In a forthcoming issue of ESPN Magazine, Rick Reilly has a column about Kurt Warner. His message is immaterial. It’s the means which bear investigating.
Fake Scoop Jackson Meets Rick Reilly And Bill Simmons
↵Below, Reilly’s introduction and a response from our very own Fake Scoop Jackson:
↵↵Kurt Warner. Flattened like a tortilla. Can hardly breathe. Every rib howling. Wife watching. Can’t breathe either. And they pile on. Four of them. Pain doubles. Pain like passing a softball through your kidney. No penalty flag. No nothing.
↵Of course, this was in Warner’s Arizona living room. Monday. With four of his kids.
↵↵Yeah, you’re listening, but are you hearing me? America. Home of the free. Land of the brave.
↵Sentence fragments for emphasis.
↵
WE made it, THEY stole it. Kurt Warner, and family, and God. America. Middle America. But we're talking about writing styles here. Chuuuch.
↵Not dental metaphors. Not dental metaphors. But writing styles. Co-opted by you know who.
↵
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↵Rick Reilly. Scoop makes it, and Rick steps up to take it. America. Same old song, yall.
↵And what’s that? Simmons thinks like Lebron:
↵↵Hey Baron! What up, dog! Watch this, I’m gonna make a half-court shot with my eyes closed ... DAMN! Just missed it. You know what I really feel like doing? Jumping on Shaq’s back. Look out, Big Fella, eeeeeeeeeeee-yah!!!!!!!
↵↵Hey Bill! Lebron’s not your DOG, bro. In that vernacular, you spell it d-a-w-g. That’s outside your comfort zone, huh? Can’t roll with the big dogs? Stay on the porch, brother. You think you know, but you have no idea. Same old song.
↵You listening yet? Holla if ya hear me, yall.
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