There were so MANY disgusting moments during last night’s game that it’s hard to pick just one, but I can do it. It’s when the announcer said, “See? Lovie Smith coaches effort.” WHAT THE DRUCK?! Have you been ASLEEP all season, sir?
FAVRE: Hey man, you’re from here, right?
CUTLER: Actually I’m from Santa Claus, Indiana.
FAVRE: What’s that? Speak up, sonny. Don’t hear as good as I useta.
CUTLER: Never mind.
FAVRE: Damn I’m cold. What say you go scare me up a triple Venti nonfat Creme Brulée latte with extra whip? There’s gotta be a Starbucks somewhere near this toilet bowl of a stadium. Be a good boy. Here’s a quarter.
FAVRE: Listen, pipsqueak. I’ve been in this league for 19 years to your four. So don’t go getting too big for your baby Bear britches. I crap biggern’ you.
CUTLER: Okay. BRB.
And then, there was this:
NOOOOOO. Not Peanut! By far, the worst thing that’s happened in a wasted season — Charles Tillman writhing in agony on the field, unable even to raise a thumbs-up sign for the fans. Blah blah Urlacher, Hester and Knox. Tillman plays with HEART. Dear Peanut, I hope your broken ribs heal quickly and that your team works hard to be worthy of your unselfish efforts next season.
And last but not least — you’re welcome, New Orleans!