Friday, August 29, 2008

Starting at Quarterback for the Baltimore Ravens, Moke Flacctringham

This is me, award-winning author and comedian Michael Eltringham:

Let's pause a second so my Mom can reflect on how handsome I am.

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...

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Such a clean looking boy! Just wish he'd sit up straight and tuck his shirt in.

Now...this is Joe Flacco, quarterback for the Baltimore Ravens:

You might as well call the resemblance between me and him an X-Man, because it is uncanny. Joe was drafted this past April, and for all intents and purposes, he's the Ravens' QB of the future. I saw him play a lot in college, and he's legit. And when I say I saw him play a lot, I mean I caught about five minutes of a Delaware game on ESPNU this one time. And Delaware was on defense. And I was nursing a hangover. But I mean...dude looks like he can ball. How could he not with a face like that?

Since Joe has got the potential to one day be a Pro Bowl quarterback, that means I have a lot of potential to one day be mistaken for a Pro Bowl quarterback. Joe, if you're reading this: come on, buddy. Keep working 'til we get to the promised land. I want to be able to walk into the Wynn a year from now and say, "Why yes...I am all-World quarterback Joe Flacco, and I would love to accept 10 grand worth of chips on the house. And could I get some for this girl who keeps following me around...what was your name, Sweetie? Carmen Electra? Oh...not familiar with your work. Nice man hands though."

Also Joe, my birthday is in a couple days. One of my dreams has always been to quarterback an NFL team. With your help we can make that happen. Just let me suit up, as you, for one game. The Ravens are going to be out of contention pretty quickly anyway and I can't pass myself off as Troy Smith. You being an NFL quarterback is clearly my only realistic shot at competing in a professional sports contest. Might as well take advantage of that. And how bad would I do, really? I'd like to think I could at least achieve a Wuerffel-level mastery of the position.

The thing is, if you don't let me take a spot for a game, I'm worried my friends are going to hatch a scheme to kidnap you so I can take your place. Nobody wants to see that. They're my boys, and they mean well, but there's no way they wouldn't bungle a kidnapping. I see it ending like Fargo, where you, Coach Harbaugh, and my boy Chris all get shot in the head, and somehow Willis McGahee ends up in a woodchipper.

But in honor of me having a twin with a sick arm who my parents apparently put up for adoption, I'm going to keep tabs on my Joe all season long. Let's call it the FlaccoWatch. Maybe if I get him some solid pub, he can get me in a game. If you're reading Joe....I can't be any worse than Boller. Throw me a bone, broseph.

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