We Rutherfords do not forgive a slight against our character or finances easily, and few compare to that which was inflicted upon my father, F. F. Rutherford, by the gold-rushing buffoons for whom this team — if said squad of mincing nannyboos can even be referred to as such! — is named. The golden rush of 1849 completely disrupted my family’s monopoly on the gold trade in California, relegating our control of the market to a mere 68.45 per cent! Not to mention attracting an unseemly population of greedy foreigners. Preposterous!
A pox upon the 1849ers of present and past! Thank God that the latter never formed an effective union.
Opinion the Second: The New Orleans Saints shall go to their graves as bitter disappointments.
It has been well documented that the only way the city of New Orleans may remain socially and economically stable is through the success of their footballing team. However, the odds of winning the Lombardino trophy in consecutive years are slim to nil. Thus, the Saints must forever live with the knowledge that they allowed the city of their birth to slide back into chaos and depravity after they lose in the divisional round of the play offs.
Opinion the Third: Thank God there is no longer a team in St. Louis, Missouri!
I have traveled to the city of Saint Louis exactly once, and it served to do nothing but remind me of the time I toured my family’s meat processing plant in Milwaukee: The filth! The squalor! That blasted arch following me wherever I went, dominating my dreams!
That the Rams organization has seemingly been dissolved by the Nationalized Footballing League is an excellent development, since the economic boon that a successful footballing team provides might only give the citizenry a glimmer of hope in their dismal lives. And that is something by which I cannot abide.
Opinion the Fourth: The Lions of Detroit should be disbanded.
I believe this opinion to be self-explanatory.
Opinion the Fifth: B. Favre intends to perish upon the footballing field — and shall!
Having witnessed firsthand the repression of several workers’ rebellions, I am familiar with staid facial expressions of self-destructive, nigh suicidal determination. More specifically, I am familiar with looks of that nature moments before they are dashed to pieces with a policeman’s baton! In all my years as an avid fan of footballing — I watched the Staten Island Stapletons run amok over the Bulldogs from Boston when J. Paterno was still clad in short pants! — I have never seen a visage that so clearly conveys “I have accepted my violent doom” quite like the one displayed by B. Favre of the Minnesotan Vikings. Mr. Favre has seemingly made plans to die doing the only activity with which he is familiar: throwing interceptions in champion ship games whilst watching his body dis-integrate like a statue under the duress of acidic rain!