2012 NFL Draught



***I love a good story! How about a bit of fiction to help with the post - Draft withdrawal symptoms? - front paged by DouglasM***

You’re not going to believe this, but shopping at my local grocery store this past weekend, I bumped into someone who’s very pertinent to the Rams, and I thought I’d share my encounter. I should preface this story by stating that I don’t visit the grocery store very often, as I’ve got a boss wife that does the majority of the shopping and.....well......I don’t know where anything is and I hate going. I know that there’s a produce section, simply because that’s the main entry, and there’s a wonderful chilled aisle of delicious adult beverages - - the reason for my visit. But I I enter the store I’ve already made my decision on my beer of choice, which I prefer to enjoy with lime. Great! The two sections of the store I’m familiar with working together harmoniously. So while I’m feeling out limes, which I’m in no way qualified to do, I glance across the table and directly in front of me is.....

Gregg Williams. My eyes lit up! What was I going to say? I mean this guy was our defensive coordinator for like 2 ½ months! My instincts told me to just continue my shopping, leave him alone, and then speed home to tell you guys that I’d seen him. That was not good enough, though......I was going to get his attention. ‘Gregg’ I muttered in my half-assed coughing voice.....he continued to examine the cantaloupe in a semi-errotic manner. I furrowed my brow. Did this mother Fer just ignore me?!? This is Washington DC, and we’re not known for courtesy. Again, and loud enough for Helen Keller to hear, I cough out his name. His head rises just enough for me to catch a glimpse of myself in his sunglasses. Great.....I’ve got broccoli in my teeth!

After picking out, and re-enjoying, my leftover lunch I decided that I’m going to need to step up my game if I’m going to get an autograph on my Napoleon Dynamite t-shirt. I begin to mosey my cart around to his side of the display. Still examining the melons, I stroll up beside him and say ‘Did you hear the one about the blonde, the priest, and the watermelons?’ Slowly, as if from a bad ass movie, he turns and stares at me. My first thought was ‘I must’ve missed some broccoli.’ He glances around in our vicinity, in an effort to gauge the level of curse word he intends on using in public, and very quietly says ‘I’m not sure who the hell you are, but I don’t want to hear your jokes. Grab the table of limes you just hocked all over and leave me alone!’ He then walked away from the table and continued to molest some other fruits and veggies.

Holding back my tears, about a million thoughts went through my head. I’ve never been on TV, and I’m guessing that pummeling Gregg Williams with a yucca root might help get me there. Thinking better of it, and more so not liking the thought of sharing a toilet with another cell-dwelling criminal, I continued on with my original venture, quickly grabbing my beer with intentions of heading to the checkout. This would prove to be difficult, though, as Gregg had made his way to the corn shucking station, which happened to be right beside my self-checkout of choice.

Standing about four deep in line, infuriated, I couldn’t help but just glare at him. Meanwhile, he’s whistling as if he’s just been granted reinstatement into the NFL, throwing corn husks all over the floor of my wife’s grocery store! It was it that this point that my emotions got the best of me. I stomped out of line, holding my place with a Cosmo magazine of course, walked right up to him and said ‘Look Gregg Williams, you were my favorite defensive coordinator for almost 3 months. I was gonna blow your mind with a melon joke, suck it!’ He chuckled and said ‘gimme one of those beers.’ Not expecting that response, and somewhat relieved to see him crack a grin, I said ‘I’m not sure that’s the best idea, sir. We’ve got some pretty hefty fines for open container laws, and being unemployed and all I’m not sure that’s the most fiscally sound idea.’ He went immediately back to his stern face, violently shredding the corn and clearly not happy with the brevity that I was getting him a libation. ‘You got it, buddy,’ I quickly said as I work feverishly to liberate a cerveza from the box on the floor. It was at this point, pulling one of my 12 buddies from their home, that my pride kicked in. I began shaking the life out of the bottle, like it was a maraca at the Puerto Rican Day Parade.

Knowing now that the self-check scale is not going to accept the weight of 11/12th’s deliciosity, I’ve made up my mind that I’m abandoning my purchase. He then reaches out, takes it from my hand, and says ‘you’re not such an ass after all.’ As he twists the top, I watch the spectacle as an explosion of a well-partnered barley/hops combo erupt from the bottle, rolling from the bottom of his chin, down his warmup suit (must’ve been gore-tex), and into his crocs. While wiping the beads of victory from his sunglasses, I know that the picture of my elated face is only becoming more clear to him. The beer continues to froth over the neck of the bottle, and onto a pile of corn shuck remnants at his feet. Probably louder than I should’ve, while heading towards the exit, I then yelled ‘Good luck
killing the head on that!’

I never got to ask him why he was visiting the nation's capital, but can only assume that his decision making prowess had something to do with the Skins selecting Kirk Cousins in the 4th round of this weekend's draft?

***Author's note: This is a fictional account of what happened in the market. It was actually an elderly woman that looked like Gregg Williams...***

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