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Herald-Mail football prognosticator Big Sydney (September 5, 2012) |
I have never been so embarrassed in all my life.
I got a call to meet with the NFL commissioner the other day.
I feel like I’m being called to the principal’s office. I don’t really know what he wants with me.
I could be positive and figure he wants to commend me for my outstanding work in the world of football prognosticating. I’ve been an under recognized stalwart in that field for such a long time. Those Herald-Mail hacks don’t know what they have.
Maybe he wants to pick my brain to see just how I figure out so many games successfully.
Maybe he wants information so he can lay a bet on the game.
Oh, wait a minute! I didn’t say that! I don’t think the commissioner is allowed to place bets.
Testing. Testing. Big Brother, erase that from the tape.
Maybe I should be worried. Maybe he does want to pick my brain, for real.
He might think I’d be a perfect test case for the NFL’s concussion research. He probably heard somebody yell “You are out of your mind,” after reading my picks.
There was that one time someone asked me if I had been dropped on my head.
I was supposed to be a guest on Hard Knocks, but the camera wasn’t big enough for me AND Rex. Talk about needing a wide shot. Or maybe that guest appearance on Slam Dancing with the Stars is catching up with me.
No, I’ll bet he wants to name something after me because of my long service to football. There’s the Lombardi Trophy and the Hunt Award, named for a couple of great football figures. Maybe the NFL Man of the Year Award will now be known as the Sydizen of the Year.
No. No. I know. He has seen me walking around with my coaching whistle. It’s like my American Express card … I never leave home without it.
He wants me to take over as the top replacement referee and has found a way for me to work all 16 games on a weekend. That’s the only way we are going to get this thing done right.=
Oh, Oh. I just had a thought. Maybe that isn’t it at all.
Is there a possibility that some things I’ve said got back to the commish?
I just remembered ... I had an innocent conversation with someone who recognized me by my barbecue stain in the grocery store.
It must have been taken out of context.
I got a call to meet with the NFL commissioner the other day.
I feel like I’m being called to the principal’s office. I don’t really know what he wants with me.
I could be positive and figure he wants to commend me for my outstanding work in the world of football prognosticating. I’ve been an under recognized stalwart in that field for such a long time. Those Herald-Mail hacks don’t know what they have.
Maybe he wants to pick my brain to see just how I figure out so many games successfully.
Maybe he wants information so he can lay a bet on the game.
Oh, wait a minute! I didn’t say that! I don’t think the commissioner is allowed to place bets.
Testing. Testing. Big Brother, erase that from the tape.
Maybe I should be worried. Maybe he does want to pick my brain, for real.
He might think I’d be a perfect test case for the NFL’s concussion research. He probably heard somebody yell “You are out of your mind,” after reading my picks.
There was that one time someone asked me if I had been dropped on my head.
I was supposed to be a guest on Hard Knocks, but the camera wasn’t big enough for me AND Rex. Talk about needing a wide shot. Or maybe that guest appearance on Slam Dancing with the Stars is catching up with me.
No, I’ll bet he wants to name something after me because of my long service to football. There’s the Lombardi Trophy and the Hunt Award, named for a couple of great football figures. Maybe the NFL Man of the Year Award will now be known as the Sydizen of the Year.
No. No. I know. He has seen me walking around with my coaching whistle. It’s like my American Express card … I never leave home without it.
He wants me to take over as the top replacement referee and has found a way for me to work all 16 games on a weekend. That’s the only way we are going to get this thing done right.=
Oh, Oh. I just had a thought. Maybe that isn’t it at all.
Is there a possibility that some things I’ve said got back to the commish?
I just remembered ... I had an innocent conversation with someone who recognized me by my barbecue stain in the grocery store.
It must have been taken out of context.
