Breathtaking Inanity

13 Aug

Jonathan Vilma makes his case in court.

This is such bullshit.  What the hell happened?  I thought we were getting Saints games every four days this year.  Now I have to wait another damn week and a half for the next game, a game I won’t even be able to attend, against some FBS team from Florida.

At least the powers that be have seen to it that this ridiculous delay between meaningless football games is an eventful one, am I right?  Just today we got some great news from the State Police (who are now able to turn to more pressing matters, such as the Fletcher Mackel impersonator) and John Barr shat all over himself.  However, I’m getting ahead of myself.  Let’s take a step back.  Three days ago we were treated to a spectacular court hearing, covered live by our crack local beats on twitter.

No, that wasn’t sarcasm.  They killed it.  It was like watching live.  Ryan Jones with the Times Pic and Gabe Feldman, that Tulane lawyer guy, covered every quotable quote and circus theatric from minute to minute.  And I enjoyed every second of it.  Bravo.  What?  You don’t have twitter?  Shit.  Sorry, I didn’t realize.  How are you reading this in 1997? Dude, let me tell you, you’re going to love the next three years.  No, not really.

Okay, okay.  Here’s how I saw it going down.  Aided by tweets from Feldman and Jones, I saw it happen as if I was there.  I don’t know what any of these people sound/look like other than Vilma, so I filled in the gaps for you.

There was some boring shit where the judge comes in and a bailiff (is that a real thing? I’ve never been in court before) reads some nonsense about the case or whatever, but we’re fading in as Vilma’s counsel begins their arguments.  As Eye of the Tiger fades into the background, Jeffrey Kessler Saul Goodman is already standing on top of a table, proclaiming Vilma’s innocence to the world and decrying the unfair treatment he’d gotten from the league.  Judge Ginger Berrigan, played by Scarlett Johanssen (the makeup department made her look older, but there’s still an uncomfortable amount of boobage coming over the top of her robe), is all “Yeah, I see your point, the commissioner is definitely an insufferable douche and this can’t be allowed to go on, but am I legally allowed to overturn this?  Convince me.”

So Goodman’s like, “Hell yeah, Judge, cause you’re a damn judge, know what I’m saying?  Make your ruling as YOU see fit.  It’s all good, man!” and then he winks and she chuckles because she gets the joke and after all, I mean, we’re talking about Jonathan Vilma here, not some random drughead, you know, we really want the guy to win.

So Ginger says “Ok, Saul, you made your point.  It’s that other guy’s turn, what’s your name again?”

And the NFL counsel steps up and says, “Nobody cares who my name is, they won’t even record it in the news articles tomorrow, and bloggers won’t even be able to look it up, that’s how entirely meaningless I am.  I probably can’t live up to Saul’s awesomeness, by the way.”  The whole crowd chuckles because it’s self-deprecating humor, but he’s right, and everyone realizes it, because the NFL’s case is entire bullshit, but he does what he has to do because he gets paid.  This guy’s played in my mind by Anubis because that fucker is literally faceless and evil and Darth Vader is too cliche for this here blog (no, the guy from Stargate, asshole, no the TV show, the ugly flowy looking Goa’uld that half-ass ascended? Oh shit, never mind). So no-name just sheepishly says, “Hey, Judge, yeah, it’s all unfair and it’s bullshit, but we can do that because the players signed this thing last year and so who gives a shit about right and wrong anymore?  They should have realized that we’d be total fucksticks about this, so it’s time to man up and not have careers anymore.”

And then he points at his own counsel and asks the Judge why Ryan Jones is sitting in his chair and tweeting his notes to the reading public, and Ginger tells Ryan he has to go back to his seat and he does, and he says something about transparency but I mean, come on, by now he’s just staring at Scarlett’s breasts, and he’s not doing himself any favors.  The viewer feels a little sorry for him right here, because he’s really making a name for himself reporting on all this, even if he gets a little pissy when Jesse makes fun of his grammar on twitter from time to time.

And the Judge turns back to no-name and goes, “Hey, man, you’re making me feel powerless here,” and the lawyer is all, “No, you’re very powerful, but we still get to do what we want.”

But now it’s Saul’s turn again, and he says a bunch of stuff really loud but everyone’s tuning out by now because we’re all convinced, am I right?  It’s just filler now, entertainment value, and now he has to get down off of the table again, but he’s made his point and it’s time for the Judge to do some talking.  But wait!

As he’s coming back to the counsel’s table, with his notepad or whatever, up comes Ginsberg and he just snatches the notes from Goodman like Tom Cruise when he took that field manual from the prosecution and started in on that poor kid about the chow hall, remember?  And we’re all expecting something big, something grandiose, but then he slows it down like REO Speedwagon flipping straight over to “Can’t Fight That Feeling” right off the last note of “Ridin’ the Storm Out” and that shit just makes your brain hurt, you know?

So he goes on with a soft bit about how Vilma’s career is just fucked if this is allowed to happen, and man, he’s just such a nice guy, it’s not really fair.  And Vilma (he’s played by President Camacho from Idiocracy) is just nodding, expressionlessly, trying to hide a smile, because there’s not a dry eye in the house, and the NFL is done.

It’s obvious where this is all going, but we need a little suspense leading into the next episode, so Ginger does a little song-and-dance about having to find justification so she can legally halt this atrocity against justice as soon as possible without getting reversed on appeal.  And then she screams “Who Dat Durr I’m a Saints Fans Gumbo Gumbo Crawdad Gumbo” and bangs the gavel and Halftime is played over the PA system as she dances to her chambers while the gallery stands up and gets crunk.

Fade to black.  TO BE CONTINUED.

Anyway, that’s how I pictured it.  To be fair, I’ve had some drinks tonight.

While we’re waiting for that courtroom drama to come to a spectacularly awesome conclusion, the State Police have something to tell us.  Police Commissioner John Munch had a press conference this morning (or afternoon or something – everything between eight and five on a weekday kind of mushes together) and let us know that even the wiretapping case was a big conspiracy – and hell, it’s not like the government’s a big fan of wiretapping conspiracies anyway, people, they’re tapping all your phones in case you’re a terrorist and monitoring from the secret underground labs any damn way.

No, I don’t actually – shit, have you never watched Homicide or SVU?  Goddamnit.

Anyway, Munchie basically laid it out for us – ESPN’s a big rumor monger, to include Outside the Lines (looking at you, Glenn Guilbeau), and they made up the whole bit because they really don’t give a shit about the truth, just ratings.  To be fair, it worked.  People ate that bullshit up when it hit the wire.  Mickey’s innocent, though, as if we didn’t already know that, and John Barr will be fined 500,000 dollars to recoup the cost of the investigation into blatantly false charges.

Yeah, that’s not going to happen.  I made that up.  It damn sure should be true, though.

Wonder how interested in journalistic integrity ESPN is?  The NFL crew reported that Mickey had been “cleared of charges that some media source said something about a few weeks ago, and did y’all hear that shit about Ochocinco?  He doesn’t have a reality show anymore!”

Fuck you, ESPN.  Fuck you, John Barr.  And Fuck you to any so-called journalist who has no problem attaching those four letters to your name for a paycheck.  Have some integrity, dicks.  Not one ESPN “personality” has said a single bad word about John Barr today, after their “peer” was publicly busted for trusting a bullshit source at best, and publishing bald-faced lies at the worst.  And what did this journalist have to say for himself after being outed for the most breathtaking journalistic fuckstickery this side of Fletcher Mackel’s twitter account?  “No comment.”

Nice, John.  Real nice.

We’re approaching three pages in Word right now, a length which is borderline offensive to some of you, so I’ll wrap up my evening rant with a nice offensive link.

Gumbo Andouille Katrina Gumbo, Bitches!

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