This is Steve Smith. He’s furiously angry, like, all the time. But why is he so clearly animated right now?
Because this is the city line. is one of the Internet’s premiere destinations for baseless and fatuous investigative reporting, we’ve located the answer on the popular information site Yahoo! Answers:
Confused? Of course you are, because you’re really not terribly bright. Let’s get National Treasure on that ass and unearth the missing piece to this puzzle:
That’s right: Jake Delhomme is 34 years old. Hmm — sound like anybody you know?
Oh, snap. That’s right. But surely that doesn’t prove anything. It’s not like we have incontrovertible evidence that Jake Delhomme is, in fact, a snitch who would tattle to a coach about a teammate.
But what about being a crybaby?
That’s pretty Goddamn irrefutable, I’d say.
So now we know for total truth that Jake Delhomme is a 34-year-old who pouts like a little baby and tattles on people. Fine. Granted. But why would Delhomme have told on Smith? And what about?
First off, let me just say that I think it was extremely unprofessional of Smith to use the feminine pronoun “she” to refer to Delhomme in his anonymous Internet posting. That said, it seems almost stupidly obvious that “company policies” is code for “not throwing backbreaking interceptions again and again in playoff games when piloting a double-digit favorite at home.” As for Delhomme’s stated interest in wanting “to get away with whatever just to try to make an extra buck” … well, it seems “she” got what “she” was looking for.
So, to recap: Steve Smith is forced to sit idly by and watch as the snitching, whining interception machine gets a five-year, $42.5 million extension with $20 million in guarantees during the worst economy in nearly a century, while he — arguably the most dangerous receiver in the league, the guy who put up 1400+ yards in 14 games last year — is still working on a three-year-old contract that he’s overperformed, for virtually the same money as the one-man-season-wrecking-crew, with about $5 million less in guarantees?
Oh, I’d watch my temple if I were you, Jake Delhomme. The indisputable evidence translates into Steve Smith’s Green Hulk-like Fury being pointed toward your melon. And you know what that means. Just ask Ken Lucas.
It’s not all bad, though, I guess — after you get punched in the face by a 5-foot-9 chaos demon, he’s pretty quick to hit you up on the real-life version of Friendster.com.
Still, though, Oreo Jakesters: Maybe you shouldn’t show up at the next mini-camp. Just give this thing a little time to breathe.
Or maybe a lot of time.