"Oh man, this is just ... like ... the worst day of my entire life. My football career is on the rocks, my Macy's bill came and I don't think I can pay it, and I just spent all night in jail after drinking and driving. To top it off, now I'm hungover as Tara Reid and I gotta go face Big Leslie in a couple of hours!"
"Who oh who could I ever turn to in this time of need for some sage advice??!"
A large hobo-looking figure looms out from the shadows along with a man walking on two bionic legs ...
"Wait, who are you two?!"
Vikings great Carl Eller and current Vikings Cedric Griffin!
"Hello son. We are your spirit animals. I am ... uh, a large black man, and this here is my familiar, a smaller black man."
"You mean Cedric Griffin?"
"No, boy! I mean ... Well, yeah, it's Griff. We're here to talk to you about your ... uh, what's perceived as ... uh, the incident you had recently."
"Oh, you mean my drinking and driving! Well, forget it! I'm never doing it again! I've learned my lesson, and I'm really sorry about what I did. I put myself at risk, countless others at risk, and maybe my entire job, career, Super Bowl dreams, and my entire livelihood at risk! I mean, I majored in Communications for god's sake! What has that ever done for anyone EVER in a professional job! I'm screwed ohgod ..."
"Aye, calm down, mayn. I know you ain't as good on the field right now as I am, but damn ... I got two bionic legs and still convinced them I could play! I know what yo' problem is, too."
"You do? Is it that I drink too much?"
"Shit no! It's that you don't drink enough! You binge drink once in a got damn blue moon and then get caught driving! You need to step yo' game up. Get wasted at 2:00 in the afternoon. Drink red wine with your toast in the morning instead of jam. Take your showers in vodka. Only eat fruit from a wop. Take it to the next level. The problem is you suck as a football player intelligently, so you have to get yourself hurt physically so they string you on for a little bit. That's all any of us do. We just keep suckerin' them rich white people into giving us money for a long time and then they let us go and retire early. Put some of yo' rookie bonus in stocks and bonds and live off interest like a boss. Tell him Carl."
"This young familiar of mine speaks the truth, Tyrell. You overvalue the NFL and your own skill set. Quite frankly, you never should have been drafted to the league, let alone given a scholarship to waste at a Sun-Belt Conference school. But that's neither here nor there. What matters is you MADE IT. Now you must live your life, Tyrell. Listen to my protege. Drink to your hearts content. Make some mistakes. Get put on IR. It'll be the best big mistake you ever made!"
"I don't know ... this seems dangerous for everyone and kind of dishonest ..."
"Son, think of it this way. If you DON'T drink enough to hurt yourself to go on IR, the team may be forced to keep putting you on the field. When they do that, YOU end up hurting the TEAM. Don't you want to help the team and our friend Cedric here?"
"Well, yeah ... when you put it like that ..."
"Wonderful! Aaabbsolluuttely splendid! I knew you'd come around to our side of things."
"I guess you're right. I do feel bad about hurting the team with my play, and really, it'd be MORE dishonest if I kept convincing them to let me keep playing. Big Leslie deserves better. I deserve better. .... You know what, I'll do it."
"Great! Now let's go grab a celebratory drink!"
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