Today they play the sport where they crash into each other with their heads. You can’t get across town in Berkeley on game days, because so many people enjoy watching young men giving each other concussions. Our higher learning institutions are happy to host the very intelligent running at each other with their heads business. It’s a family affair. We gather in the blazing sun to drink beer and watch young men crash into each other with their heads. I mean, why wouldn’t you, if you could? Dress up in a padded suit with a helmet in 90° heat and charge at each other and crash your heads together repeatedly? I can see no downside to it. The spectacle is made complete by young women in the sidelines dancing and cheering on the young men, as they bash their heads together. Concussions are awesome, and we celebrate, with beer. Colleges wouldn’t do it if it wasn’t smart. Some of the boys, if they are really good at this, and their knees still work, go on to play in the NFL. Where they’re paid lots of money to crash into each other even harder, until their bodies are destroyed and they spend their retirements trying to manage chronic pain, opioid addiction and brain damage. It’s totally awesome. If it wasn’t totally awesome, why would Americans love it? It’s the number one thing. Our single largest entertainment product. It’s nothing new, but today, I see people flocking to the stadium, old and young alike, with their “Bears” gear and I think, how wonderful that we have such a grand tradition. We should expand on it. It should just be the way we greet each other in public. Just straight run at each other and crash into each other with our heads. Then we can be even smarter. Because obviously this is smart. Or we wouldn’t do it. We certainly wouldn’t encourage young men to do it, at our universities, where we do the smart-being. It’s so wonderful, that today, I’m taking a shortcut, because I want to join the fun. I’ve purchased a six-pack of Budweiser and Hank Williams Jr.’s entire catalog to play while beating myself over the head with a mallet. Hey, when I get into something, I tend to go large. I want to be part of this. I’ve avoided this piece of American culture for too long. If only I had a son, I would encourage him to play football and tell him he’ll never be worth anything if he doesn’t win State, like the asshole drunk dad in Friday Night Lights. It’s the life for me now, I don’t know why I missed it. The new game is streamlined, however. To hell with these safety measures they keep talking about, trying to make the game less dangerous. Bunch of pussies. In the new version, the players will all have mallets and clobber themselves mercilessly until they’re passed out or dead. We need to stop coddling these boys. They need to man up and beat themselves to death. I’m excited about the possibilities. We’ll sell a lot of beer. Think of the cheers you could write for that! “RA! RA! SIS BOOM DIE! DIE! DIE!” It can’t miss. Sponsors will firehose money at this. Branded mallets will be the rage. You wont be able to go anywhere without seeing young men diligently beating themselves over the head, perfecting their technique. It’s Football Plus. Football distilled to its essence. Simplified, perfected. Girls can get into the act, too. No more gender bias in New Football, no. Anyone can beat themself over the head with a mallet. We’ll sing the national anthem and then just start right in a’self-clobberin’ and save a lot of hassle and time, not having to mess with helmets and medics and all that snowflakey nonsense. A more advanced player can simply behead himself, as his beloved coach yells, “PLAY THROUGH THE PAIN!” and the drunk dad bellows, “THIS IS IT, SON! YOUR MOMENT OF GLORY! IT WILL NEVER GET BETTER THAN THIS!”
