on tumblr word count: ~1.8k first fic posted!! please, ignore any mistakes and reblog and like!! ilu!! send in requests for fics :-) ゚*。:(人´v`*)☆゚:。*゚ dan and phil got a little drunk. they originally got out some Ribena, which is completely unharmful, until dan spotted vodka on the kitchen counter, which they only keep for parties. its almost gone, with a half a bottle left, so dan thought of an idea. "phil, lets get drunk." phil looked at dan confused; dan never really likes drinking as much as he used to, hes grown, the satisfaction of being drunk doesnt really thrill as much, and its the same with phil. "why?" asked phil, sipping his Ribena. "because why not! we have no meeting tomorrow, we are bored out of our minds, and itll be fun! we'll even be safe, we can control each other well." phil thought about it. he never really likes hangovers, who does? he gets them bad, and he knows dan gets them worse, but dan was right, they were extremely bored and had no meetings tomorrow. phil shrugged, and replied with a sure, causing dan to jump up with joy. dan grabbed the bottle and went to phils room, closing the door, and sitting on his bed. he opens to bottle and pours a lot in his drink, doing the same to phil. there is now many 4 shots full left of the drink and dan was happy he rationed out well. "wanna do a toast?" asked phil. "with our vodka filled ribena?" chuckled dan. phil nodded, giggling a little. "why not?" phil responded, and dan nodded agreeing. they lifted their glass cups up and they look at each other. "to us!" dan laughed at the cliché, but echoed phil, and a clink noise was heard when the touched glasses. dan downed about half of his drink in that one sip, phil only taking a baby sip. phil made a face, hating the taste of vodka. dan hid his disgust, looking at phil. "now we wait." dan took another sip, already feeling slightly dizzy. *:・゚✧ dan was fully drunk. he was giggling, putting his head on phil, slurring his words, all of it. phil was only tipsy. he didnt drink much yet, only about half of his drink. dan, of course, drank all of it, even the rest in the bottle! "phil!" dan slurred out, and phil glanced over slowly, so he doesnt get dizzy, and raised his eyebrow. "we should do a boyfriend tag." phil thought about this. is he that drunk that he doesnt really care if they do one or not? yes. he doesnt really care, its not like itll be posted. phil knows better than that. "sure." phil got up to get his camera from the other side of the room, and dan plopped on the bed laughing at who knows what. it took phil about 2 minutes to set up everything for filming, and an extra 5 minutes to find good goddamn questions. he finally found some question, a total of twenty. he can barely read them because of his blurry vision, and since he didnt have neither his contacts or glasses on. so he grabbed his glasses from the bed side and put them on to see if itll help. nope. he took another sip of his drink and locked his phone. he'll cross that bridge when he gets to it. he gets up and turns on the camera, praying to god its in focus. "dan, its on, we are filming." once those words left phils mouth, dan shot up from phils bed and looked at phil. "okay, okay, okay, okay," he kept repeating that until he finally was next to phil on the bed facing the camera. phil giggled at dan, dan looking at him with his red cheeks. "okay, ready, babe?" asked phil, seeing double of dan. dan nodded, and smiled at phil and then at the camera. "okay," phil breathed in and then 'took in his persona'. "hey guys!" he said cheerfully, but all it did is make him dizzy. dan was like, on top of phil, so hes grateful that he was, or phil wouldve fallen over. "im here with dan." phil pointed at him, and dan waved, his white oversized cat shirt being exposed, and you could even see his naked legs, since hes wearing shorts. "we are doing the boyfriend tag." phil said slowly, and dan nodded jumping up and down on the bed. "phil is my boyfriend! boyfriend phil! philip lester, boyfriend!" he yelled, making phil giggle. "okay, want ask the questions, or do u want me go ask them?" asked phil to dan. "ask me the questions! then we will do it back!" dan suggested, and phil nodded encouragingly. "okay, first question." phil unlocked his phone and read it very carefully. "when is my birthday?" he asked. "bonus points for the zodiac sign!" "january 30th, that makes you a......" he strung out the 'a' to think. "an Aquarius! aquarium." he laughed, and phil chuckled. "correct baby." he leaned in to kiss dan, and dan kissed him, tasting of vodka and ribena. "okay, now," phil was going to go to the next question, but dan protested. "now do mine! do mine!" dan pouted, crossing his arms. "june 11th! youre a gemini." phil stuttered out, making dan laugh. "lucky guess." he muttered jokingly. "next question," phil scrolled down the page. "where did i grow up?" "im too drunk for this phil!!" he moaned out. "the north! thats all youre getting." "well, youre not wrong." said phil. "ill give you the point." "what about me?" asked dan. "the south." "ugh! exact place!" "not fair, you didnt do that for me!" "ugh, whatever." dan pouted again. "wipe that pout off your face princess." phil whispered, grabbing dans chin. "im just kidding philly!" dan kissed phil, getting him off guard. "okay, next," phil asked. "whats my middle name?" "michael! these are too easy! i want harder ones. test me!" dan groaned out, and phil rolled his eyes. "okay, okay," phil said. he scrolled down to another website, which had different questions. "how about this: where was our first date?" "EASY!" he yelled, throwing his hands up. "well, kinda," he muttered. "its hard!" "well, tell me." phil said suggestively, leaning closer to dan. "we first met of course at the train station," he muttered out. "and then we went straight to your house, and, did things. does that count as a first date?" this took him way too long to say, as he was stuttering madly. "yes, it does. great job, cutie." phil said happily and leaned in for a kiss. "okay, let me ask the question!" phil started to give him the phone, but dan refused, saying he wants go make one up. "whats the first thing you notice about me?" he asked a bashful. "your smile." phil said simply. no explanation was needed to make dan feel all warm inside. dan covered his face and leaned on phils shoulder, grinning like mad. once he got up, he looked at phil, seeing his wonderful, eyes. "you know what mine is." he muttered, almost inaudible. it was phils turn to blush. they lean in and kiss once again, but longer than before. when they pulled apart, dan was seeing actual stars, and couldnt even understand what was happening, completely forgot about the video. "oh my god, i love you so much." he said in a shush tone, with phils hand on his cheek. they were only a few inches away from each other, and phil loved it. phil was exploding every inch of dans face, and so was dan. every moment phil made, it made him more dizzy and more dazed, but he didnt care. within a few moments, they both locked eyes, and somehow, both remembered they were recording. "uh, one more question," phil stuttered out, as dan looked around for his almost empty drink. "okay, last question. what is my favorite color?" "easy, blue." dan said, as he drank his final sips of his drink before crushed it and threw it. "hey!" phil protested, looking over at the cup. "ill pick it ip later, babe." dan slurred out almost incoherently. "whats mine?" "easy, pink." phil mocked. dan smiled softly, putting his arms around phils neck, phil put this hands on dans waist. "what kind of pink?" he muttered, with his sloppy grin on his face, his curly hair perfect in tack still. (which surprised phil) "pastel." dan groaned jokingly, letting his head drop down onto phils shoulders. "oh my god, i tried to trick you!" dan yelled. "well, you didnt. 8 years of friendship pays off." phil joked. dan put his head on phils shoulder, his head facing the camera. "can we finish? i wanna cuddle with you watch disney movies." phil chuckled and nodded. "we'll finish, lets do the outro." phil tapped dan, so he can get up from his shoulder, but dan didnt move a muscle, indicating hes not moving. "okay, well, goodbye everyone, please like a subscribe to me and dans channel, and our gaming channel! love you!" he waved and awkwardly looked at dan. "i need to turn off that camera baby." dan groaned and got up from phils shoulder. phil got up and turned off the camera, sitting right on his bed again next to dan. "can we just cuddle?" phil can tell dan was getting tired, and getting all drained. he gets like this when hes drunk, but also after recording videos. "of course, princess." phil laid down, then wrapping his arms around dan who is not next to them. they peacefully fall asleep, with the lights on and phils snoring. *:・゚✧ it was the morning, and phil is posting his premade video on lessamazingphil, just a quick vlog from florida. its taking surprisingly long to process, since its only 2 minutes, but phil didnt question it. its almost done, so phil went to go see dan, who has the worst hangover ever. "how are you baby?" asked phil, laying next to dan. "better, how bad was it?" he asked, and phil laughed. "you were fine, not as bad as a few months ago, but you were not any better." dan groaned, and at that moment his phone dinged. he unlocked his phone to see the notification, YouTube popping up, and it was phils new video. "uh, phil." dan said. "yes?" phil hummed. "you posted the wrong video." "what?" phil yelled a little too loudly for dan, as he backed away and gave phil his phone in just one beat. "i uploaded our drunk boyfriend tag." dans eyes widen. "we filmed a video? no way, i dont remember this. did we kiss?" "i was drunk too!" "well, i would keep it up." "why?" "we already made this mistake once, lets just let them have what they want."
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ella-the-vamp-blog · 7 years
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Dan and Phil's boyfriend tag drunk video fanfic
dan and phil got a little drunk. they originally got out some Ribena, which is completely unharmful, until dan spotted vodka on the kitchen counter, which they only keep for parties. its almost gone, with a half a bottle left, so dan thought of an idea. “phil, lets get drunk.” phil looked at dan confused; dan never really likes drinking as much as he used to, hes grown, the satisfaction of being drunk doesnt really thrill as much, and its the same with phil. “why?” asked phil, sipping his Ribena. “because why not! we have no meeting tomorrow, we are bored out of our minds, and itll be fun! we’ll even be safe, we can control each other well.” phil thought about it. he never really likes hangovers, who does? he gets them bad, and he knows dan gets them worse, but dan was right, they were extremely bored and had no meetings tomorrow. phil shrugged, and replied with a sure, causing dan to jump up with joy. dan grabbed the bottle and went to phils room, closing the door, and sitting on his bed. he opens to bottle and pours a lot in his drink, doing the same to phil. there is now many 4 shots full left of the drink and dan was happy he rationed out well. “wanna do a toast?” asked phil. “with our vodka filled ribena?” chuckled dan. phil nodded, giggling a little. “why not?” phil responded, and dan nodded agreeing. they lifted their glass cups up and they look at each other. “to us!” dan laughed at the cliché, but echoed phil, and a clink noise was heard when the touched glasses. dan downed about half of his drink in that one sip, phil only taking a baby sip. phil made a face, hating the taste of vodka. dan hid his disgust, looking at phil. “now we wait.” dan took another sip, already feeling slightly dizzy. *:・゚✧ dan was fully drunk. he was giggling, putting his head on phil, slurring his words, all of it. phil was only tipsy. he didnt drink much yet, only about half of his drink. dan, of course, drank all of it, even the rest in the bottle! “phil!” dan slurred out, and phil glanced over slowly, so he doesnt get dizzy, and raised his eyebrow. “we should do a boyfriend tag.” phil thought about this. is he that drunk that he doesnt really care if they do one or not? yes. he doesnt really care, its not like itll be posted. phil knows better than that. “sure.” phil got up to get his camera from the other side of the room, and dan plopped on the bed laughing at who knows what. it took phil about 2 minutes to set up everything for filming, and an extra 5 minutes to find good goddamn questions. he finally found some question, a total of twenty. he can barely read them because of his blurry vision, and since he didnt have neither his contacts or glasses on. so he grabbed his glasses from the bed side and put them on to see if itll help. nope. he took another sip of his drink and locked his phone. he’ll cross that bridge when he gets to it. he gets up and turns on the camera, praying to god its in focus. “dan, its on, we are filming.” once those words left phils mouth, dan shot up from phils bed and looked at phil. “okay, okay, okay, okay,” he kept repeating that until he finally was next to phil on the bed facing the camera. phil giggled at dan, dan looking at him with his red cheeks. “okay, ready, babe?” asked phil, seeing double of dan. dan nodded, and smiled at phil and then at the camera. “okay,” phil breathed in and then ‘took in his persona’. “hey guys!” he said cheerfully, but all it did is make him dizzy. dan was like, on top of phil, so hes grateful that he was, or phil wouldve fallen over. “im here with dan.” phil pointed at him, and dan waved, his white oversized cat shirt being exposed, and you could even see his naked legs, since hes wearing shorts. “we are doing the boyfriend tag.” phil said slowly, and dan nodded jumping up and down on the bed. “phil is my boyfriend! boyfriend phil! philip lester, boyfriend!” he yelled, making phil giggle. “okay, want ask the questions, or do u want me go ask them?” asked phil to dan. “ask me the questions! then we will do it back!” dan suggested, and phil nodded encouragingly. “okay, first question.” phil unlocked his phone and read it very carefully. “when is my birthday?” he asked. “bonus points for the zodiac sign!” “january 30th, that makes you a……” he strung out the ‘a’ to think. “an Aquarius! aquarium.” he laughed, and phil chuckled. “correct baby.” he leaned in to kiss dan, and dan kissed him, tasting of vodka and ribena. “okay, now,” phil was going to go to the next question, but dan protested. “now do mine! do mine!” dan pouted, crossing his arms. “june 11th! youre a gemini.” phil stuttered out, making dan laugh. “lucky guess.” he muttered jokingly. “next question,” phil scrolled down the page. “where did i grow up?” “im too drunk for this phil!!” he moaned out. “the north! thats all youre getting.” “well, youre not wrong.” said phil. “ill give you the point.” “what about me?” asked dan. “the south.” “ugh! exact place!” “not fair, you didnt do that for me!” “ugh, whatever.” dan pouted again. “wipe that pout off your face princess.” phil whispered, grabbing dans chin. “im just kidding philly!” dan kissed phil, getting him off guard. “okay, next,” phil asked. “whats my middle name?” “michael! these are too easy! i want harder ones. test me!” dan groaned out, and phil rolled his eyes. “okay, okay,” phil said. he scrolled down to another website, which had different questions. “how about this: where was our first date?” “EASY!” he yelled, throwing his hands up. “well, kinda,” he muttered. “its hard!” “well, tell me.” phil said suggestively, leaning closer to dan. “we first met of course at the train station,” he muttered out. “and then we went straight to your house, and, did things. does that count as a first date?” this took him way too long to say, as he was stuttering madly. “yes, it does. great job, cutie.” phil said happily and leaned in for a kiss. “okay, let me ask the question!” phil started to give him the phone, but dan refused, saying he wants go make one up. “whats the first thing you notice about me?” he asked a bashful. “your smile.” phil said simply. no explanation was needed to make dan feel all warm inside. dan covered his face and leaned on phils shoulder, grinning like mad. once he got up, he looked at phil, seeing his wonderful, eyes. “you know what mine is.” he muttered, almost inaudible. it was phils turn to blush. they lean in and kiss once again, but longer than before. when they pulled apart, dan was seeing actual stars, and couldnt even understand what was happening, completely forgot about the video. “oh my god, i love you so much.” he said in a shush tone, with phils hand on his cheek. they were only a few inches away from each other, and phil loved it. phil was exploding every inch of dans face, and so was dan. every moment phil made, it made him more dizzy and more dazed, but he didnt care. within a few moments, they both locked eyes, and somehow, both remembered they were recording. “uh, one more question,” phil stuttered out, as dan looked around for his almost empty drink. “okay, last question. what is my favorite color?” “easy, blue.” dan said, as he drank his final sips of his drink before crushed it and threw it. “hey!” phil protested, looking over at the cup. “ill pick it ip later, babe.” dan slurred out almost incoherently. “whats mine?” “easy, pink.” phil mocked. dan smiled softly, putting his arms around phils neck, phil put this hands on dans waist. “what kind of pink?” he muttered, with his sloppy grin on his face, his curly hair perfect in tack still. (which surprised phil) “pastel.” dan groaned jokingly, letting his head drop down onto phils shoulders. “oh my god, i tried to trick you!” dan yelled. “well, you didnt. 8 years of friendship pays off.” phil joked. dan put his head on phils shoulder, his head facing the camera. “can we finish? i wanna cuddle with you watch disney movies.” phil chuckled and nodded. “we’ll finish, lets do the outro.” phil tapped dan, so he can get up from his shoulder, but dan didnt move a muscle, indicating hes not moving. “okay, well, goodbye everyone, please like a subscribe to me and dans channel, and our gaming channel! love you!” he waved and awkwardly looked at dan. “i need to turn off that camera baby.” dan groaned and got up from phils shoulder. phil got up and turned off the camera, sitting right on his bed again next to dan. “can we just cuddle?” phil can tell dan was getting tired, and getting all drained. he gets like this when hes drunk, but also after recording videos. “of course, princess.” phil laid down, then wrapping his arms around dan who is not next to them. they peacefully fall asleep, with the lights on and phils snoring. *:・゚✧ it was the morning, and phil is posting his premade video on lessamazingphil, just a quick vlog from florida. its taking surprisingly long to process, since its only 2 minutes, but phil didnt question it. its almost done, so phil went to go see dan, who has the worst hangover ever. “how are you baby?” asked phil, laying next to dan. “better, how bad was it?” he asked, and phil laughed. “you were fine, not as bad as a few months ago, but you were not any better.” dan groaned, and at that moment his phone dinged. he unlocked his phone to see the notification, YouTube popping up, and it was phils new video. “uh, phil.” dan said. “yes?” phil hummed. “you posted the wrong video.” “what?” phil yelled a little too loudly for dan, as he backed away and gave phil his phone in just one beat. “i uploaded our drunk boyfriend tag.” dans eyes widen. “we filmed a video? no way, i dont remember this. did we kiss?” “i was drunk too!” “well, i would keep it up.” “why?” “we already made this mistake once, lets just let them have what they want.”
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junker-town · 7 years
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NFL Dad: Watching Week 2 with sick kids and a barfing dog
Every week, one intrepid dad watches RedZone with two young children in his apartment. This week: broken bones, a fever, and dog vomit — many of which are metaphors.
My daughter broke her clavicle last week. It’s a common injury for young children, not just Tony Romo. She fell out of a chair a few minutes before we had to leave for her second day of preschool, and I didn’t think it was a serious injury at the time. “We have to go! Can’t miss the second day of school!” was my thinking. I should be an NFL team doctor.
So she’s in a sling for Week 2 of the NFL season (and for the next four weeks) while my son happily toddles around the house. Just kidding! My son is battling a 102-degree fever and an ear infection. Ha HA! Let’s watch some football!
EARLY GAMES, FIRST HALF
— In Pittsburgh, Sam Bradford is a late scratch due to his knee rejecting last week’s touchdown implant. Case Keenum will start, and if I had a bookie I would put my salary on the Steelers today. Instead, I move Adam Thielen to the bench on all three of my fantasy teams.
— I make five picks against the spread every week for Team OddsShark in the Las Vegas SuperContest. After a disappointing Week 1 (1-3-1), my picks this week are the Eagles +5.5 at the Chiefs, the Bucs -7 versus the Bears, the Broncos +2.5 versus the Cowboys, the Seahawks -14 versus the Niners, and the Lions +3.5 at the Giants.
I’m not sharing these picks publicly so that I can be held accountable as some kind of “expert.” It’s more to explain my rooting interests as the day goes on.
— The Pats score the RedZone Channel’s first touchdown of the day when Tom Brady lofts a pass for Rex Burkhead, capping a 10-play, 75-yard drive. It’s gonna be a long game for the Saints.
Hey, remember when the Saints were awesome at home? Now it’s just a place for them to score lots of points in a loss. The Patriots miss the extra point. I’m not too concerned about it affecting the outcome of the game.
— Not that I’m looking for silver linings, but my daughter is the ideal kid for convalescence. She’s enamored with books, and her linguistic learning is superior to her physical development. The day after her injury, she spent four straight hours on the couch, just sweating through the pain while my wife read her dozens of books.
Eventually, my wife cued up an episode of Sesame Street for her, which is a big deal since the only TV my kids usually see is whatever football they can absorb on Sundays. I didn’t think she retained any of that episode until this morning, when she picked up the menu from a local donut joint, held it up to her face, and went, “OM NOM NOM NOM NOM.” Cookie Monster has staying power.
— The Saints kick a field goal to cut the Pats’ lead in half. An Eagles drive stalls in the red zone and they settle for a field goal. Lots of field goals early. TOO many. I DEMAND TEEDERS IN MY PEEPERS.
— While Rob Gronkowski hauls in a 53-yard touchdown, my daughter is sitting next to me with her own keyboard. She knows the alphabet song and recognizes the letters in her name, but putting them together to make words is still in the distance.
I adjust the font on my notes document to a much larger size and type out her name and her brother’s name, saying the letters aloud as I type them. “Now Mommy,” she says. I type MOMMY. “Now Daddy.” I type DADDY. She says aloud the names of friends who’ve visited recently, and they get added in 48-point font.
All movie dialog for credulous aliens is written by someone with a toddler.
I highlight different names and quiz her: “Who’s this?” I say. She gets most of them wrong, but is fascinated by the highlighting, which she calls “blue tape.” This is one of my favorite things of living with someone with a solid base of English but almost no context for the world: highlighting is blue tape, Aaron Rodgers is the Yellow Man, and jerseys are “number shirts.” All movie dialog for credulous aliens is written by someone with a toddler.
— Tom Brady throws a touchdown to Chris Hogan on an illegal pick play that is so obvious, even your dimwitted, distracted columnist sees it. The referees pick up the flag, though, and Brady has his third touchdown of the first quarter.
Tom Brady has now thrown touchdowns to three different white guys.
— Matt Ufford (@mattufford) September 17, 2017
I’m loathe to be one of those writers who embeds his own tweets into his column, yet here I am. The response to the above tweet got every kind of reaction imaginable in America in 2017. There were genuine #MAGA responses, ironic #MAGA responses, people jokingly calling Brady racist, people accusing ME of calling Brady racist, people who pointed out that the feat was accomplished without Danny Amendola and Julian Edelman in the lineup, and people who were mad online that this was the “analysis” I had to offer.
Three thoughts on this:
If you have a visceral reaction to Tom Brady throwing touchdowns to white guys, I strongly recommend amending your worldview.
Really, I just felt bad for people who have Brandin Cooks in fantasy.
Twitter remains a cesspit of humanity.
— Joe Flacco’s arm-punt pins the Browns deep in their own territory. It’s impressive work: the pass is overthrown into double coverage. He sucks so hard.
God, that feels so good to type. Not a joke about whether he’s elite, just “Joe Flacco sucks and the Baltimore offense is eye poison.” Yeah, yeah, he had one good playoff run that led to a Super Bowl win. That makes him half as good as Eli Manning, and that dude sucks too.
— Drew Brees throws a short touchdown to ... Coleman? Who is Coleman? DAMMIT, BREES. Why must you always spread the ball to thirteen different receivers? Just run up the stats with Michael Thomas and Coby Fleener like a NORMAL elite quarterback would, you pyramid-scheming pygmy.
My theory: Brees has been in the league for so long that he’s like an adrenaline junkie who should have died in a stupid stunt years ago. “I CAN’T FEEL ANYTHING UNLESS THE RESERVE FULLBACK SCORES.” The next time RedZone clicks over to the Saints offense, Brees targets Ted Ginn on an end zone fade on third down. (Do I even need to tell you the pass is broken up?) THE MAN IS PERVERSE.
— Mike Glennon, previously seen fumbling the ball to his former team, throws a pick-six to put the Bucs up 24-0. I have closed the book on “Mike Glennon Revenge Game” and opened a file for “Mike Glennon, Buccaneer Sleeper Agent.”
— A dry affair in Kansas City spring to life: a Darren Sproles fumble leads to a Chiefs field goal just before half, and the Eagles appear unlikely to respond with barely any time on the clock. But Carson Wentz’s long pass down the sideline bounces out of cornerback Terrance Mitchell’s hands and into Zach Ertz’s arms. Ertz sprints into the red zone and gets knocked out of bounds with just enough time to attempt a field goal.
Andy Reid calls timeout, icing Philly’s make. The second attempt sails wide, and the Chiefs enter the half with their lead intact. UGH. I hate it when icing works. If the refs can’t blow the whistle before the snap, the kicking team should choose whether the kick counts. What’s one more bad rule in the NFL’s thousand-page refereeing handbook?
— “I falled off a chair.” That’s how my daughter describes her injury, but it’s also a nice metaphor for the first 90 or so minutes of hot, wet garbage on RedZone. Three of eight games have zero touchdowns at the half: KC leads Philly 6-3, the Titans have the same lead in Jacksonville, and the Panthers are up 6-0 at home over the Bills. HOLD ON, FELLAS. Save some of this dogshit football for Thursday night!
SECOND HALF, EARLY GAMES
— Blake Bortles throws an interception, his third turnover. The Bortling is upon us! #PoopinBortles
— The Vikings attempt a fake punt — with their punter throwing — from their own 35. And what are they supposed to do? Hope that Case Keenum wins the game for them?
The Marine Corps instilled in me some adages about hope that I believe in to this day, even as I grow soft and old. One is “Hope is not a course of action,” which is something judgmental captains usually tsk-ed at lieutenants whose plans that didn’t account for every possible outcome. But my preferred saying is “Hope in one hand, shit in the other, and see which one fills up first.”
Anyway, good on Mike Zimmer for not going quietly into the Case Keenum night.
— In Jacksonville, Derrick Henry thumps it in from 17 yards out for a 16-3 lead, and the Jags have no chance to get back in this game unless they score two defensive touchdowns
— Dalvin Cook scores 26 yards out, but he’s ruled down at the half-yard-line upon review. Fullback C.J. Ham vultures the touchdown. ZIMMER!!! I regret saying anything nice about you! Go shit in your hand, you fake-punting turd.
— Chris Hogan comes up two yards short on 3rd and 9, and the Pats kick a field goal out of politeness. It’s not like the Saints were gonna stop a 4th-and-two. This one’s over.
— Hey, the Bears are in the red zone! Down 29-0, they’re the only team with no points yet today. We join them on 2nd and 10:
Josh Bellamy immediately drops a pass. The announcers note that it’s his second drop of the drive.
Kendall Wright drops a pass on 3rd and 10.
The Bears go for it on 4th:
Mike Glennon throws a five-yard crossing route to a covered receiver on a fourth-and-10 down 29 points in the fourth quarter. It didn’t work
— Bill Barnwell (@billbarnwell) September 17, 2017
This concludes Chicago Bears RedZone Theater. There will be no refunds.
— A Carson Wentz pass deflects off a helmet and gets intercepted, setting up KC with a short field. One of the things Bill Barnwell and I talked about on his podcast while previewing Week 2 was that Wentz’s tendency to make difficult, highlight-worthy plays masks his inaccuracy on garden-variety throws for an NFL starter. This would be a good example of that.
Kansas City will turn that possession into seven points, with Travis Kelce taking a shovel pass and leaping a defender to score a touchdown pass.
.@TKelce just jumped 5 yard line... And landed in the END ZONE. WOWOWOWOWOW. #ChiefsKingdom #PHIvsKC http://pic.twitter.com/TasZHdfqNS
— NFL (@NFL) September 17, 2017
This is a lot more like the Alex Smith touchdown pass I’m used to than the ones he threw in New England in Week 1.
The Chiefs now lead by seven with the fourth quarter more than half gone, and I’m certain my bet of Eagles +5.5 is hopeless: they’re too hapless on offense to score a touchdown, and they’ll forego any chance of a field goal that would earn them a cover. Woe is me, the first person to know less about football than Vegas bookmakers.
— My daughter (or as my wife calls her, “f***ing FDR in bed over there”) has a severe Rear Window vibe going. Since breaking her collarbone, she has:
worn pajamas all day on Friday;
worn sweatpants all day on Saturday;
only changed out of pajamas after noon today.
And yes, I stand by my reference to a 1954 film rather than acknowledge her very obvious predisposition to follow in her father’s blogging buttsteps.
— I have a lot of notes for the stuff that happens in the Bills-Panthers and Cards-Colts games, but zero inclination to give give them any kind of context or analysis. Oh, J.J. Nelson caught a long pass against Indianapolis? ALERT REUTERS, THE FANTASY OWNERS MUST KNOW.
— My son wakes up after 3-hour nap. He immediately starts housing the macaroni and cheese he was too tired to eat at lunch. After shoving three forkfuls into his mouth, he lets his jaw hang slack, and the pasta tumbles out of his mouth and into the catch of his bib. He switches to the cold pouch of vegetables and fruit.
When we only had one kid, the pre-made pouches were an issue for my wife and me — too much cost, too much waste. We blended up organic concoctions like beets and raspberries for my daughter. But two kids? POUCHES AHOY! I have 12 minutes a week to myself, I’m not spending it making hipster baby food.
Even in small doses, the Browns are too sad for my tastes. And I like Bon Iver.
— The Browns, despite getting meaningful snaps from Kevin Hogan while DeShone Kizer was sidelined earlier by a migraine (surely not football-related!), have the ball in the red zone and the chance to make it 24-17 with more than 11 minutes left. Kizer, though, throws a pick in end zone.
I root for the Browns for approximately five minutes a week while watching RedZone, and it’s STILL too sad for my tastes. And I like Bon Iver.
— The Panthers are up 9-3 (woof) with a minute left, but the Bills are driving. Tyrod Taylor is moving the ball well. The Bills let clock burn instead of using a timeout. On 4th and 11, an open Zay Jones lays out for the catch at the 1-yard line and … drops the ball.
It a brutal way to lose. But also: maybe score more than three points before the final drive?
— Kareem Hunt scores another TD, this one hard-fought in heavy traffic, and that should do it for the Eagles.
bae caught me scorin http://pic.twitter.com/IPSVczIc1N
— SB Nation GIF (@SBNationGIF) September 17, 2017
— My next note is simply “Carson Wentz is trash,” but I no longer remember the context. You’ll have to take me at my word.
I suppose this is unfair to Wentz, who’s only in his second year. But I’m sorry: my notes are my notes, and what I write down while possibly distracted by my children and/or seven other games happening concurrently is etched in stone. The man is ginger cheesesteak feces, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
— Hey! The Bears are on the board with 1:43 left. RED LETTER DAY. Who scored? I don’t know, don’t care, and wouldn’t remember if you told me.
— Bortles TD to Hurns! Garbage time is Bortles time, baby! Use the transitive property!
The greatest QB in NFL history is "Blake Bortles down 27 points."
— Frank Schwab (@YahooSchwab) September 17, 2017
Bortles was 11-of-25 for 89 passing yards the entering 4th quarter. He went 9-of-9 for 134 passing yards in the final period. #Vintage
— Mike Kaye (@mike_e_kaye) September 17, 2017
— The Cards are backed up on their own 12-yard line with just under three minutes left with the game tied 13-13, but a long catch-and-run takes them to almost midfield. They are DEFINITELY winning this unless Carson Palmer can throw a back-breaking pick.
But no, they punt. And Colts can’t do anything either; they punt back. The specter of overtime is terrifying. The NFL shortened OT to 10 minutes this offseason, but the REAL solution is one they’ll be too chickenshit to ever make: let a tied game at the end of regulation just be … a tie. Save overtime for the playoffs, when you actually NEED a winner.
I’m serious. I don’t understand why so many Americans (a) think every sporting contest MUST have a winner, and (b) consider this attitude part of their national identity. Is it because our wars keep going to overtime?
Anyway, another successful kicker icing (UGH) leads to overtime, but thankfully Tyrann Mathieu immediately intercepts Jacoby Brissett, setting up the field goal that ends this horrific game.
— Nelson Agholor’s first catch of the day is a meaningless touchdown with 8 seconds left that pulls the Eagles to 27-20.
But then Philly recovers the onside kick! There’s a chance for the Chiefs to blow a 14-point lead in 8 seconds! This would be EXTREMELY Chiefs-y.
Alas, the Hail Mary is tipped out the back of the end zone. I realize that if the Eagles had made the 30-yard field goal at the end of the first half, they would have covered. (*shakes fist at sky*) GAMMMMMBLINNNNNNNG!
LATE GAMES, FIRST HALF
— Forget Cowboys versus Broncos. Ignore my Seahawks in their home opener. The only thing I care about is Miami-Los Angeles. Dolphins-Chargers. CUTLER VERSUS RIVERS, HELL YES BABY. It’s exactly like Marino versus Fouts, if all their arm talent was transferred to their faces.
The Chargers have failed to fill an MLS stadium that’s half the size of the smallest NFL arena, and ... is there a hot take here? Did we not see Dean Spanos brazenly screw over San Diego to move the Chargers 100 miles north to a city that already didn’t want the LAST team that moved there?
Carson, California has all the charm of the docks, minus the ocean breeze.
Do y’all know where Carson is, by the way? It’s inland from Long Beach, so it has all the charm of the docks, minus the ocean breeze. Its main draw is an IKEA. Remember the exurban factory blight-hole from the second season of “True Detective”? Carson’s not exactly that, but it’s not NOT that, either. No Angeleno is just gonna drop in on the Chargers this season.
— In Oakland, Marshawn Lynch is back doing what he does best: making the most interesting 3-yard carries in the NFL. The man just inflicts pain on a defense. On third-and-one, he bursts through line, breaks a tackle, and picks up 13 yards.
It’s his first game playing for his hometown team in front of his hometown crowd in the last season they’ll play in his hometown. I hope he scores a hundred touchdowns.
But on first-and-goal from 2, Derek Carr throws a fade to Crabtree. He pulls down the jump ball, and the box was stacked against the run, but I’m still sad for Lynch. In the other room, my daughter is crying, and I want it to be about the Raiders’ play-calling.
— There’s not much you can do about a broken collarbone besides put it in a sling and wait for it to heal. But a sling is a choking hazard for kids, so the doctor recommended that we pin my daughter’s pajama sleeve to her belly at night.
This is an excellent technique, if you want your child to sleep in a bed with open safety pins. After two nights of her thrashing her arm free, we let her sleep unrestrained. She chooses to lie on her injured right shoulder. I’m convinced this will deform her.
— FLEA FLICKER! I love flea flickers, even if the defense never bites on them quite the way I wish they would. This one isn’t all that impressive in terms of results, but check out the hustle Lynch puts into pass blocking after he pitches it back to Carr:
Flea-Flicker Alert! #RaiderNation http://pic.twitter.com/rSEx6IYAsw
— NFL (@NFL) September 17, 2017
This is gonna be a Marshawn Lynch propaganda column every week, and I’m not sorry about. I’m more enthusiastic about Beast Mode here than I am about my own children.
— Russell Wilson has converted three third-and-longs and a fourth down on Seattle’s first drive, but the Seahawks stall out a few yards from the end zone. The telecast has already shown a LOT of Pete Carroll working his gum furiously. On third-and-goal, Doug Baldwin swats away what might otherwise have been an interception. Seattle kicks a field goal.
— Emmanuel Sanders scores a touchdown on a ball perfectly lofted past three defenders to put the Broncos up 7-0.
Defenders everywhere. But it doesn't matter. This @TrevorSiemian to @ESanders_10 TD pass... #BroncosCountry http://pic.twitter.com/HOdRWX0Ztj
— NFL (@NFL) September 17, 2017
— I have to care for my son while my wife and daughter go next door to borrow a cup of flour. C.J. Anderson breaks three tackles to explode for a long run. Want more details? Sorry, my son has wandered into the other room, holding the baby monitor to his ear like a phone.
— A Bobby Wagner interception leads to another Seahawks field goal after another Seahawks stall in the red zone. Did Jimmy Graham get an end zone target? No, why would they do that? Wilson DOES throw a third-and-goal pass to Tanner McEvoy, though, who drops the touchdown. And it’s easy to see the Seahawks’ logic: at six-foot-five, McEvoy is shorter than Graham, but also not as good.
almost like tanner mcevoy hasn't caught 20 total passes since he left high school
— Field Gulls (@FieldGulls) September 17, 2017
I’m not one of those fans who roots for coaches to be fired. That’s why I want all of the coaches responsible for Seattle’s offense to be dropped into an active volcano.
— Lots of red at the Coliseum in support of Washingto — wait. No, sorry, those are just empty seats. Lots of empty red seats.
— I will probably never say this enough (in this space or in real life), but my wife is the hero of this column, of Sundays, of my whole life. If you put me in charge of two toddlers for a day, I will throw them bricks of pre-made food until help arrives and I collapse across the finish line.
But here’s my wife, holding our 16-month-old in one arm while she helps my daughter (herself one-armed) make individual pizzas with the other. There are not enough arms for this work. I take my son and put him in my lap while I type.
He’s fussy from being sick, so I hold him in my arms and cuddle him. Washington is up 10-0 and driving at will, but my son is staring into my face from four inches away. I am definitely breathing in his death-virus. His bright blue eyes are light near the pupil, ringed by a royal blue on the outside, like my father’s. He stares and I stare back, lost in the moment. He lets out a low, rippling fart.
— Disregarding petty things like rooting interests and outcomes, Jay Cutler is my favorite player in all of football.
Jay Cutler slinging a Hail Mary 20 yards out of bounds cracked me up http://pic.twitter.com/erbIPVVkQf
— Mike Renner (@PFF_Mike) September 17, 2017
He just gets me.
— Hey, Marshawn Lynch gets an actual carry on first-and-goal! It goes for zero yards. Crap, here come the end zone fades.
But no! Lynch gets the ball on second down, too. He’s hit immediately, and somehow breaks two tackles in the backfield to gain a yard or two.
On third-and-goal, the Raiders hand it to Lynch again, and he bursts up the middle for an easy score. FEED THE BEAST, YOU CRAVEN PASS-HAPPY COSPLAYERS.
— Even though it’s time for dinner and his bath, my son, groggy with exhaustion, goes down for a nap. My daughter rejects her pizza because part of the crust got stuck to the pan. All of her food must be WHOLE. You should’ve seen the tantrum I weathered because I cut her sandwich in half once. You could have seen it; it happened in public.
— Jimmy Graham is helped off the field after an apparent knee injury. On one hand, I’m stricken with concern. On the other is all of the world’s sarcasm, packed more densely than a neutron star. “Well gosh! Now he can’t do all that nothing for the Seahawks offense!”
Luke Willson, next up on the depth chart, immediately gets three targets. By the end of the game, my molars will be smooth like a stone shaped by the ebb and flow of millennia of tides.
— Carlos Hyde breaks off a 61-yarder to put San Francisco in the red zone, but c’mon: we know this won’t be a touchdown. Michael Bennett sacks Brian Hoyer on 3rd-and-six, and eschews his usual hip thrusts to raise a fist in protest.
Michael Bennett celebrated a sack against the 49ers with a raised fist. http://pic.twitter.com/J46niolm4G
— SB Nation (@SBNation) September 17, 2017
My daughter, now eating her pizza, raises a black power fist in solidarity. She’s gonna turn out all right.
— Todd Gurley hurdles over a defender; a few plays later, Jared Goff dumps it to Gurley on a blitz for 28 yards. I write “these teams are trash” even though they’re both far more entertaining than MY trash team, which has allowed San Francisco to get back in the red zone after the Niners got a huge play by running a draw play on third-and-12.
This sport is bad. The Niners and ‘Hawks go into halftime tied 6-6. I think about taking the Seahawks -14 today. “Maybe the defense will score a touchdown,” I lie to myself.
LATE GAMES, SECOND HALF
— I’m facing Jay Cutler in fantasy (it’s a deep league) and I can’t bring myself to root against him. But then, I never root for Cutler’s success or failure: I only root for him to be himself, and that is all he ever is, and that is why he’s never disappointed me.
Devonta Parker makes a tremendous catch down the sideline to set up first-and-goal, and then Cutler is himself. He overthrows a receiver in the end zone, then gets sacked on third down by Melvin Ingram (The Chargers lead the league in Melvins). The Dolphins kick a field goal to take the lead.
— Oh hey, Broncos and Cowboys! It’s the first quarter in this game after a weather delay. Forgot about y’all for a while there.
— Cordarrelle Patterson gets a handoff for the Raiders on 3rd-and-1 around midfield, and he takes it to the house. With his braids and visor, he looks like a very tall and disappointing Marshawn Lynch who is slowing down before the end zone. If Lynch did this, I would celebrate his swag. But it’s Patterson, so I chalk it up to him being a lazy draft bust. I’m an enlightened fan!
— Trevor Siemian gets sacked and fumbles, and the Cowboys recover inside the Denver 5-yard line. What happens next? My neighbors borrow two tablespoons of olive oil, my son gets up from his nap, and my daughter out of the bath running around naked. (Dez Bryant scores a TD, I think.)
— My son is mostly a nonverbal little chimp, but when I ask him, “How’s the pizza, buddy?” he responds, “Good.” I glimpse a future where he’s not communicating by pointing at things and grunting at me, and one of the million tiny weights of parenthood is lifted from my shoulders.
— With Eddie Lacy already a healthy scratch for the Seahawks, Thomas Rawls starts the second half on bench. Chris Carson looks good on three straight runs, and if you have any Seahawks on your fantasy team, I can only remind you: you did this to yourself.
— Jalen Richard scores for the Raiders on a 52-yard rush. I’m happy for them, but I also have an interest in Marshawn’s fantasy success, and these waiver-wire dildos are feasting on the defense that Beast Mode wore down. I DEMAND SATISFACTION, SIRS.
— Another Todd Gurley hurdle (GURDLE), this time for a TD:
Be careful out there, folks. Todd Gurley might be hurdling you as you read this. Head on a swivel!
— My son is walking around, now using a Wii remote as a phone. My daughter throws Magna-Tiles, earning a timeout. NEVER THROW MAGNA-TILES. They are Daddy’s most cherished toy. Seriously, I could build Magna-Tile structures for HOURS if we just had some more of them. Each individual square is like $30.
— Crabtree catches his third touchdown (the Raiders’ sixth). There are still 12-plus minutes left in the 4th quarter, but you know the saying: the game’s over when Marshawn dances on the sideline.
— RedZone has stopped showing Niners-Seahawks altogether, and I respect the decision. I follow the play-by-play on Twitter. Russell Wilson sails two throws on a 3-and-out. I close Twitter.
In the other room, my wife is reading Someday to my daughter, a book with such an emotional punch I sobbed the first time I read it to her — just ugly-crying, gasping for air. My wife and I can now read it without losing our faces, but it still makes me feel like I’m missing out on valuable family time. I pause the TV so I can help with bedtime.
— 7:14 pm: Kids are in bed, and I’m about 25 minutes behind realtime. Emmanuel Sanders catches his second touchdown, and my wife is lying down on our new shag carpet, looking at Instagram. Every day after the kids go to bed, we look at our phones for 10 minutes before engaging each other.
Regarding the Broncos, though: Trevor Siemian is … good? He takes what the defense gives him, throws it away when there’s nothing there, and distributes the ball well to his weapons.
— Cody Parkey puts the Dolphins up 19-17 with 1:05 to play. Rivers is gonna throw a pick, isn’t he?
Not to start, at least. His first pass is a “bullet” — please note the sarcasti-quotes — to Keenan Allen for a first down, then he finds hunter Henry, then Melvin Gordon, then Allen again. Keenan Allen is such a good route-runner; he’s a ton of fun to watch when he’s not inju— (*Allen loses his legs in a freak combine harvester accident*).
What happens next is perfectly befitting a Jay Cutler-Philip Rivers game.
What happens next, in the game’s final seconds, is a comedy of errors perfectly befitting a Jay Cutler-Philip Rivers game. I refuse to hash out the details, but the gist is this: the Chargers try to blow the game with a stupid decision, but the Dolphins bail them out by calling timeout. So Younghoe Koo comes out for the game-winning kick — and for once there will be no icing, because the Dolphins can’t call timeout twice in a row.
And a week after missing a kick that would have sent the game into overtime, Koo ... misses another kick. Oh no. Oh my darling, flipping boy. DON’T CUT HIM, THE FIRST KICK WAS THE LINE’S FAULT.
Scott Hanson, usually happy to direct the viewer to the next bit of action, takes the time to LAMBASTE both teams, saying they’ll both regret their “debauched” decisions. Hell yes. 10/10, best game of the day.
— With the Seahawks (ugh) trailing (UGH) 9-6 (UGH!!), Russell Wilson runs for a first down on third-and-one. There are 10 minutes left in the game and it somehow feels over? Or maybe I just want it to be over? I crave the end of this game and/or the sweet kiss of death.
Touchdown, Seahawks! Wilson evades a hungry pass rush on third-and-seven, rolls to his left, and finds Paul Richardson in the end zone. It’s Seattle’s first touchdown of the season, and it only took them an hour and 52 minutes-plus of game time. Certainly this is a Super Bowl contender, and not a critically flawed team.
Blair Walsh misses the extra point. Niners trail by three. Of course.
— A Jonny Hekker fake punt! The Rams may not have Jeff Fisher around to call the all-fake-punt offense, but they still know who their best player is.
Wait, why am I watching the Rams? I hit fast forward.
— Jamaal Charles gets a carry for the Broncos, who are cruising at altitude. It’s still weird to see him in a Broncos uniform. There should be government subsidies to pay star running backs to stay with their defining teams.
— After a Niners three-and-out, Chris Carson picks up a couple first downs on the ground, and the Seahawks are going to kneel this one out.
My dog starts gagging over the rug. NO! The whole reason we got the new rug is because she barfed on the old one too many times. As she horks, I chase her away from the rug, and she vomits on the hardwood floor instead. She’s a Rottweiler mix, and even as 65-pound dogs go, it’s a lot of vomit.
But I’m thankful, I guess. Cleaning a liter of dog barf off of a hardwood floor instead of out of a shag carpet approximates what I just what went through with Niners-Seahawks. God was a little heavy-handed with the metaphor, but I can at least appreciate the timing.
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