Nothing, and I do mean nothing, will take the shine off the news your jackbooted thugs dragged Portnoy out of your grand and spectacular showcase faster than what Roger Goodell has been through in the last 14 hours or so.
Goodell must be learning exactly what it’s like to do Poppers. First you get that euphoric high, then the sexual rush, and then you crash. Hard. Only in his case, he crashed, then bounced, then had to crash and bounce two more times. Getting booed mercilessly at the trophy presentation is one thing. When you were sent here from the Demon Dimension to destroy all human happiness, you grow accustomed to the world despising you. He can’t walk into the Maine Diner to get a coffee to go without being booed by the Dominican guy working the grill. What chance does he have in a stadium where one team’s fans despise him with the white hot heat of a million vinyl car seats and the other team has no fans?
But having to face this Holy Trinity of Patriots had to have felt like Andy King, about to take one for the team.
You use all your leverage to move the Rams to a city that gives zero shits about them just because the stadium is going to be part of a nice real estate deal, only to have to face the man you betrayed. You then go back to your crypt, only to wake up in the morning and have to face the Super Bowl MVP who you suspended for reasons nobody can explain. Just some “positive test” for a vague substance your own Piss Patrol can’t identify with a sample they admitted mishandling. And then you’re forced to listen to him hold a presser while the Dark Lord makes small talk with you about how he’s grown ever more powerful.
I swear that if Roger Goodell was capable of human emotions, his heart would be ripped in half too.
At least he still has the video of Dave getting physically assaulted by his Brute Squad to cheer him up. I just wonder if he’s heard of Barstool yet.