Earth to Joe. Earth to Joe. You're kidding, right? You can't seriously be upset that some of us have looked ahead to the 49ers game, noticed that the 49ers have an awful record, a dreadful defense and a rookie quarterback, and concluded, to quote a sportswriter near and dear to my heart: "Hmmm, smells like dinner."
This got you off on a rant the other day about how sportswriters are providing the 49ers with "bulletin-board material," and worse, maybe we're "motivated to help the other team!"
I take this assault personally, Joe. Wow. Just yesterday, I tried to get them to name the baby panda after you. Xiao, baby.
Joe, hello, the 49ers stink.
This is why you are a 12-point favorite. Because the 49ers can't beat an egg with a Cuisinart. Do you know how much 12 points is in the NFL? Vegas basically thinks you're playing Johns Hopkins! Get mad at them, not me.
We've known each other forever, Joe -- before Freddy Adu was born, let alone before he finally and belatedly realized this D.C. United coach was hosing him. The way it's going, this guy wouldn't play Freddy until he's 30. (That's when, next year?)
Joe, you know darn well sportswriters are not actually members of the Redskins organization. Though I admit I sure tried to make it look that way during The Bandwagon year. (And how great was that? I dined out on it for 10 years.)
If you're going to accuse me of aiding and abetting the enemy, remember this: The 49ers are not my enemy, they're yours. You coach. I just do shtick. But I'll tell you what. If you want me on your team, I'm happy to join. Just pay me what you pay LaVar, and have me do the same thing he does -- sit still. Then I'll tell everybody how the 49ers are stout and strong, and they can come in here and beat the Redskins. And, like you, I won't even wink when I say it.