Hey Eli. How are things?
Hey Pop. Things are okay, I guess.
I’m just still struggling a little with this new offensive system we have. Man, let me tell you…
Yeah, that’s nice. So listen, I need you to send me some toenail clippings.
Um. Come again?
If you don’t have any handy, then a used toothbrush will do.
Or any tissues you’ve blown your nose into recently.
But… why?
Your um… mother needs them. For her scrapbook?
Not buying that.
BECAUSE I WANT TO RUN A DNA TEST! I’M STARTING TO HAVE SERIOUS DOUBTS THAT YOU ARE ACTUALLY MY SON.
What? Why? You think Mom’s cheated on you?
No, it’s not that.
Okay, it’s not just that.
So what, then?
Because while your brother continues to win games and set records with the Broncos, YOU INSIST ON EMBARRASSING OUR FAMILY NAME WEEK AFTER WEEK WITH YOUR GODAWFUL PLAY.
THAT’S what this is about?
I mean, geez, I’ve had some struggles recently, but that’s no reason to doubt…
“Some struggles?”
27 INTs AND A LOWLY 69.4 QB RATING IS NOT A “STRUGGLE.”
It’s more like taking the proud “Manning Family” brand name that I’ve worked so hard to develop, pulling its panties down, AND MOLESTING IT REPEATEDLY OVER A 16 WEEK SPAN WHILE THE ENTIRE COUNTRY WATCHES.
Okay, yes, I’ll admit that my stats last year were not exactly the best, but…
Oh, well how about what you’ve done so far THIS year then?
163 measly yards, 2 INTs, and a three-touchdown loss to the Lions?
I repeat: TO THE LIONS?
Well, like I was saying before, this new offensive scheme of ours is kind of tricky, so…
For God’s sake, you’re the worst QB in your own division!
AND THAT DIVISION INCLUDES TONY ROMO!
Ouch. Okay, that hurts Dad.
DON’T YOU DARE CALL ME THAT “D” WORD.
Until the DNA tests come back, you can simply refer to me as, “Mr. Manning.”
Wait a minute. This conversation sounds sort of familiar.
NOW I REMEMBER. Peyton, this is you pretending to be Dad, isn’t it? You pulled this same stupid prank on me last year.
No, this is not Peyton. PEYTON IS IN A FILM ROOM RIGHT NOW, STUDYING FOR HIS NEXT GAME.
Meanwhile, where are you? Wasting your time texting on a stupid cellphone instead of working on your game prep for Arizona like you should be.
BUT YOU TEXTED ME.
Quick, tell me this: Over the past decade, how frequently do the Cardinals blitz their weak side linebacker on 2nd and 6 during the third quarter when the ball is inside the 20?
What? I have no idea.
On what percentage of plays does Arizona roll their coverage to the slot receiver on odd-numbered calendar days during Democratic presidential administrations?
How would I possibly have that information?
TELL ME THE SHOE SIZE OF EVERY CARDINALS DEFENSIVE LINEMAN!
I DON’T KNOW!
Exactly. Peyton could give me all that information and tell me what each of them had for breakfast last Tuesday, just for good measure.
Maybe that explains why he’s so effective while you just flounder around out there like some lowly McCown boy.
OH YEAH? WELL PEYTON DIDN’T LOOK SO “EFFECTIVE” AGAINST THE SEAHAWKS BACK IN FEBRUARY NOW, DID HE?
YOU SHUT YOUR ILLEGITIMATE MOUTH!
THAT MAGNIFICENT SUMBITCH HAS ACCOMPLISHED INFINITELY MORE THAN YOU EVER HAVE.
How do you figure? I’VE WON A PAIR OF SUPER BOWLS!
That means I have 100% more championship rings than Peyton. And 1,000,000% more than you, I might add.
Super Bowl trophies are only the second most important way to measure a QB’s success.
So what’s the first?
ENDORSEMENTS! BIG, FAT, HIGH-PAYING ENDORSEMENTS TO SHARE WITH YOUR OLD MAN.
The way your brother does with Buick, Mastercard, Reebok, Direct TV, Gatorade, Nationwide Insurance, and that disgusting pizza shack he shills for.
Well…I do ads for Dunkin Donuts.
You disgust me.
Dad, c’mon. You know I’m your son. Who else could I be?
FESS UP. YOU’RE ONE OF THOSE AWFUL HARBAUGH BOYS, AREN’T YOU?
Obviously not. Have you seen me coaching any wife-beaters lately?
Okay, then you’re the long-lost triplet of Rob and Rex Ryan.
Those guys are like 20 years older than me.
A Gruden nephew?
No.
A Gronkowski cousin?
No.
HOW DO I KNOW YOU’RE NOT SECRETLY A POUNCEY BROTHER?
Because I’m not black. Or a raging, vicious bully.
Well you can’t be my flesh and blood. Not with that interception cannon you call an arm.
Look Dad, I can PROVE I’m your son.
Oh, this should be rich.
You know I have two kids of my own, right?l
If you say so.
Well my youngest is only sixteen months old. But she’s already developed some nice footwork, and a sweet throwing motion.
Meanwhile, my oldest is three and a half, and looks like she may be mildly pigeon-toed. I’m afraid that might prevent her from ever becoming a professional quarterback.
So?
So I’ve decided to completely ignore my oldest, and shower all my love and attention only on the youngest.
You mean…
That’s right. I’m giving her “the Cooper Treatment.”
THAT’S MY BOY!
