LOST (with blitzing and eye-rolling)

I, your local, tame, bronco-loving Luffabo, recently lucked into the (seemingly) trip of a lifetime.  You see, I happened to run into Coach Josh McDaniels in the mountains whilst going on a "Luffabo jog".  Apparently, our fearless leader is into the same type of things I am, who knew? Anyways, thanks to MHR and the wealth of knowledge I have gleaned during my stay here, I was able to greatly impress McD with my take on the team, the schemes, and ultimately what needs to be done to push our team to the next level.  I couldn't believe it.  I mumbled, stuttered, and drooled my way through my little monologue on the state of the Broncos to the head coach himself, and he lapped it up like a drunken man who had just spilled over the last whiskey in the county.

Miraculously, I was hired as the official "Consultant of General Improvement".  They made that title up just for me, how cool is that? Apparently, my job was to improve the team in any way possible, a "license to thrill", if you will.

At this point, you may be asking yourself, "What in the world does this have to do with being lost?"  Please, let me explain.  Shortly after my misguided hire (shhh, don't tell anyone in the organization I actually have no clue what I'm talking about), I happened upon an "Excellence in Athletics" seminar being put on in Brisbane, Australia by a man named Nigel Westphal.  This seminar is primarily geared towards athletes of Aussie-Rules Football, but that's neither here nor there.  I didn't know much about the man or the program, but the organization must really hold my suggestions in high regard, as they promptly sent over members of the coaching staff, a number of players, and myself to see what we could learn at this seminar.

Follow below the fold to see how we got lost...


I awoke to the feeling of a crab nipping at my ear.  After I stopped screaming like a girl, I rolled over and noticed the stream of smoke pouring from the still sinking airplane we were so recently aboard.  Astonished, and thoroughly confused, I continued to scan my surroundings.  The first thing I noticed was Jamal Williams laying closest to me, and I clearly remember thinking, "Good lord, that is a large human being".  The next thing I heard was Josh McDaniels exclaim in a clear and authoritative voice, "Is everyone OK?  Is anyone hurt?"  We all mumbled our affirmations of our surprisingly positive health statuses, and also executed a roll call.  Somehow, everyone on the plane survived the crash.

With our health concerns out of the way, we surveyed the scene. Checklist:  Plane down. Two packages of peanuts. Stuck on small, uninhabited desert island. Fear. Hungry fat guys. No board games.

After Coach got everyone together, he posed a question we all hoped we had an answer for.  "What the hell just happened? Why did the plane crash?".  Trying to be helpful, I piped in, "Well, the last thing I remember is downing those shots of Jack Daniels..."

His next question, "Why were you taking shots of Jack Daniels on the plane?".  I explained, "Don't you remember Coach?  We were playing a drinking game. Every time Dawk screamed "TAKE ITTTTTTTTT!", we all had to take a shot.  Everyone played, except for Dawk and Tebow of course, even the pilots.  You were playing too, Coach.  It was my idea, it sounded like a fun time."  McDaniels rolled his eyes at me, and said, "Luff, you got us all drunk.  Worst of all, you apparently talked our pilots into doing the same thing, resulting in them crashing the plane and us being stranded out here.  You're fired."  I nodded my head, "Fair enough."  In hindsight, it was a bad plan, I admit this.  My reign as "CGI" of the Denver Broncos organization was short lived, yet glorious.  


The Plan

McDaniels was quick to jump into action.  "Now, how the hell are we going to get off this island?"

I saw a hand raised in the back of the group.  It was Alphonso Smith.  "Coach, I have an idea.  If I climb that tree over there, and bring down a coconut, I'd bet you anything that if you tried to throw it to someone, I would intercept it."

McDaniels rolled his eyes, "Phonz, explain to me how that helps this situation in the slightest?"

"I'm not real sure, coach. All I know is that people have been hating on my game in the most serious of fashions, and I'm dog-gone sick of it.  So, I bet you anything that I can intercept any coconut you throw."

"Phonz, go stand on the far end of the island.  Does anyone else have an idea that could help us in any way?"

Defensive coordinator Don "Wink" Martindale rumbled forward.  "I have a pretty solid idea Coach."

McDaniels sighed in relief, "Thank goodness... What is it, Wink?"


"Wait, What?"


"Wink, I am well aware that you want to blitz. I'm on board with it.  You've made it abundantly clear that you're going to blitz like crazy this year.  Now, how in the world does blitzing help us navigate our way off this crappy little island?"

"I'm not sure, Coach.  I just feel like if you blitz, good things will happen.  Can we just try it?  BLITZZZZZZZZZ!!!!"

"Wink, you're killing me.  Seriously, I'm dying inside right now.  Go stand next to Phonz on the other side of the island."  After watching Wink sulk off, McDaniels turned back to group. "All right, does anyone have an idea that won't make me want to order Dawkins to get all Wolverine on your sorry butts?" 

Tim Tebow stepped forward.  "God Bless."

"Thank you, Tim.  Please feel free to explain that one to us..."

"Well, you know, God Bless."

After a quick and well practiced eye roll, "Tim, seriously, how does that help us?"

Tebow wordlessly started the lonesome walk to the other end of the island, head down in shame. 

Before the Coach could again ask the obligatory question, there was a blur, a resounding thud, and a cascade of sand flung over the stranded gridiron greats.  Elvis Dumervil popped up, while the unlucky flight attendant stayed down.  "Doom, what are you doing?"  "Sorry Coach, sometimes I get excited and just have to sack things!" Eye roll. "Doom, would you happen to have a helpful idea amid all that exuberance?"  Doom beamed, "Of course, Coach!  Sack it!".  McDaniels raised his arm and pointed, and Dumervil started walking.

The Coach took a seat in the hot sand, defeated.  "You guys are hopeless.  If one of you knuckleheads happen to find a Pina Colada, bring it over here.  Otherwise, stay away from me."


The Plan, Version II

With their fearless leader deep into a self administered seclusion, the rest of the gang were forced to take the plans of rescue onto their own strapping shoulders.  What followed were a great number of ideas, plans, and formulations that were either completely ridiculous, unhelpful, or irrevocably puzzling. 

For instance, new wide receiver Eric Decker suggested a plan that included making rope from palm fronts, lashing together Jamal Williams and Chris Baker with said rope, and Eric himself using his bear claws to paddle the makeshift raft to safety.  Yikes. A surprisingly shoddy improvisation from a man who scored like Einstein on his Wonderlic.

And another:  The other players collectively decided that Champ Bailey is fast enough to "run on water".  They literally suggested that Champ could just run across the Pacific Ocean and find help.  And while I'm not entirely convinced he couldn't run on water in short spurts, even I rolled my eyes on that one. 

The final culmination of all the rigorous and desperate brain-storming looked something like this:

Dawkins, Doom, Syd'Quan Thompson (small yet ferocious), and Zane "Insane" Beadles are to enter the unforgiving waters in search of sea creatures who can assist them in traveling to safety.  Some suitable animals discussed and yearned for included dolphins, whales, manatees, sea turtles, sharks, and mermaids.  The brave warriors were to find these majestic animals, attack them brutally, impose their will upon them, and force them to usher the players to safety where help could be found.  

Thankfully, that plan was never put into action.  The reason?


The Escape

A helicopter.  Just as Dawkins was mutating into Weapon X, the familiar whir of chopper blades could be heard in the distance.  Rescuers tapped into that handy-dandy black box thing on the plane, and were able to locate the island.  Thank goodness, that was a brutal three days.

Anti-climactic, I know... What do you want from me?  Not every story ends in adventure and explosions, this is real life, after all.


The Moral

Don't drink and fly.

This is a Fan-Created Comment on The opinion here is not necessarily shared by the editorial staff of MHR

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