I Just Want Big Butts

This topic seems to be a recurring theme lately. As the father to daughters and husband of 25 years (and hoping for more), I’m always very careful about how and where I use the terminology, “big butts.” There are so many ways to misconstrue such a phrase. Palaver about “big butts” can easily be twisted into a defamatory insult or misogynistic offense. So first, I want to make it clear that this statement in no way demeans anyone to whom I am related, nor does it pertain to any female, either living or dead. I just want big butts.

It all started with the NFL draft. Despite the misery they’ve brought me, I love my Atlanta Falcons. I used to follow four sports – a team in each. Time and a non-sporting household have whittled that down to one: The Falcons. While I love them, I am at times dubious of the leadership. They seem to get enamored with flashy toys. I am of the old school opinion that a football team is built on the front line.

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The more big butts you have, the more you win!

But alas, when the Falcons’ turn to draft came, they found a flashy 190 pound receiver instead of a big defensive lineman. I fear that we will score 100 points every game but give up 101. We don’t have enough big butts.

 

A couple of weeks after that, we were driving home from Birmingham when I spotted a sign on the highway that said, “BUTTS & RIBS this exit!” It was lunchtime and we had been talking about where we could go. I knew in my heart that this was worlds better than Wendy’s or Arby’s!

I had already moved over to the right lane and turned on my blinker when my motives were questioned.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting off the interstate to eat.”

“Where? We didn’t decide on anything.”

“There was a sign that said, BUTTS & RIBS.”

This set off a whole volley of objections and I batted every one back over the net with one simple retort.

“THE SIGN SAID BUTTS & RIBS! How can we not stop when the sign says, Butts & Ribs?”

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I am widely known for my penchant for stopping at any roadside attraction that catches my eye. I can’t help myself – I am just drawn to them like a monkey to a cupcake. Whatever campy, cheesy thing you’ve seen on the highway, I can top it. So can my family… which is why they tried to steer me back into the left lane.

I obliged, sadly muttering to myself, “the sign said butts & ribs.”

Now we’ll never know.

 

So you see, this big butt thing started trending in my life. It was punctuated the other day as I looked dejectedly into the mirror and realized our annual beach vacation is coming soon. I am recovering from a knee injury that kept me from running. I don’t run to get in marathon shape any longer; those days are gone. I only run so I can hit the buffet with impunity.

But like a moron, while I couldn’t run over Christmas, I still ate like a fat kid. The consequence is 10-15 extra pounds of BIG BUTT that will soon be sunning itself in the sand.

That is one roadside attraction nobody wants to see!

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Tom Brady, By Gawd

For the average fan, it isn’t often when your team makes it to the Super Bowl. There are exceptions, of course, but most of us don’t see our team there every year. I painfully remember the Falcons last trip. We were a huge underdog to the Denver Broncos and true to predictions, got steamrolled.

I went into that game with just a tiny sliver of hope, but this year feels different. This Falcons team is a good one – the best offense in the league and an emerging, hard-hitting defense. We aren’t the favorite, but it wouldn’t shock the sports world if we won. Unless you live in Boston. Because to the blowhards up there, we are a bunch of backwards yocals who can’t tie our shoes and there… well there, they have Tom Brady, by Gawd.

Listen to the wind and you’ll hear the Northeastern arrogance flowing like vintage 1773 tea!

To hear Patriots fans tell it, our lowly team has no business disgracing the Super Bowl. We don’t have the tradition necessary to get this far. The Falcons and our miserable history are just cobblestones for their illustrious tradition to trounce on. To listen to them, the Falcons shouldn’t even bother making the trip to Houston. Why would we even try against Tom Brady, by Gawd? Just read this tripe from a Brady jock-sniffer from the Boston Globe.

After the way Roger Goodell tried to interfere, it’s personal this year for Tom Brady – and Tom Brady gets what he wants, by Gawd. Soon we will be seeing clever new clips of adoring fans Matt Damon and Ben Aflack acting gobsmacked, like we don’t know they have Brady on speed dial.

And truth be told, we envy your recent prosperity. The run Belichek and Brady have been on is unprecedented. But lest you forget, this success could be Cleveland’s had they not had an itchy trigger finger. Not to take anything away from the last decade, but

the Patriots were irrelevant in the NFL until this confluence of coach and quarterback.

You were, in short… us.

You ran through coaches, tallied losing seasons (even a 1-15 season you’ve likely forgotten), and got blown out in the Super Bowl. Remember Da Bears? You will be irrelevant again and the rest of the country will be happy to not have to listen to your arrogant gawd-awful butchering of the English language.

When that happens, you will be crying in your Sam Adams and screaming, “Tom Brady, by Gawd” to anyone who will listen.

Only no one will.

Rise Up Falcons! Please let this be the beginning of the end of northern aggression.

Go Falcons!

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