Super Bowl Monday: Post Game Work Excuses

By: C.G. Morelli

Super Bowl Sunday is a glorious day. It’s filled with parties and people, keg stands and corn chips. It’s a celebration of 20 weekends spent huddled in front of our sets waiting for the teams to be whittled down to two. And when it finally happens, there are at least four perfect hours of pure football freedom.

But then the game ends, and with it the weekend. The last thing you want to do is toss back a few Alka-Seltzers and prepare yourself for another grueling work week. Can’t you have just one more day?

Don’t worry, I’ve got you covered.  I’m here to guide you through some of the good, the bad, and the just plain ugly ways to make that inevitable Monday morning call out.

THE GOOD

Stall-ing Out

When it comes to guaranteed success, no other excuse in the book is more reliable than the old stomach bug routine. Think about it. There’s not a boss in the business that doesn’t have sympathy for an employee who ate a bad batch of hot wings during the Super Bowl and spent the rest of the night dropping shots of Kaopectate on the throne.

Plus, there’s no chance even the stingiest of managers would have use for someone whose main contribution to the work day will be peppering the toilets in the employee john. It’s a can’t miss.

Some Say a Good Phony Fever…

When it comes to the working world, Ferris Bueller’s sage advice that a phony fever will get you nabbed is pure hogwash. Sure, a very small percentage of offices ask for a doctor’s note. But chances are yours is not one of them, and that leaves you with a great excuse. The beauty of the Super Bowl is that it’s played in the dead of winter; also the height of flu season. Coincidence? I think not.

The chances of catching the flu at a crowded Super Bowl party are actually pretty darn good, so your boss will have trouble questioning the absence. A bonus is you can probably stretch this one out for a few days as the “flu” works its way out of your system. Go for some sympathy points by telling the folks at your office you got sick before the Bowl and had to miss the game. Then spend your Monday finishing off the left over pizza crusts and hanging around in your boxers until dinner.

An Offer They Can’t Refuse

You don’t have to be a stand-up comic to impersonate the voice of some idiot with laryngitis. You probably have the idiot part down already. Now, call your boss at the crack of dawn, do your best impression of Marlon Brando in The Godfather as you tell him you screamed yourself hoarse during the game, and proceed to enjoy your day off. It’s time to pull the covers back over your head for a few more hours of quality snooze time.

This excuse works really well for people who need to predominantly use their voices during the course of a work day. You know, teachers, receptionists, telephone operators, political candidates (that’s right Barack, I know you’re thinking about logging in that sick day), and the like.

THE BAD

To the Funny Farm…

Nothing screams, “I’m a psychotic nutcase!” more than a bad excuse that conjures up an image of you as a lunatic super fan. So, before you call your boss in the morning and tell him you’re covered from head to toe in gold face paint and that your now-hairless chest bears the logo of the Green Bay Packers, please think again.

A tactic like this may get you the day off, but don’t be surprised if a bunch of guys in white suits are sent to your home with a tailor-made straight jacket, compliments of the company. Trust me, not only is this a poor excuse, it’s altogether a very poor idea.

Care to Place a Little Wager?

I once knew a guy who tried to tell the boss he lost a bet which prevented him from coming to work. Being that he was such an “honest” gentleman and, therefore, bound to his debt, he couldn’t possibly break the deal. He had this elaborate story all boiled up and everything.

The boss actually stood there and listened to that crap for a full 15 minutes. You know where that guy is today? Neither do I. He got canned about five minutes later. The fact is, not many employers appreciate the Pete Rose type. Go figure.

Sossifer, I’m Ober

If you take nothing at all from this article, remember one thing: DO NOT USE BEER AS AN EXCUSE! Regardless of the fact that the Super Bowl is one of the biggest days of the year for alcohol sales, we are all supposed to suddenly turn back into sweet, innocent, little pixies once the clock strikes midnight.

Bottom line, unless you’re a member of the Kennedy family, do not under any circumstance call your boss and slur something to him about not being able to legally drive this early in the morning.

THE UGLY

Boss a Steelers Fan?

If you just want to be brutally truthful and you happen to be a Packers fan, give the old boss an excuse that’s both believable and amusing. Tell him a large gentleman dressed in black and gold smacked you in the chops, heisted your foam-rubber cheesehead, and made you Lambeau leap.

Brighten his morning with this little nugget of information and you might be finishing off stale pork rinds and watching re-runs of Good Times all week.

Enjoy your Superbowl Monday, folks. You’ve earned it.

Dear Eagles Front Office....Remember When?

The inevitable canning of Eagles' defensive coordinator, Sean McDermott, has made me somewhat reflective on the state of my team's defense over the past few seasons post Jim Johnson. With two seasons of McDermott-ball under the belt and a high powered offense to support each time, we still get the same result: a first round playoff stomping.  

Don't get me wrong, the firing needed to happen. My problem is it's just too easy to place all the blame on Mr. McDermott. True, his scheme did not effectively adapt the players he had under contract to the old scheme used by the legendary Jim. True, his youth probably didn't win him too much respect from his equally youthful players. True, the stats usually don't lie (especially the worst red zone defense in football). But if there was one thing this defensive unit truly lacked over the past two seasons it was on-field leadership: the kind us fans in Philly have come to take for granted. Don't forget, we had good old number 20 standing back there for us for more than a decade.

  

And that's when it hit me. This defense truly started to crumble once we saw the official departure of Brian Dawkins. His skills may have been eroding at the time of his release, but as we all know he was much more important to the team than simple physical skills. That brought me back down memory lane to an enraged letter I wrote to the Eagles front office way back when. Enjoy the memories and pray we find ourselves some kind of defensive leader in the off season.

Eagles Front Office: Read This

Dear Philadelphia Eagles Front Office,

I write to you on behalf of native Philadelphians across this great nation who, with one prick of the skin, could produce a few drops of genuine green blood. As you must know by now, the citizens of your fair city have been riding the rollercoaster that is Eagles football since the team’s inception in 1932. They’ve danced in the glory of the triumphs and wallowed in the despair of many punishing defeats. They’ve faced disappointment so many times it’s become somewhat of a profession. They’ve cemented a name in sports history as the city who over-criticizes its heroes. 

But you and I both know they only do this because they care. They care about community pride. They care about toughness and tenacity. They care about rising from the ashes time after time. And, most of all, they care about their football team. They simply want it to be the heartbeat at the very center of it all.

There is no one, in my mind, who has typified this attitude on the playing field more than Pro Bowl free safety Brian Dawkins.

If the city of Philadelphia could somehow sprout legs, strap on a helmet, and run out on the gridiron, it would surely take the form of old, reliable number 20. It would sit back in its safety position and deliver bone-crushing hits on unsuspecting receivers. It would break through the line at blazing speed and punish the quarterback. It would somehow develop an uncanny magnetism for the football and jar loose a fumble at just the right moment. It would appear on your television screen as if out of nowhere to snag an interception. And, each time, it would celebrate with a characteristic flex of the muscles and a flap of the wings.

I make this comparison because I want you to realize how important this guy was to his team and its fans. His track record on the playing field speaks for itself: seven pro bowls, 936 total tackles, 34 interceptions, 32 forced fumbles, and 21 sacks. That’s a lot of numbers to chew on. 

But forget those.

Instead, let’s go back to a game in 2002 against the Texans when Dawk did it all. On defense he threw David Carr around like a rag doll, recording a sack, an interception, and a fumble recovery. Then he caught a pass from Brian Mitchell on offense and scampered 54 yards for a touchdown.

Or we can think back to a certain 4^th down connection from Donovan McNabb to Freddie Mitchell against the Packers in the 2003 Divisional Playoffs. No, Dawkins wasn’t playing offense this time around, but he did set up an Eagles win by picking off Brett Favre in overtime.

There was the unlikely run we saw two seasons ago. Dawk basically sealed a division title by ending games in Weeks 15 and 16 with interceptions in the end zone, first off of Eli Manning and then Tony Romo.

And this past season…is there anyone who could possibly downplay Dawk’s vital role in leading his team to a fifth NFC Championship game in the past eight years?

These are reasons enough for me to believe Weapon X still has a few more years left in the tank, both as a heavy-hitting playmaker at safety and as an emotional locker room presence

So how can you just chew him up and spit him out? How can you treat him like some ordinary player? Some chump free agent off the street?

The man gave his heart and soul to this team, to this city, to every fan who’s ever donned that midnight green number 20 replica on Sunday afternoons. The very least he deserved was to finish his career with the team who drafted him 13 years ago.

I’ve been a fan of this team for 30 years, and in that time I’ve endured repeated heartbreak. I’ve seen the team through stretches of perennial futility. I lived through the Kotite years. And each time I came back a stronger fan than ever.

But this time, I just don’t know.

Signed,

C.G. Morelli

The Sporting Scribe

You Can Speak Pittsburghese!!

By: C.G. Morelli

Pensivanians from the Sahside to Sliberty, from Sharteers Crick on over to the Strip are prolly gearin’ up for an Arn City celebration on Sunday. I’m sure Stillers fans would love to sit on the stoop come lunch time Monday with a cold bottle of pop and a few sammitches and relive what was an 11^th victory this season for Da Burg.

‘Course yunz should all know these loyal fans haven’t cried that’s it, Fort Pitt just yet. They know the black and gold has a tough one ahead of ‘em.

Now, if I didn’t know better I’d have to conclude the preceding paragraph had undergone the sloppiest editing process in journalistic history. But I’ll let you in on a little secret: this is a most ancient and revered language that is commonly used by a tribe of people known to inhabit a place called Pittsburgh.

It is a language that has both enticed and beleaguered me for years. But now, as the playoffs approach, I am ready to make amends with it. I am ready to offer you the chance to master the language of Pittsburghese right here at The Sporting Scribe.

Remember when your Spanish teacher told you back in high school the best way to learn a language is through application. I never thought I’d ever use that line. But hey, what better way to learn Pittsburghese than by studying a few of the most popular phrases you’d expect to hear from a Stiller’s fan during the big game Sunday? Therefore, I present you with:

A Stillers Fan’s Pittsburghese Pocket Dictionary: Concise Version

A-

Arn City – n. Iron City

            As in, “Hey Pack, you’re about to take an Arn City arse-whoopin’!”

B-

Babushka – n. a bandanna

As in, “Good thing it’s freezin’ in Dallas, so Ben can wear his ridiculous gloves and goofy babushka to represent Da Burg.

C –

Church Key – n. a bottle opener

            As in, “Give me the darn church key so I can polish off a few beers with my city chicken.”

City Chicken – n. fried and skewered pork or veal

Cuttent – v. could not

As in, “I cuttent believe yunz were crying about that Mike Wallace TD catch. Those refs were a couple a jags.”

D-

Da Burg – n. Pittsburgh

Dawn – n. the male name Donald

            As in, “Hey Rodgers, you’re startin’ to look like a goofier version of Dawn Knotts!”

E-

Et – v. to eat

            As in, “Et ‘em up, Stillers!”

G-

Gutchies – n. underwear

As in, “Hey Pack fans, don’t get your gutchies in a bunch just ‘cause our Stillers are about to treat your team like an old worsh rag.”

J-

Jag – n. a jerk

K-

Kennywood’s Open – adj. your fly’s down, buddy

As in, “Hey Jennings, Kennywood’s Open!” (Shouted moments before an unexpected pass bounces off the receiver’s hands in the end zone).

P-

P’toot – n. butt

            As in, “Polamalu’s prolly gonna knock Rodgers flat on his p’toot all day.”

Pensivania – n. Pennsylvania

Pop – n. a bottle of Coke

Prolly – adj. probably

S-

Sahside – n. South Side

Sammitches – n. sandwiches

Sharteers Crick – n. Chartier’s Creek

Sliberty – n. East Liberty neighborhood

Stoop – n. porch

Strip – n. the Strip District (wholesale center near the rivers)

T-

That’s it, Fort Pitt – adj. that’s all, folks

            As in, “Once Hines Ward knocked that defender on his p’toot I was like that’s it, Fort Pitt.”

W-

Worsh Rag – n. a wash rag

            As in, “I’m wavin’ this yellow worsh rag ‘cause some jag stole my Terrible Towel.”

Y-

Yaint – v. you are not

Yunz – n. all of you

            As in, “Yaint gonna tell me yunz’ll miss the game Sunday?!?”

Now that you know Pittsburghese, you’re free to root for Da Stillers using the proper vernacular…which, in this case, means happily leaving all the grammar rules you’ve learned since first grade at the front gate. Ah, the simple pleasures of the Steel City.