When The Meetings Are Over

The NFL Annual League Meeting is going on right now down in Palm Beach, Florida.

It is generally referred to as the owners meeting.

Has to be the most obnoxious collection of pretentious, privileged, rich, white guys sitting in a room anywhere on planet earth.

Every single one of these guys has a big, fat, head. Owning a football team is the ultimate toy for the rich. Fucking trump tried to buy a team many years ago, but was ignored by the league, fucking clown that he is.

Although there is irony in the thought of Jerry Jones thumbing his nose at trump.

These guys are hypocrites. They call the game "product." They pretend to care about protecting players from concussions, pretend to care about players' health. They only care about themselves.

They pretend to care about the game.

They don't love football, they love the prestige of owning a football team. It is merely an investment to them; players and coaches are inventory, pieces that can be used up, discarded and replaced without any thought to fairness or human dignity.

I imagine these rich fucks party their asses off nightly at these meetings. These pampered jack-asses who are surrounded by opulence and treated like royalty. Truth be told, if I was down there (I don't understand why I'm never invited) I would do the same. To the victor go the spoils.

Read a book on football written by Mark Leibovich called Big Game. One of many books on football that dot my bookcases. In it he tells a story of him interviewing Jerry Jones on Jerry's fancy-ass bus. Jerry was consuming large quanities of Johnny Walker Blue and Mark had a hard time keeping up. Of course the Johnny Walker Blue is a pretentious statement in and of itself - a standard 750mL bottle costs $240. And that's at New Hampshire prices, which are generally reasonable. A fucking 50 mL nip costs $20.

I love football, hate the NFL. Management has become corrupt (maybe always was), they are far removed from the reality of the game, they are self-serving, racially prejudiced, cold-hearted, bloated caricatures of what a team owner should be and what a team owner should represent.

I want to love Robert Kraft, but how stupid do you have to be to get caught receiving sexual attention in a massage parlor, getting swept up in an undercover raid? He was 78 at the time. The guy is worth $8.3 billion. He could fly hookers in from Hong Kong, for Christ sake, get his rocks off in the safety and anonymity of his own home, and fly them back to the Orient. No fuss, no muss.

That's what I would do.

I want to believe the original owners, people like George Halas and Tim Mara, absolutely loved the game and wanted to do the right thing. But I'm probably being naive.

Fucking Roger Goodell is nothing more than a corporate puppet, and a stiff, uninteresting guy who gets paid $63.9 million per year.

I imagine when the meetings are over, Palm Beach locals will sanitize every surface touched by these pretentious fucks.