I'll have some lomticks of toast and eggiwegs.

Eggdicators, RG3, R2G, G2D and R2D2

                I want a million dollars.  I want a genie in a bottle, preferably one that looks like Barbara Eden.  The ‘60’s version of her.  I want Angelina Jolie in my bed tonight.  Of course my lovely wife would be there too.  (I can say things like that because my wife doesn’t matriculate, though she does occasionally read Cosmopolitan). I want world peace.  I want to know the meaning of life, though I can watch Monty Python’s take on that and get a pretty good idea.  I want total consciousness on my death bed.  And of course, most of all, I want a franchise quarterback for the Miami Dolphins.

           How many jablonies have you heard on talk shows blubbering on about “wanting” a franchise quarterback?  It’s every football fans solution to their team’s problem. It’s like hiring a consultant to evaluate your business and they tell you to get an interest free loan for $100 million that you can pay back whenever you feel like it or whenever the Mayans are proven to be correct, whichever comes first.  The solution is brilliant but the odds of making it happen are where you run into a little issue.

           There are three franchise quarterbacks currently playing in the NFL: Drew Brees, Tom Brady and Aaron Rodgers.  A true franchise quarterback is one who consistently wins games by himself.  He even wins with very bad defenses.  That’s it, three.  If Peyton comes back next year, she would be the 4th.  So unless you are a fan of one of those three teams, clamoring for a “franchise” quarterback is like pissing into the wind.  It’s a waste of time, it’s counter-productive and it makes your shoes smell bad. 

           We know there are some people, at this very moment, whining that we didn’t include their guy as a franchise quarterback. There are 4 grades of tossers on the Matriculator Eggdicator: Golden Goose, Really, Really Good, Fair to Middlin’, and Bad Egg.  Fear not my brothers and sisters, you can get to the Superbowl and even win championships with the Really, Really Goods (R2G, not to be confused with RG3) and even the Middlins.  Eli Manning looks like a franchise quarterback on occasion, but looks ordinary far too often to be behind door number 1.  He’s Really, Really Good.  Ben Roethlisberger is one of the great clutch quarterbacks of all-time, but he’s not consistently dominant and without the NFL’s top defense he probably only wins one Superbowl.  Really, Really Good.  Phillip Rivers is already in the second tier (in spite of a poor 2011) and Matt Ryan, Matt Stafford and Jay Cutler are knocking on the door.  Cam Newton kicked open door number two, strode in, and ripped his shirt open.  If he has a second season that is better than his first (we're not sure he won’t have the typical second year set back) then in addition to being faster than a speeding bullet and more powerful than a locomotive, he will have leapt Phillip Rivers and Ben Roethlisberger and Eli Manning in a single bound!  Mike Vick moves in and out of the R2G as does Tony Romo.  The majority of the remaining NFL quarterbacks are in the Fair to Middlin’ range.  [1]

           There aren’t many certainties in life.  The only ones we have found (and we’ve done considerable searching) are that fish can’t carry guns, that someone will send a check to a televangelist every day from now until the apocalypse, and that teams with Bad Eggs at quarterback will not make the Superbowl.  If you have a Bad Egg the Eggdicator will send your team down the chute to the incinerator with Veruca. Guys in the Fair to Middlin’ category have won a lot of playoff games since 2002.  Here’s a sampling: Joe Flacco, TJ Yates, Mark Sanchez, Mark Brunell, Jeff Garcia (with two teams), Jake Delhomme, Daunte Culpepper, Jake Plummer, Matt Hasselbeck, Brett Favre (in his wheelchair with the Vikings), Mark Bulger, Chad Pennington, Tommy Maddox and the worst passer in NFL history himself, The Holy Hand Grenade.   In the last nine Superbowls, more than half have featured Middlin’ quarterbacks Brad Johnson, Matt Hasselbeck, Jake Delhomme, Rich Gannon and Rex Grossman. The odds however, are significantly weighted on the side of the franchise (or R2G) quarterbacks making it to the final game as 13 of the 18 Super Bowl quarterbacks were either franchise or close to it.

           There are only 4 teams who currently have Bad Eggs:  The Redskins, Seahawks, Colts (assuming Manning is hurt) and Jaguars.   The Dolphins, Jets, Browns, Chiefs and Cardinals are still undecided, but could definitely look to upgrade.  We know the Colts are taking Andrew Luck and one of the other teams will take RG3 in the top ten picks.  One other quarterback will likely slip into the top round.  We think the Jaguars will give Blaine Gabbert one year under the new regime to show he can at least be Middlin’.  That leaves four teams looking outside of the draft to upgrade. Kyle Orton and Jason Campbell have proven to be Middlin’ and wouldn’t make a discernible difference over Matt Moore, Matt Cassel, Colt McCoy or Kevin Kolb.  One team will drop major clam on Matt Flynn based on the hint they received at the end of the year that he might be an R2G quarterback. We suspect that will be the Dolphins, Browns, Redskins or Seahawks.  Whoever’s left will be forced to rely on that philosophical football relic known as a running game and defense. 

           This Christmas I actually went to the mall to see Santa Claus.  I had to drive an hour out of town so that none of my friends would see me.  I told the sweaty old Santa that I had lost a bet and he looked a little disappointed when I told him I wasn’t going to sit on his lap. “Hurry up old man, the mall’s closing,” he said.  “I want a Golden Goose,” I said.  “Yeah don’t we all,” he replied, the odor of rum emanating from the saliva clinging to the knotted polyester strands of his beard.  “The Packers and Patriots and Saints are protecting those damn geese like the catholic church protects child molesting priests.”   He was right.  All I got this Christmas was a brand new pair of roller skates from my wife, a tie (that I suspect was not brand new) from my brother-in-law and my old R2D2 action figure that my mom re-gifted.  I had to explain to her that “re-gift” doesn’t mean give the person the same gift that you have already given them.  “Well I originally gave it to you 25 years ago, so I thought maybe you had forgotten and therefore it would be like a ‘new’ gift,” she said, sidestepping my disappointment like Barry Sanders in the open field and making me happy again.   

            I’ve been goose hunting before.  My Dad and I went to Cabri, Canada to try and blast a few into next week.  We sat, uncomfortably, in a large hole dug into the earth by a massive drill attached to the end of some farm equipment.  We had camouflage over the top of the hole, goose calls, and fake plastic geese in the field around us to lure the poor, hapless suckers into the killing zone. They usually peeled off after circling just outside of our range.  They obviously sensed something was amiss.  A few times they meandered to the edge of our range and we threw open the trap door and filled the sky with a lead rain.  We missed them all.  Shutout.  Our friend said he had never been shut out on a goose hunt.  “There are a million of them up here, and we didn’t get a one,” he said.  “I think it’s my Dolphins sweatshirt.  It must be bad luck,” I responded.  “That’s funny,” he said.  It wasn’t meant as a joke, but in the end it was okay because I got to spend time with my Dad.  I bought a bottle of Grey Goose that night, which was preferable to goose soufflé anyway.  After a few glasses I didn’t care that my team didn’t have a Golden Goose.  At present Grey Goose is the only known cure for Golden Goose Depression (G2D), a serious, undiagnosed condition from which most Americans suffer. 

           We in America need to drink more Grey Goose and stop pining about wanting this and wanting that like a bunch of babies.  Have a couple glasses and you’ll see very clearly that if life gives you lemons, make lemonade.  If you can’t be with the one you love, love the one you’re with.   I love you Matt Moore, but I’ve got my eye on another girl.  Her name’s Peyton.



[1] For some reason we have been hearing a lot lately the words Sam Bradford and franchise quarterback used in the same sentence.  They shouldn’t be.  Neither should compassionate and Adolf Hitler unless it’s in the sentence, “We can certainly say that Adolf Hitler was not compassionate.”