The Backup Bar

“Sometimes you wanna go

Where everybody knows your name

And they're always glad you came

You wanna be where you can see (ah-ah)

Our troubles are all the same (ah-ah)

You wanna be where everybody knows your name.”

“Sam I just don’t understand why I’ve only been a back up in this league for the last 7 years of my career. I still got it. I mean I had a great game against the Bucs earlier this year and yet I still haven’t got another shot.”

Tyrod Taylor stated as he took a long sip from his frozen strawberry daiquiri.

“Well, Tyrod you definitely deserve a shot this year. Especially after your counterpart Justin Fields has been downright awful this year, leading your team to a 0-6 record.”

Sam said as he folded a dirty bar rag over his left shoulder.

“I know, right? He threw for 43 yards and 0 touchdowns on Sunday vs the Broncos and I still haven’t received the phone call to start yet. Nice enough kid and everything but my god he has happier feet than all of the penguins in Antarctica.”

Tyrod said as he stared blankly into the remnants of ice crystals and strawberry flavoring living in the bottom of his daiquiri glass.

The door to the bar then swung open, “creek.” The sound dragged on for a few seconds like something out of a Hitchcock film. A tall stoic, gray bearded, disheveled looking man stood in the entrance as the rain poured down behind him. Nobody could tell who it was until he stepped into the light. That’s when everyone in the bar quickly turned their heads toward the front entrance and yelled in unison,

“Joe.”

“Hey everybody”

Joe said as he slowly crept through the door brushing water droplets off his shoulders.

Tyrod then quickly turned back around and whispered under his breath,

“Oh, look Joe Flacco another guy who took my starting job.”  

Tyrod then shook his glass in anger at Sam and said,

“I’ll take another one Sam. Double the rum this time.”

“You got Tyrod. Ill triple it.”

Sam said grabbing a clean glass off the shelf.

Joe then Hunchback of Notredamed his way up to the bar, past all the signed photos on the wall of the great backup quarterbacks including Blaine Gabbert, Nick Foles and Andy Dalton. His shoes sticking to the floor with every gentle step. He stopped in front of the greek statue of Jimmy Garoppolo and said under his breath,

"Good god even the statue of Jimmy is gorgeous. I’d let that statue do things to me my wife could only dream of…”

Joe then sat down on the stool turned to his left and nodded his head at Tyrod. Tyrod lifted his glass slowly in the air and nodded his head back at Joe in silent sign of respect. Joe then turned his head back towards Sam.

“Hey Sam.”

Joe said as he let out a giant sigh.

“Joe my man. How’s everything going? How’s Cleveland treating you?”

Sam asked genuinely curious.

“Well, if you must know. Not great, the offensive line can’t block for more than 3 seconds. Jerry Judy doesn’t want to run any route that involves him getting hit. The rookie third string doesn’t understand what it means to be a quarterback and worst of all I just lost my job to the other rookie who can’t see over the offensive line.”

Joe said as he reached over the bar and grabbed the bottle of wild turkey that was hidden behind the bar just for him.

“Let me get a glass for you.”

Sam said as he reached for a glass on the shelf right above the bar.

Joe looked at him like glasses had never been invented and said,

“No, that’s ok Sam the bottle is made of glass. This will do just fine.”

Sam gently returned the glass to its home and said to Joe,

“Hey, on the bright side at least you won’t have to break your body for a losing franchise.”

Joe pointed the bottle of Wild Turkey at Sam and looked at him like he was the wisest man that has ever lived. 

“You know what Sam you got a point my friend.”

Joe stated as he took a vigorous sip from the bottle. When all of a sudden, The Wiggles started singing out of Joes front right pocket.

 Toot-toot, chugga-chugga, big red car.

We'll travel near and we'll travel far.

“My fucking kids changed my ring tone again.”

Joe said as he slammed the bottle of wild turkey down on the bar and reached for the singing phone in his pocket.

“This is Joe.”

He answered while not knowing who it was on the other side of the phone.

“Joe this is Duke Tobin the GM with the Cincinnati Bengals.”

Duke said extremely excited.

“Son of bitch. What happen now?” Don’t tell me I got traded to a team with a worse offensive line.”

Joe said as he grabbed the slammed bottle off the bar and took another sip.  

“That wasn’t the answer I was expecting to hear.”

Duke said confusingly.

“I’m sorry Duke it’s been a long year. Let’s be honest, it’s been a long couple of years.”

Joe said while staring deeply into the turkeys' eyes that were painted on to the bottle, he was becoming smitten with.

Anyways I’m excited to announce that we just traded for you, and we couldn’t be more enthusiastic for you to head a little south to Cincinnati and join our broken team and help us make a run at the AFC North.”

Duke said.

“Well Duke nothing against you but I really don’t feel like getting murdered by Myles Garrett in week 18 just when I’m about to retire. Instead of trading for me why don’t you just trade for a couple offensive linemen and give Jake Browning an actual chance to succeed. Because I hate to break it to you, my legs are not young anymore. I’m like a statue outside Buckingham Palace in the pocket. At least Jake Browning is somewhat athletic.”

“Well Joe to be honest with you, I’m not thrilled about this either. You’re old, clearly miserable and just playing quarterback to pay for your 5 kids to go to private school somewhere outside Nantucket. I’m just doing this for aesthetics to keep Ja’marr Chase and Tee Higgins happy. I know we have no chance whatsoever, especially with your old ass back there and Mike Tomlin somehow has his team at 4-1 for the 100^th year in a row. But hey it looks like we are trying.”

“So, Duke this is actually happening? I’m head to Cincinnati.”

“Yeah, Joe I’m afraid so.”

Joe took one final massive pull from the bottle of Wild Turkey and said with fake enthusiasm,

“Alright Duke. Can’t wait for the opportunity to help lead the Cincinnati Bengals to the playoffs. I’ll grab the first flight out of town. By the way who are we playing my first week?”

“The Green Bay Packers.”

Duke stated.

“You're shitting me, Duke.

“I’m afraid not Joe.”

“Well Duke, you might want to start looking for another quarterback because Micah Parson is going to rip out both my Achilles on Sunday.”

“That he is Joe. That he is. I have to make another call shortly after this just in case that’s a reality.”

“Thanks Duke.”

Joe said as he hung up the phone and said to Sam,

“Looks like I’m headed to Cincinnati.”

Sam looked at him worried for his well-being and said,

“That’s great. Congrats you're going to be a starter again.”

Joe then finished off the bottle. Stood up from his chair and said,

“Real great Sam. Really fucking great. Now if you would kindly excuse me, I have to go fire my agent.”

Joe slammed a $100 down on the table and said,

“Thanks Sam. Keep the change.”

“You got it Joe. Good luck in Cincy.”

Joe then got up from his chair and started walking towards the exit. As he was making his way to the door a voice started to sing from Tyrod’s left pocket.

“Cause the players gonna play, play, play, play, play

And the haters gonna hate, hate, hate, hate, hate.”

Joe stopped in his tracks, turned around as the stick floor squeaked beneath him and whispered to himself,

“That better not be Duke from the Bengals.”

Tyrod then reached in his front left pocket and answered his phone,

“Go for Tyrod.”

“Tyrod it’s Duke Tobin from the Cincinnati Bengals. How are you doing?”

“Hey Duke. I’m doing good. How are you?”

Joes face turned beet red.

“Are you fucking serious!”

He yelled as he stormed out the door to catch a flight to Cincinnati.

“Sometimes you wanna go

Where everybody knows your name

And they're always glad you came…

“Turn off that music. Nobody is glad you came!”

Joe said as the door creaked shut behind him.

Thanks For Reading and Enjoy Joe Flacco In His Tiger Stripes.

Yer' a Wizard Shanahan.

 “Wow what another great day at Hogwarts. Oh, hey there’s my favorite professor.”

Harry said while skipping over towards a long haired, menacing professor, who looks like he gets his Rapunzel length black hair straightened at the local salon daily.

“Professor Snape. Professor Snape. Have you seen Professor Shanahan? I need to ask him a couple questions about potions.”

He looked at Harry with utter disgust and said in a nasally tone,

“Potter. Why would I know where Professor Shanahan is at. You pubescent offspring of that bully James Potter.”

“I don’t know. Maybe you guys talk.”

“I am the Half-Blood Prince I don’t have time for this nonsense.”

“Woah Professor Snape. Spoiler alert this is only book 2…”

“Oh, flobberworm your right Potter. Ignore what I just said. Anyways, I had The Rams -8.5 on Thursday and that pathetic excuse for a professor decided that it was ok to use a Brady Potion on Mac Jones to help his team win. The least he could have done is come to me and let me know he was going to do something shady like that. Some friend he is. That’s the last time I watch his kids when his out of town.”

Snape said while staring blankly out the window at the garden.

“Professor? Wouldn’t that be insider betting then? Plus, if he’s your friend why would you bet against his team?”

“Well Potter if you must know. Everyone on the 49ers seem to have been cast with the spell Brackium Emendo or the no bones spell. Why wouldn’t I bet against them?”

“Because he’s your friend and friendship is the most wonder…”

“Oh, Fuck off Potter.”

Professor snape then did his best Phantom of the Opera impression and spun his cloak around his torso while storming out of the room.

“I bet your girlfriend uses the no bones spell on you, you crabby old Norwegian Ridgeback.”

Harry yelled at Professor Snape as he angrily walked away.

“Alright good talk professor. Have a great day. Gosh professor Snape seams in a great mood today.” 

Harry then began skipping through the halls again in search of Professor Shanahan. That was until he stumbled upon Ron and Hermione chatting in the halls.

“Hey Ron and Hermione. Have you seen Professor Shanahan?”

“You mean that cheating Horklump of a professor who used a Brady Spell on Mac Jones.”

Ron said with more anger in his voice than a Hungarian Horntail who hasn’t eaten in weeks.

“No, not you too Ron. Aren’t you like 8 in this book?”

“So, what Harry? I heard the Rams were a sure thing on Thursday night. So, I took an Ageing Potion, hopped on my broom stick and flew to Iowa to place a bet.”

Hermione then interrupted both of them with the snarky tone we have been a custom to through the first 2 books,

“You mean to tell me Ron you took an Ageing Potion and then flew to Iowa?”

“Yeah, what of it?”

“Well, first of all that’s highly against Hogwarts rules and regulations. Second why didn’t you just do what I did and take an Ageing Potion and fly to London to place the bet. You could have been back in minutes.”

Ron and Harry both stared at Hermione for a good few seconds like they just fell in love for the first time until Ron said,

“Bloody Norah that’s genius. I think I love you, Hermonie.”

Hermione then turned to Harry and kicked him right in the shin and said,

“If you do find that professor with a touch a gray in his beard and an oversized hat, kick him right in the shin and tell him I want my money back. The Rams were a fucking lock.”

Harry while grimaced over in pain said,

“You two have real issues.”

Hermione than turned back towards Ron's googling eyes and said,

“Ron take me for a coffee. Mama needs a drink!”

“Yes ma’am.”

Ron said with infatuation as he grabbed Hermione’s hand.

Harry while still bent over in pain turned towards them both as they were walking away holding hands and said,

“This is only book 2 you degenerates. You two aren’t supposed to be all over each other till at least book 5. What is going on today!”

 Harry's skip now turned into a slow painful walk as he continued to wander the halls in search of Professor Shanahan. Until he came upon Professor Dumbledore looking as stoic as ever gliding through the halls of Hogwarts.

“Hey Professor Dumbledore, have you seen Professor Shanahan?”

“Oh, hey Harry. No, I haven’t seen that little Pygmy Puffe. Did you know he used a Brady Potion on Mac Jones last night? That bastard cost me 70 of my hard earn British Pounds.”

“Not again.

Harry said while shaking his head in disappointment.

“Professor did everyone bet on the 49ers last night?”

“Well Harry my boy. When the whole 49ers team is on IR you tend to bet on the other team. Hey, if you do find him, do you mind giving him a message from me?”

“Yeah sure. Not a problem professor. What is it?”

Professor Dumbledore then conjured up the milkiest piece phlegm you have ever seen and spat it directly in Harry’s face while saying,

“Next time you use a Brady Potion on Mac Jones it won’t be just phlegm on your face!”

Professor Dumbledore then turned around and stormed down the hallway.  

“Thanks Professor. I'll make sure to let him know.”

Harry said while wiping the milky spit of a 150 year-old wizard off his face.

Harry with one eye open, limped his way to the bathroom to wash off his face. While Harry was scrubbing his face clean of Dumbledore’s residue, he felt something, or someone pull on the back of his shirt.

“Harry.”

A voice whispered from the shadows.

“Harry it’s me Professor Shanahan.”

Harry looked in every direction and couldn’t see anyone.

“Professor where are you?”

An untrimmed gray bearded faced man then appeared out of thin air.

“Harry, I had to borrow your invisibility cloak. I can’t show my face around these parts after what I did last night.”

“You don’t say professor. Everyone seems to have bet on The Rams last night. Even my second-year friends. I’ve been called awful names, kicked, spat on and everyone seems to be ruining the rest of the books in the series.”

“Yeah, Harry I know. I’m sorry about that. But that’s why I gave Mac the Brady potion and only told you about it. I wanted to stick it to everyone who doubted me.”

Harry looked nervously around at all the bathroom stalls to make sure nobody was in there listening to the conversation. When the coast was clear he whispered,

“Shhh, don’t say that out loud. If Dumbledore finds out, he might Avada Kedavra me or worse I might get expelled.”

“Don’t worry Harry this will be our little secret. So did you make the bet I told you too?”

“Yes, professor I did. I made sure to bet 49ers money line and Mac Jones over passing yards.”

“That’s my boy. Now where’s my half?”

Harry dug in his pocket and pulled out a red Gryffindor embroidered duffle bag full of cash and said,

“God, I love magic.”

“Me too Harry, me too.”

Professor Shanahan then stuffed the duffle bag inside his invisibility cloak. When all of sudden they heard someone fumbling around in the last bathroom stall in the row. The door to the stall flung open and out popped a young blonde-haired boy with a face that looks like he belongs in the Addams Family eating eyeballs at the dinner table. It was Malfoy. But before Malfoy could say anything Professor Shanahan waved his wand made from holly and phoenix feathers at Malfoy and yelled,

“Avada Kedavra.”

A blue spark of magic came funneling out of his wand and hit Malfoy directly in the chest. Malfoys face went completely white as his body fell to the ground and laid there limp like a thanksgiving turkey. Professor Shanahan looked over at Harry with a ghostly look on his face and said,

“Opps. Well good luck Harry. I got to go.”

Professor Shanahan then wrapped himself in the invisibility cloak and snuck out the bathroom door like a field mouse running from a combine harvester.

Harry stood there in shock at the events that had just transpired and said to himself,

“Now what are we going to do? We still have 5 books left.”

Thanks For Reading and Enjoy the Quarterback Wizardry of Kyle Shanahan.

Dazed & Confused

“Dude get in.”

I yelled at my buddy Randall from the driver seat of my 1970 Chevrolet Chevelle SS nicknamed Melba Toast as I honked the horn repeatedly outside of his house.

“Alright man, just give me a second.”

He yelled back at me from his 2^nd story bedroom window.

I started to fumble around in my glove box through all the unpaid parking tickets and taco bell wrappers for a white tube-like object made out of paper and herbs.

“There you are you sneaky devil.”

I whispered to the object while holding it up in air and admiring it like a kid on Christmas who just got the best present ever.

“Hurry up! This joint isn’t going to smoke itself.”

I shouted out my window at Randall.

“Shut the hell up David. My mom’s right downstairs.”

He said with an angry whisper.

I then heard a door in the house slowly creak open while a faint mothering voice said,

“Randall?”

“Yes mom?”

He responded while letting out an audible gulp.  

“Ummm who’s that outside and why is he talking about mary-ja-wanna?”

She asked concerningly.

“That’s just David he’s just joking around.”

He said through a fake smile.

“I don’t think those kinds of jokes are funny Randall. Mary-ja-wanna is bad.”

I then decided now was a great time to light up the joint and yell,

“Hey, Randall, are you coming or what? This thing is cherried and ready to smoke.”

 His mom’s forehead disappeared behind a bouquet of veins after hearing that and yelled,

“Randall you are grounded for a month.”

Randall began to sweat profusely while looking at his mom. His eyes then glanced toward the window I was talking to him through then back to his mom’s boiling face. He cracked his neck like he was ready to perform an Olympic high dive.

“Hey mom how about we start that grounding tomorrow.”

He said to his mom as he turned toward the window and then leaped from his second story bedroom into the bushes below.

He got up, brushed himself off and yelled to his mom through moans of pain,

“Love… you… mom… ow… be back later.”

The bouquet of veins turned into a full-on wedding arrangement of veins.

“Randall, you get your butt back here right now.”

She said while shaking her fist at him.

He then jumped into the car with his leg’s hanging out the window like Luke Duke in The Dukes Of Hazzard. He had a look of vexation on his face while yelling,

“Go, go, go!”

I slowly took the lit joint out of my mouth and stuffed it directly into his and said,

“Hear hit this you seemed stressed.”

“Of course I’m stressed you long haired Hillbilly. I just jumped from my second-story bedroom to get away from my mom to go smoke a joint with you. I’ll be lucky if I’m aloud back in the house after this. Now let’s get out of here.”

He mumbled while the joint bounced up and down in his mouth like horses on merry go around. I then punched the accelerator so hard that the tire screeches could have been heard from miles away.

We drove around in the wooded back roads for a little bit getting higher and higher while our eyes sagged lower and lower. That’s when my phlegm filled, chilled out voice decided to spark up a conversation while sparking up another joint.

“Dude?”

“Yeah man?”

“You know what I don’t get?”

“What is that?”

“How the Packers can look so rad the first two weeks against two gnarly teams and just look revolting the next two weeks against some non-gnarly teams.”

“Yeah man I know what you mean. It’s like getting pitted inside the perfect wave for two weeks straight and then have that wave just bum you out. You know?”

“Yeah dude. That makes 100 percent sense. I wonder why that is.”

 We sat in silence as I pulled over on the side of a dirt road that led to nowhere. We continued to pass the joint back and forth. I then asked,

“Dude?”

“Yeah man?”

“You know what I don’t get?”

“What is that?”

“How do the Falcons can look so rad for a week against the Vikings and then, you know… not rad another week against the Panthers.”

Randall blew out a puff of smoke and then looked at my stop sign colored eyes and said,

“Didn’t you just ask that question?”

I stared blanking into his Bob Ross painting of a cardinal-colored eyes and said,

“Oh yeah… I did just ask that.”

We chuckled for a good few seconds.

I then looked in the rearview mirror at my melting face and noticed a pair of headlights pulling up behind us. I heard the unmistakable sound of a Ford Explorers car door slowly cracking open.

“Creeeeakkk.”

An audible grown attached to two legs spilled out of the driver’s side door. Footsteps began to creep closer and closer.

“Thump, thump, thump.”

I started to feel my heart pump faster while I looked at Randall and said,

“Holy shit. I think the dude from the Butterfly Effect is behind us.”

Randall gasped and said,

“You mean like Ashton Kutcher? Wait Kelso is behind us?”

“No, you idiot. The dude that drove the big scary truck.”

Randall looked at me like I just offended him deep to his sole.

“That’s Joy Ride with Paul Walker you moron.”

I thought about it for a second while the footsteps crept closer and spoke,

“Oh… yeah. That movie sucked. Never mind dude, act cool. I think it’s the fuzz.”

He looked at my concerned face and said,

“I’m not high your high. I have nothing to worry about. I didn’t just confuse Joy Ride with the Butterfly Effect.”

That is about the time a deep voice that was attached to a flashlight started to say,

“Hello guys. How are we doing this afternoon?”

I looked at the bright light while squinting and said in the calmest of voices,

“Officer high. I mean I’m not high. What I meant to say was, after-evening officer.”

Randall looked at me and said through a chuckle,

“Real smooth. He doesn’t suspect a thing.”

I then grabbed Randall by the back of his head and started bouncing his head off the dashboard a couple of times like Seth Curry during warmups while saying,

“Shut up. Shut the…”

I was then interrupted by the police officer’s stern voice,

“Cut the crap boys. I know you both are smoking the wacky tobacky. I can smell it a mile down the road. Hell Shamu can smell you all the way from the Sea Worlds graveyard. Now are you going to let me in so I can help you finish this joint or am I going to have to wrap your wrist in handcuffs and take you downtown.”

I looked over at Randall as he shrugged his shoulders and said,

“Hop on in the more the merrier.”

The officer then swung the car door open and climbed inside the back seat and said,

“Great, I’m glad you guys made the right choice. I really didn’t want to drag you downtown tonight and fill out a bunch of paperwork. The names John by the way. John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt.”   

I turned my head to the back seat with a dazed and confused look on my face and said,

“Really? His name is my name too. That John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt?”

He laughed at his own joke and said,

“Nah I’m just messing with you guys. Pass that thing back here you’re going to let it go out.”

I looked down in my lap and noticed the joint sitting there in a freshly formed burn hole in my wrangler jeans.

“Son of bitch. These are brand new jeans.”  

I said while picking the joint up and handing it to John in the back seat.

He grabbed it from my cold shaking hands and put it too his lips while saying,

“So, what are we talking about. Sabrina Carpenter's new album Man’s Best Friend?”

“Umm no? We are both just confused about the NFL and how teams look super rad one week and not rad another week.”

I said while grabbing the Joint from John's hand.

He blew out a puff of smoke and said,

“Bro. I know what you mean. I was watching the Sunday night game between the Packers and The Cowboys and couldn’t understand where the hell the Packers defense wandered off too. Dak looked like an elite quarterback out there against arguably the best defense in the league. By the way, when did Dak get hot?” 

Randall and I both turned around at the same time and looked at him funny and I said,

“Cool it Sabrina Carpentier, I don’t need you gushing over the 13^th best quarterback in the league back there.”

He stared us down like he was about to arrest us and said,

“What? He looks great.”

I looked over at Randall with a blushing smile and said,

“Well, he’s not wrong… The dude looks like a Greek god out there.”

We sat for another 5 mins mindlessly passing the joint back and forth until it eventually ran out and I decided to conjure up another important conversation.

“Dudes?”

“Yeah man?”

“Yeah bro?”

“You know what I don’t get?”

“What’s that?”

“How MetLife Field just you know causes so many like injuries and stuff.”

John sat in reflective silence while Randall responded with,

“I know what you mean. It’s like when a wave comes up out of nowhere and like crushes you and you like go, ow man that really hurt. And then you’re like done surfing for a while. You know?”

“Dude exactly. They should really, you know, do something about that.”

“Yeah man they really should.”

John then broke his reflective silence by saying,

“Bro. I got it. Maybe they should like switch to grass or something you know?”

I then stopped everything I was doing.

“Dude you’re like some kind of a Einstein or something. You should really Right that one down.”

I said in disbelief at how John just came up with that off the top of his head.

 We sat in silence for another couple of minutes thinking about how we could design a safer field maybe one out of trampolines or mattresses. Until Randall had a question for us.

“Mans?”

“Yeah dude?”

“Yeah bro?”

“You know what I think?”

“What’s that?”

“I don’t think any team in the NFL is that rad. It’s just a mess of teams that are kind of rad but not really rad. You know?”

“I know what you mean. It’s like when your mom tells you to put the clothes in the hamper but like, they are spread out all over the floor and like, when you put them into the hamper, they kind of like become the same thing. You know?”

John’s eyes got really big like he had a revelation and said,

“Bros. Now that’s some deep stuff there.”

Daylight eventually turned into darkness, and I finally said,

“Alright, alright, alright. It’s time we got home. Thanks, John, for not arresting us.”

He smiled from the back seat with his own pair of stop sign colored eyes and said,

“I was never going to arrest you guys. I was just looking for some weed bros.”

I turned around, looked at him with a sly smile and said,

“Your good shit Johnny.”

As John was climbing out of the back seat to get into his squad car I said,

“’Hey Dudes before we go?”

“Yeah Man?”

“Yeah Bro?”

“You know what I love about rookies?”

“What’s that man?”

“I get older. They stay same age…”

Both Randall and John chuckled at what I just said. That was until John cut through the chuckles by saying,

“Yeah bro. That they do. That they do. You two get home safe now.”

“You too Mr. Jingleheimer Schmidt.”

I said while I started the engine.

That was the last we ever saw of John. Not sure if he ever got home. Not sure if he was even a cop. Not even sure his name was John. Not sure if he was even in our back seat. But I was sure of a couple things he was a good guy who had a minor attraction to the Cowboys starting quarterback and was just as dazed and confused as us about each and every team in the NFL this season.  

Thanks For Reading and Enjoy The Dazed & Confused NFL.