First of all, here’s Old King Clancy watching the Skins-Cowboys game:
Yeah, I’ve had that in my back pocket for losing to the Cowboys all season. Turns out, maybe the Eagles game was the right place for it. However, since if there’s one thing I’ve learned from 2 weeks on Twitter, it’s that people on the Internet are supposed to repeatedly pat themselves on the back, I’d like to mention how perfectly the lyrics from last week’s song describe being a Skins fan.
So, the Sex Cannon. Since the DC media are generally a bunch of flip-flopping lapdogs, he’s currently the toast of the town. Despite losing. Yes, he threw 4 TD passes and a lot less ground balls than McNabb. However, he also threw a horrific interception on the Skins’ 20 and fumbled on the Skins’ 20. So yeah, he was better than McNabb for this game. But to use my dad’s genius description of Neil Lomax, he’s “just good enough to lose with.” And the point is that they lost. To the Cowboys. Now, in the Cannon’s defense, the real reason they lost is because the defense and special teams kept fucking that chicken. Yes, the Sex Cannon fucked over the defense with a couple of his turnovers, but none of their 460 yards allowed is the Cannon’s fault. And the kick and punt coverage did their jobs as well as Jennifer Lopez trying to sing or act (or pretend to be a human being). So the Sex Cannon sucked the least out of the 3 elements. Good for him. They still lost. To the Cowboys.
I’d like to surrender the floor to Hogs Haven‘s (my favorite Skins’ blog) Ken Meringolo, who said best of this: “Chalk up another “We should have won, could have won, but really had no business being close to winning” day. I mean, there we were yet again…the ways this team takes losses are simply amazing. What lessons are we learning this year? Really…what are we gaining from the experience of almost winning this many times? I worry that the lesson being driven into this team is more how to lose than how to win. I suppose the hope is that another offseason of roster upheaval will further erode the foundation of our institutional culture of losing. We can only hope that young, promising players like Brian Orakpo and Trent Williams will escape the psychological anvil that has destroyed guys who have played here in the past. After all, there is a limit to how much bullshit a professional can withstand before he either decides to leave or decides to give up and go through the motions.” Amen. And there’s always a glass of Cockburn available for you and your partner, Kevin Ewoldt.
NINE glasses of Cockburn! A HA HA HA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Ladies and gentlemen, I present … CockburnNog!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! In the weeks leading up, I imagined this to be the most vile concoction I had ever dreamed up. It actually wasn’t. It tasted pretty much like any alcoholic eggnog. And despite my enjoyment of alcohol, I actually like my eggnog non-alcoholic because I like the taste of eggnog. Same with pina coladas. So if you’re looking for a festive holiday treat, and by that I mean a way to mask some of the taste of your Cockburn, this might be for you.
Speaking of Cockburn and the holidays, we are creeping up on the one-year anniversary of the most important comedic day of my life: the day I was introduced to Cockburn. As I mentioned on another site, while hosting Christmas Eve dinner, my grandma unironically served us Cockburn with dessert, never thinking for once that it was funny until my uncle and I burst into hysterical laughter for about 15 minutes (or so she claims). The point being that yes, Old Grandma Clancy loves the Cockburn. And I have a feeling I’ll have to pay her a visit on Sunday to get my dose after the Skins-Jaguars game. Now, I believe it’s time for our Official Cockburn Drinking Song:
And as a holiday bonus, growing up I always said it wasn’t Christmas until I heard this song. I still haven’t heard it, so dammit, I’m gonna play it! I’m not sure this counts because it’s inorganic, but fuck it!
MERRY COCKBURN CHRISTMAS, REINDEER-FUCKERS!!!!!!!!!!!