Hello flock. Sorry for the lateness of the sermon. Today's tuesday landed on 9/11 and I was too riveted by re-runs of Fox news to post. That and the mood just wasn't there to preach. Go figure.
So some of you might be asking by now, Gospel Bob, do ALL your sermons have to do with Stupid Fuckers? Nay flock, they do not! Nonetheless, today's sermon, by pure happenstance, does center upon more Stupid Fuckers.
What is the deal with Stupid Fuckers Who Take Amateur Sports Wayyyyy Too Seriously? I realize this rather awkwardly clunks into SFWTASWTS. Hey, not everyone can have a catchy call letter acronym thingy. Perhaps we can approximate their pronunciation a bit.....into Sweaty Ass Twats? I know it isn't exact, but the Lard is forgiving. Even if we aren't.
So Sweaty Ass Twats. What is the deal? You know the type. You sign up to have some lighthearted fun with friends after work and on the weekend, and what do you get? Frustrated frat boys. Where did they come from? You look at them during the day and they appear, even to the dissecting eye, as laid back peace loving nearly hippy type dudes who snort derisively when you say the words "frat house." They generally don't do drugs or drink much anymore. You assume they are mellow. You mistakenly have your eyes on the guy that drinks like a preacher of yore and likes to indulge in cocaine before every match. You are watching the wrong stupid fucker.
The match starts, and all of sudden the need to win overcomes every ounce of the Sweaty Ass Twat's being. Their faces turn red. Their eyes narrow. Spittle flecks from their lips. They become POSSESSED.
The sad thing about the Sweaty Ass Twat, is that they are never the best player on the team. Far from it....they inevitably break down under pressure and make some bonehead mistake that causes them to implode with self-loathing. But that only happens about 5% of the time. The other 95% of the time they are analyzing and critiquing the play of everyone else on their team. They are a drag. Boo them.
Now flock, I have to admit that I am not free from the frat boy urges. I too take games and amateur sports waaaaay too seriously. I have felt the frat boy demon tugging at soul during these moments. It is possible that I am a Sweaty Ass Twat, and the very object of my sermon. Lard forgive me. Lard forgive me.