My brain is a football... of the mind. Oblong, powerful, supple. With it I am able to foresee everything that is destined to occur in the upcoming NFL season with 100% certainty. Benefit from my knowledge or die. Or do anything else, really. It's up to you.
The Seattle Seahawks
The reigning champions attempt to sidle past league representatives on their way into the stadium before the season's opening game. The Seahawks' eyes are cast upon the ground, hands stuffed into their pockets, heads tilted away to hide their faces. Some of them hope to further avoid detection by whistling innocently.
This attempted subterfuge doesn't work. Now comes the moment the entire team has been dreading. The Seahawks must admit that they not only lost the Vince Lombardi trophy, but they also failed to write their mandatory essays about how they spent the offseason.
Considers putting forth a mildly-worded proposal to forbid players from beating their significant others outside the privacy of their homes. Abandons the idea when he remembers that he simply does not care.
Al Michaels and Chris Collinsworth
The broadcasting duo dispense with the usual Sunday Night Football introduction. Instead, they get up from their stools and slowly advance toward the viewer.
With low snarls they mutter taunts like "You want some football?" and "What's the matter? You don't like football or something?" between wet, heavy breaths. Once the distance is closed they loom over the camera and shuffle with nervous energy, clenching then unclenching their fists. Al spits directly on the lens as Chris urges him on with desperate laughter.
Moments before their first game, the Bears cancel their entire season. The shocking announcement is shrouded in mystery. For weeks pundits take a break from talking about sporting fundamentals like "momentum" and "heart" to speculate about the incident. The Bears stay silent.
Months later the truth comes out. During pre-game warmups on that fateful day one of the team's executives realized that through a combination of trades, free agency, and drafting, the Bears had inadvertently wound up with a roster in which every single player was nicknamed Porkchop.
They confer for three hours as the crowd boos. The boss referee steps forward, turns on his microphone. A hush falls over the stadium.
"OK Computer, then Kid A, then The Bends."
One coach pumps his fist. The other tears his headset off and throws it. He stomps on his clipboard yelling "In Rainbows!"
During a key playoff game, the football sails past the intended wide receiver and gets stuck on Ms. Larson's roof. Everyone is too scared to knock on her door.
The game is saved from cancellation when Ms. Larson's next door neighbor lets the NFL borrow an old basketball from his garage, though the game is delayed for half an hour as the players take turns filling the ball up by blowing in it.
In a surprise move, the NFL reverses its policy on space elevators. The league holds a press conference to admit that such a device is theoretically possible after all, given a building material strong and flexible enough to withstand the tremendous forces at work.
The Dallas Cowboys
Star quarterback Manthrow Football goes down with a severe tongue injury. Instead of turning to their second string QB, the Cowboys call up a level 9 Bard.
Class restrictions prevent him from wearing the most protective gear. He is only proficient in throwing the ball in an underhand style with both arms, granny style.
In spite of these drawbacks, the coach is willing to gamble on the Bard's unique abilities. This risk pays off when a defensive lineman discovers an odd coin on the sideline and the Bard is able to call upon his high Lore rating to determine that it is a buffalo nickel.
It is 2016. I think it is high time that Captain America have a dog man as a boyfriend.
A brave pop culture addict puts his foot down once and for all.
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