Shoulda, Woulda, Coulda

And yet another Super Bowl has left us with the anticlimactic feeling of the football season being dead and gone - of course until next year. I wish they still had the XFL or something to feed our addiction for sitting on the couch and mindlessly staring at men in armor pounding the living shit out of one another.

The XFL was definitely the best of these wanna-be football leagues that played in the beautiful springtime instead of the dark and dreary fall. It’s not a surprise that it was a miserable failure; baseball is much more fitting for the season of new birth and optimism where you wear a cute little cap instead of a big heavy helmet (yes, I did steal that from George Carlin - that bit is by far his best).

So this year brought us players that somehow forgot to hold on to the ball that they have been handling for every waking hour of their athletic careers. Ok, it was a little rainy, but c’mon it’s the Super Bowl, I have every right in the World to criticize the best athletes on the planet in the pinnacle of physical condition while I’m fist deep in Cheetos and six beers under. Who else would keep the term “Armchair Quarterback” in tact? The responsibility, I tell you, is at times overwhelming. If “Armchair Quarterback” became obsolete (or worse, un-cool) like “clam-baking” or “hookin’ up”, I’d have nothing to call friends and family members that question decisions I make. Calling someone an armchair quarterback shuts ‘em up real fast - everyone knows how annoying it is.

“You know, you really shouldn’t have driven your Miata in the snow after drinking twelve beers and five shots while smoking a lefty.”

“Shut up you armchair quarterback.”

What are they gonna come back with after that?

So I would like to announce that today, the Monday after the Super Bowl, is National Armchair Quarterback Day. It’s a day of psychological liberation. It’s kind of like the Sadie Hawkins dance in High School where the girls asked the boys, or even Mardi Gras, where it’s socially acceptable to behave in ways that would be otherwise unacceptable. And the best part about it is that it doesn’t only apply to the sloppy football game we watched yesterday.

You can storm into your boss’s office and tell him/her that he/she (you have to remain politically correct on Armchair Quarterback Day) is fucking up miserably and running this pathetic company straight into the Astroturf. And then of course you don’t have to give any reasoning for your opinion and certainly not any suggestions on how to right the ship - you’re only an Armchair Quarterback.

You can also call up your sister and tell her that her husband is a free-loading slob that only gives a shit about the weed he’s growing in the basement. And the best part is that this is all totally guilt-free - no repercussions whatsoever.

So once I get the paper-work through on National Armchair Quarterback Day (it takes longer than you think), we’ll all be living lives with much less bottled up animosity, however we will of course be without jobs, friends, and invitations to family reunions. But hey, the Cheetos will always be within reach of the armchair.


Share those Cheetos that are in your couch cusions with John Poole at poolejohn@gmail.com.