The following is a work of humor and satire about the Las Vegas Raiders. It may contain offensive words or imagery and as a result it should not be read by anyone.
Greetings, Raider Nation! It is I, the dressing on your salad, the toad in your hole, the pig in your blanket, Raiderdamus the Great and Powerful. I think, for the good of all of us, we should treat last week’s game like the second-born of three children and pretend it never existed. The greatness of the Raiders, and chronic liver disease for the fanbase, is in its future. Luckily, this week the Raiders are facing a team that knows what it’s like to surrender a massive second-half lead in truly embarrassing fashion, so we can all be sad together.
Raidermus Friday Foretelling: Week 3 Edition
In keeping with tradition, I asked the Great Beyond again what he thought about this week’s game in Tennessee, and this is the message I got.
“We all witnessed one of the biggest missed opportunities since an art teacher in Vienna decided not to say “Yes, your paintings are fantastic, we’d love to have you in our academy!” in 1908. I haven’t seen a collapse that bad since snow caved in the Metrodome roof. The Raiders shot themselves in the foot so much it would make Yosemite Sam proud. But this week is another week, so who you got? The Titans?
Listen, let me tell you, Robin is a self-absorbed little prick who lives to name-drop Batman as if it means he did anything special, Beast Boy is a simp and a half, Raven is too busy listening to Evanescence and reading bad LiveJournal poetry to fight crime, and Starfire-what, wrong Titans?
When Denzel’s team was up against adversity, they all banded together and held the other team to-what, wrong Titans again?
If you don’t think history repeats itself, just look at what happened to my man Cronus. He successfully usurped his father Uranus, only to have his own son Zeus do the same thing to him and lock him up in Tartarus. I say he got a raw d- still wrong Titans.
Oh, the Oilers! Hey, Wayne Gretzky and Mark Messier are absolute legends and brought five Stanley Cups to Edmonton, and today Connor McDavid is leading the team back to prom-wrong Oilers?
I remember now, the Tennessee Titans…
I remember now, the Tennessee Titans, the only people to move to Nashville and be famous before first waiting tables and writing stupid songs about trucks or cups or cheating spouses or whatever it is the people do there. Nashville is a city that likes to pretend it’s Los Angeles but isn’t even Atlanta. It is a city built upon a genre of music that glorifies a lifestyle nobody should have to endure, sung by people nobody should have to stomach, and enjoyed by folks who treat education and common decency like rich Europeans treat Gypsies. Nashville is a city with more traffic than people, which bases its economy on bachelorette parties, the last opportunity for a young woman to act petulant and self-important and be rewarded for it before life turns her into another PTA Karen with a Plymouth Voyager.
What blows my mind the most about Tennessee is the fact that there are dry counties there where you are not allowed to buy alcohol. I cannot fathom the cruelty of a local government whose citizens are subjected to the Tennessee Volunteers, Vanderbilt Commodores, and Tennessee Titans who will not allow them to drink. How else can these folks deal with their depression and deep-seated feelings of betrayal? They already suffer the indignity of living in a state with eight borders and no friends; a state that is shaped like a knife, but nobody who lives there is sharp. Now they have to suffer while sober. No wonder they like music that makes them feel sad.
About the Oilers…
At least the Oilers were cool. They had Bum Phillips, Earl Campbell, the corpses of George Blanda and Ken Stabler at the tail ends of their careers, Warren Moon, Bruce Matthews, and the run and shoot offense that made them fun to watch and dangerous. And yes, they blew a 32-point halftime lead to Frank Reich in the playoffs, but Houston is a city built on arrogance and humidity and they had it coming to them. The Houston airport alone is an insult to a just and loving God.
The Titans have continued the Oilers’ history of abject futility but are far less cool about it. Their highlights include losing the Super Bowl by one yard, losing their best quarterback ever to murder by his own side hoe, and losing to the Bengals in the first round of the playoffs last year. The Titans were the number one seed in the 2021 playoffs, but they spent as much time in those playoffs as you will spend reading this. One wonders which of Tannehill’s four interceptions against the Bengals turned the Titans into the hopeless cretins they are now. If they were lovable losers, that would be one thing, but they are about as interesting as a pile of s***, which incidentally is what Derrick Henry has protruding from the back of his helmet.
As one would expect from the most-mid franchise, their quarterback is the answer to the question, “How can I get nine sacks in a playoff game and still lose?” Tannehill, along with future Raider opponent Jimmy Garoppolo, are the dividing lines between quarterbacks you need to keep and ones you need to replace. The Titans had already replaced Tannehill but didn’t tell him until late in the Bills game when they put in Malik Willis, who was to the Bills what the chained-up goat in Jurassic Park was to the T-Rex.
It will be a real treat for the 40,000 Raider fans and 62 Titans fans who show up to the game to see the Raiders play with renewed purpose for three and a half quarters before doing something so mind-numbingly stupid that the Titans win not only this game but the title of Luckiest Team Alive. As a Raiders fan, this is the existence you have chosen. This is your life now. You are duct-taped to the ceiling in the bedroom of the emo kid in the House of Despair, and Josh McDaniels has an Exacto knife, but he won’t let you down. Enjoy the game!
Titans win, 26-23.”