And some weeks, a former honoree once again separates himself from the pack so fully, with such vigor, you just can't look anywhere else. And this week, that guy is Brandon Marshall. Who, as you'll see below, I sort of want to punch in the kidneys.
Throughout the preseason, I've hoped that something would click -- that Marshall would realize what an ass he was making of himself, what an ass his agent was making of him, what an ass he had truly become. But now, that seems unlikely. It seems now that all you can hope for is that the Broncos are just non-stop dicks in return. Don't trade him, don't play him, don't acknowledge him -- treat him like a toddler on timeout, until his contract runs out or he grovels sufficiently. If he does that, you bring him back and you only play him on special teams. And if he bitches about that, you sit him again. And if finally, one day, he finally grovels and apologizes enough to warrant a place in the starting lineup, fine. Start him. Pay him his money.
But that day must forever be known as Brandon Marshall Apologized Like the Little Bitch That He Is Day, and to celebrate, we must bring him down to Civic Center Park, and invite every woman he ever hit, and dangle him by his feet from the amphitheater, and let them beat the shit out of him with bats and scoop all the money and jewelry that falls from his pocket like he's a pinata and it's goddamn Cinco De Mayo. Then we all go get drunk on his dime and leave him to get pissed on by the homeless people. And if, at the end of all that, he wants to behave like a man and play football, well, then, fine. If not, fuck him.
That's what Eddie Royal's for anyway.
Fucking Shmuck. You're the Shmuck of the Week. Go stab yourself again.
Editor's note: The author is recovering from this blog with a long nap and a bowl of sedatives. Thank you for your concern.