Let me begin, lads and lassies, by saying you would find this blog post much more to your liking if your computer could read it to you in me thick Irish brogue, the way it was meant to be heard.
I offer me apologies for the late posting of this article, but despite the popular legend, there’s not a single proper Irishman who ever utters “Top of the mornin’ to ya” on a Sunday. Back on the Emerald Isle, we go to Church on Saturday evening, and then spend the rest of the night drinking, pubbing, loving, and maybe doing a little brawling.
We crawl into our beds just before sunrise, and this is about when we finally awaken to join the world on a Sunday. We never see the top, middle, or the bottom of any Sunday morn.
If you’re a regular on this blog, you’ll know I’m a huge fan of your American football. Me loyalties lie with the Fighting Irish of Notre Dame, of course, and not just because they modeled their Leprechaun logo on my great grandpappy. I love ‘em because I bleed Irish blue and gold. Watching the lads from South Bend makes me feel like I’m back home running through the shamrock fields of County Cork.
I was out last night at Three Toads & A Wicked Lady, and caught the end of the game between the Giants and Austin’s beloved Jets. There were some actual Giants in the pub who weren’t at all happy with the outcome. Luckily, they were gentle Giants, and they cried in their beers and didn’t cause any sort of shenanigans.
Of course, no one was in the mood for any brawling by that time. Earlier, the bloody Flying Monkeys had stirred up quite a ruckus. Some feces tossers who were still loyal to the Dearly Departed Wicked Witch of the West started in with a more evolved group of Flying Monkeys who were happy that the green faced bitch had met a proper end. They scuffled, things got busted up something awful, and the Witches had to break it all up with a Sobrietus Charm.
Back to the game, though. Not only did Geno Smith make like a total wanker by tossing three interceptions, but then old Mark Sanchez, the ulcer maker, went and got good and injured letting himself be tossed around like a rag doll in the hands of actual Giants.
Now Austin’s favorite team looks like it’s smacked its shillelagh before the season’s even started. Who’s going to be quarterback now? Truth be told, me thinks they’re better off teaching Sanchez to throw with his left arm. He can’t be any worse, right?
And did you see Rex Ryan at the newser after the game? What a prick that laddie turned out to be. Standing all sideways and mocking the reporters who were just doing their jobs and asking him proper questions. What an arse!
So what’s me predictions for the men in the green and white? Irish eyes will not be smiling. I see a fiery crash landing in the swamps near the Meadowlands. Maybe they go 4-12. Rex gets the boot and Sanchez never leaves the bench after Week 5.
When me buddy Austin returns from his vacation, I’m going to advise him to write off the Jets before the season even begins. This way, he can focus all his love and attention on Notre Dame with me.
This seems plenty long enough to me (that’s what she said!). I’m gonna sign off here and go get me some hair of the dog. May the clouds never rain on you, may your step always be towards prosperity, and may your heart only know true love and happiness…