Greetings, nincompoops. My name is Bill Callahan. I'm hear to speak to you regarding the shoulder injury of Sam Keller, our current starting quarterback. He's out for the rest of the season, a pitiable travesty of fate for our beloved signal-caller, my prize progeny of my prodigious West Coast offense, a distributor of dextrous deadly football deliveries from his deft digits, oh, a light! Yes, a lustrous beam of sunshine into my drab, forlorn tenure upon the alien corn of this disconsolate prairie.
Nebraska football, 2007.
(Oh, Cortez. Was Keats right? Did you feel exhilaration staring upon that vast, cerulean carpet? Would that I have anything but the oceans of my unappreciated genius to drown my sorrows in, vanquished conquistador! My voyage has taken me only further into this damned moonscape called America without a speck of Incan gold for reward. Unless you count my multimillion dollar salary, of course.)
I can espy from the slackening jaws and empty, unthinking stares of your simian countenances that I've yet again managed to blind you with the incandescence of my thoughts. Staring at the sun seems mean next to my thoughts, no? Well, let's just put it in the pidgin you can understand.
KELLER OUCHIE! HURT OUCHIE WAAAAAAHHH!! NO TALK SPECIFICS!!! JOE GANZ THROW BALL HUSKER WAY HEAPUM TOUCHDOWNS NOT RESIGNING MMKAY? OW MY BALLZ!
(throws candy and beer...reporters scatter on the floor in a frenzy)
There. Having debased myself for the handful of cowrie shells I slave for each day here in the third circle of hell, I bid thee adieu, you gag-faced giblet-gobbling gomerals. Good day and die swiftly, shitkickers.