“I don’t watch it. I was first-team All-State in high school. But in Santa Claus, Indiana, I played mostly against other kids like me. You know, we played that old-school, team-style basketball. Sure there’d be one, maybe two of them on every team– I hate ball hogs. Oh, I almost forgot to mention something: There are videos on Youtube of me dunking. I can go Billy Fucking Hoyle on some ball hogs, bro.”
“Look, I injured my knee. I didn’t have it amputated. Walking around and taking your ‘girlfriend’ to obnoxiously expensive sushi restaurants is not the same as playing football. None of this bullshit would have happened if the team hadn’t listed me as ‘questionable’ when there was no way in hell I was coming back. There’s nothing ‘questionable’ about me. Not my sexuality, and certainly not my ability to play football.
Also, two things to clarify: No, we were not eating with Lance Bass, and yeah, I’m really into cardigans this winter.”
“I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do. I’m going to visit you at work. I’m going to make your working conditions really, really shitty. Then, I’m going to tell you that if you do your job today the best you’ve ever done it, I’m going to give you Superbowl tickets and more money and pussy than you ever dreamed of. Then, I’m going to injure you in such a way that makes it all but impossible to perform your job at all, let alone well. After that, I’m going to let an old guy from accounts receivable and then a 21 year-old intern have a go at it. If they can still manage to do your job better than you’ve ever done it, the tickets, money, and pussy are still yours. Guess what? It isn’t happening.
Now, tell me how fucking happy you would be to watch that scene play out.”
“Howie Long said the field looked like someone had taken a 9 iron to it because of all the divots. It looks that way because that’s exactly what happened. Golf season’s coming up in a few months and my slice isn’t going to straighten out by itself.”