Yes, bro, I saw his stats. And yet, like the bookends above who trekked down to that other Chocolate City, I just had to get these off my chest—post-haste. Having immigrated to the Beltway well before The Shanahan Epoch, I’m quite sure you’ll ‘nawimean.’ Regardless, by the time Uncle Tupelo sings “The Trolley Song” this Sunday in St. Louis, these walking clown questions will have lost a lot more than their shirts. With Obama on the road, Strasburg on borrowed time and the Wizards still on-schedule, it’s been a cruel, cruel summer in the District; to wit, I shudder to kick any dog when it’s down. Then again, it’s crueler to be kind to a fan base that proudly counts Mark May as one of its 80 Greatest.
I. First and foremost, Danny M. Snyder is a litigious loser, ostentatious liar and, through his own ironically anti-Semitic machinations, brought about an early end not only to Jack Kent Cooke, but also Dick fuggin’ Clark.
III. Somehow, Steve Spurrier—the Skins’ fifth new H.B.C. in ten years at the time—proved waaay too classy for a front office quarantined from the Metro out there in Ashburn, Virginia. To this day, Lyndon LaRouche can’t even believe that one…and he lives in Leesburg!
IV. Meanwhile, just up 495, Modell’s Colts Ravens convinced Barry Levinson to make a film about a buncha band geeks. But here in the reclaimed swampland that is Hollywood-for-ugly-people, the Redskins couldn’t even bribe Brando for a cameo in the Lifetime® Original™ of Harjo, et al. v. Pro-Football, Inc.
V. Finally, because they cannot stop for death, well, just have a look-see. (Even worse for this poor soul, though: Valerie Solanas—the Queen Bitch, herself—lies not two stones over.)