From the Desk of Jon Snow:
INSTANT ANALYSIS: Welcome to the City where the heat is on/ All night 'til the break of dawn, Peyton Manning
By Jon "The Bastard" Snow
While I may not know who my mother is, I do know this: Peyton Manning is coming to Miami to play football for the Dolphins.
Here are the following reasons, ranked in the order of how angry it made me to type them.
|Ever so pissed|
1) We are Marshall. Or, rather, Brandon is. Brandon Marshall is his name. He's Marshall.
I swear Brandon Marshall deservedly shoots whatever tackling dummy Miami puts under centre MURDEROUS glances every two seconds. The man is dying in the gorgeous South Florida sun as Matt Moore airs another one.
NO MORE, I SAY.
Marshall gives Manning his Marvin Harrison/Reggie Wayne safety blanket. It's a match made by the Old Gods. Because I'm Jon Snow, you see.
2) A monster pass rush.
The Fins had 41 sacks with Cam Wake out to lunch/getting his shit seen on tape and Jason Taylor decaying between plays. They get to the quarterback, much like Dwight Freeney/Robert Mathis did for Peyton in Indianapolis.
Why is this good?
For one, because I said it and I'm always right and you're about to learn this.
Also, because Manning's game is BALL CONTROL. And that's not a term describing Jake Long rearranging himself on the sideline; it means he is good at keeping opposing offences off the field and scoring points. Then said opposing offence is forced to get busy throwing or get busy dying. Considering Cam Wake is basically an axe murderer in shoulder pads I like the death odds.
3) Old people love Florida.
Peyton Manning is by all appearances the whitest man on the planet. His pants have been rising steadily by several inches every year and Florida is the perfect place for him to grow old and spend hours studying his shuffleboard game tape.
4) The spectre of MARINO
When Dan Marino was on his way out, Peyton Manning was a young pup aching to break every record Dan the Dictator ever set. They became quarterbuddies; and Marino even bestowed upon him what could almost be called respect.
That's right, DAN MARINO, the guy who was kissed by a man dressed as a woman in Ace Ventura, RESPECTS PEYTON MANNING.
Now, ROLE REVERSAL. Peyton is the grizzled old vet with hindering injuries and a batshit insane GM that will prevent Miami from winning a championship. It will be a beautiful moment and I bet Don Shula and Marino are heading towards Peyton's house by locomotive as I type this word. Or plane. I'm not a travel agent.
I will cry again, but it will happen.
5) To bitchslap Brady.
Sigh. I started off with two legitimate reasons but we've already gone way off the rails.
Ah, fuck it.
Also, fuck Brady.
Though on the surface Manning and Brady appear to be quarterbuddies, there is no way that's true. Their rivalry is one that people think is diminished and congenial but Peyton Manning has to hate Tom Brady more than he does an improperly read defence.
Now, if he came to Miami he would get to play The Renaissance Man twice a year.
Peyton Manning has worked his whole life to become the perfect quarterback. He lives and dies with football because he's super focused and intense AND DOGGONE IT HE PLAYS THE GAME THE RIGHT WAY. In other words, he's the embodiment of every 60-year-old sportswriter's superego.
Tom Brady wears Uggs, knocks up chicks and dumps them, attends Carnival (Carnie-Val? Portugese was never my strong suit), married a super model who gets hysterical taking swipes at Wes Welker (another sportswriter fave), wears his hair in a fashion that makes Joe Namath cringe and is basically every man's id if it could throw a ball 70 yards.
(Little-known fact: Sigmund Freud was a Dolphins fan. Little-known, because I just made it up.)
In other words, he spits on everything Peyton Manning and the monocle-wearing masses hold dear.
AND Eli beat him twice, in Super Bowls no less, while Peyton has but a single ring.
With family values like the Manning's have, you just know Peyton is sick at that being how his legacy stands. He wants to clip Brady's wings and send him plummeting back to earth where the rest of us mortals will slosh our brandy on him and demand shoe-shines.
So there it is. I'm sure some asshole team will step in and ruin everything but let's be serious, those last three reasons were not grounded in rationality at all. AND YET YOU READ ALL THE WAY TO HERE.
I would like to apologize but my BASTARD upbringing prohibits it.
Also, from becoming the Steward of the North.
Sigh. George RR Martin, write me a Super Bowl.