Football should be a reality show

October 15, 2004|by BIG SYDNEY

Somehow, I don't think this is the way it's supposed to be.

I don't understand how in the name of Bear Bryant anyone who loves football can get wrapped up in something like this.

I was kicked back for an intimate 12-course meal at the Dargan Diner and Deer Weighing Station with my girlfriend LuSydna to celebrate another magnificent prognostication column. LuSydna was yammering about something while I was elbow deep in my yam, ham, lamb and Spam entree when I sort of faded out trying to imagine all of this.

(Harp music leading into a dream sequence)

It's Brett Favre rolling out to the right facing the defenses of the Cowboys and Redskins in the AlamoDome. He throws a bullet out of the shotgun to the Rifleman, Chuck Connors (a former athlete), at High Noon for a touchdown.


In the blink of an eye, the scene changed.

All of a sudden I see Joe Paterno, Bill Parcells, Ralph Friedgen, Joe Gibbs, Mike Holmgren, Bobby Bowden and Vince Lombardi with their arms over each other's shoulders doing the can-can. They were working together in an off-Broadway version of StageCoaches.

Then, all of a sudden, I see Ricky Williams' football career go up in smoke ... oh, wait a minute ... that actually happened.

All of a sudden, New York Giants backup quarterback Jesse Palmer is weaving through a maze of cheerleaders who are all trying to catch him as The Bachelor. Suddenly, he gets hit from behind by Kate Smith in a Dallas Cowboys cheerleading outfit while singing "You Got To Be a Football Hero."

Over there, it's Michael Vick without his uniform running away from the police carrying a jug of corn squeezins in it. They were trying to catch him in a naked bootleg.

And if that wasn't enough, Randy Moss and Terrell Owens tied for NFL sportsmanship awards.

I couldn't handle it any more.

I snapped back into reality and realized something.

Obviously, I can only play the real thing. I'm not cut out for fantasy football. I can't understand how anyone can enjoy it so much.

In time, I might get the hang of the game, but I really think I'd have to shoot that little French guy every time he ran out and yelled, "Boss, Boss, z-play, z-play."

On with the predictions. Last week 25-2 (.926), season 120-30 (.800).


North Hagerstown 41, Catoctin 7: Cunningham Falls ... not in Thurmont tonight.

Boonsboro 34, Clear Spring 8: Warriors go out in a Blazers of glory.

South Hagerstown 42, Williamsport 16: Rebels leave Wildcats littered across the field.

Smithsburg 35, Brunswick 13: Leopards are All Aboard for a win against the Railroaders.

Middletown 33, Thomas Johnson 17: Knights keep Patriots from having any revolutionary ideas.

State College 28, Chambersburg 10: Trojans get a higher education the hard way.

Frankfort 31, Berkeley Springs 20: The Falcons add a notch on Belt.

Martinsburg 38, Jefferson 24: Cougars improve enough to avoid a cat-astrope.

Musselman 27, Hedgesville 13: Applemen remain the Eagles' forbidden fruit.

St. John's at Prospect Hall 44, Maret 21: Vikings catch Maret in a net to turn this one into a puppet show.

Hancock 36, Rockwood 14: No, Rockwood's mascot isn't a wobbly tree.

MSD 48, Alabama School for the Deaf 17: Orioles march to the beat of a different drummer.

Greencastle 27, Big Spring 19: The Border Patrol won't illegally alienate Big Spring.

Milton Hershey 41, Waynesboro 13: Hershey kisses off the Indians one more time.


Camp Hill 45, James Buchanan 20: Camp Hill races back to sing a song.

St. James 31, Turkeyfoot Valley 14: The Saints gobble up turnovers and yardage.

Hill School 20, Mercersburg Academy 13: Hill is just on a higher grade than the Blue Storm.


N.C. State 31, Maryland 23: The Terps do run, do run, but just aren't hungry like the Wolfpack.

Shepherd 24, West Liberty 21: The Hilltoppers don't have soda for their fans, so it's West Liberty and just ice for all.


Redskins 20, Bears 14: Bears continue to make things grisly for the Redskins.

Eagles 17, Panthers 13: Eagles' Taylor has Carolina on his mind.

Steelers 24, Cowboys 16: Dallas finds out when you say Roethlisberger, you've said a mouthful.

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