Have you been following this 2025 NFL Free Agent *feeding frenzy*? It’s like the craziest thing, isn’t it? Every time a big name hits the market, it's like the *next big thing*—like they’ve got the magic touch, the secret sauce, when in reality, if you’ve watched the last couple of seasons, you’d know it’s a *whole lotta nothing.* And I’m not talking about the kind of nothing that stays quiet in the background; no, no. I’m talking about *big nothing*, like someone pulling up to the race with a horse who ran *great* three years ago but has been totally MIA lately.
It’s like looking at a horse from three years ago and saying, "Well, this is the same horse!" When, uh, no, it’s not the same horse. It’s an older horse with his or her share of bumps and bruises . The horse has had a few bad races, you know? You can’t just throw out all the recent performances because there’s a little bit of shine left on the past. But apparently, that’s the whole NFL Free Agent thing right now. They're all hyped up on their *past class*—you know, the years when they were doing well—and now they’ve become *the savior* of some team. The *separation guy,* the *stretch the defense guy,* even though if you watched him, you know—he’s not stretching *anything.* He’s basically walking out there going, “I got a slow fade...and that’s about it.”
What happened to real analysis? Where’s the deep dive? Oh, right, it's all about the spin! and that makes my head spin. We’re talking about slow-footed receivers being marketed like they’re Usain Bolt, and everyone’s just eating it up. It’s like someone saying, "You know, I’ve been working on my jump shot," and you’re thinking, "No, you haven’t. I’ve seen you shoot. It’s like watching a giraffe try to play basketball." *But somehow*, they get paid like they’re Michael Jordan.
I mean, if you were in horse racing, you wouldn’t take a horse's *feelings* into account. Horses don’t care what you say about them. You can say, “That horse is slow, and it’s not getting any faster,” and the horse will just be like, “I’m just happy for the peppermint, buddy. Keep it coming.” But humans? Oh, they don’t forget a word. Tell a guy, “Look, you’re not what you used to be,” and suddenly you’ve got a *whole media circus* around it. Next thing you know, they’re on a podcast crying about it.
You can’t just hand a human a carrot and expect them to forget about your critique. A peppermint? Forget it! They’d walk off the field, march straight to the locker room and say, “I don’t *need* your peppermint. And by the way, don’t even think about offering me an apple or a carrot!” It’s a whole different ball game, my friend. Horses are happy to run, humans, well... humans like to be *seen* running, and they want you to believe they can still *do it*.
So, here’s a thought—can we compare a horse to *Aaron Rodgers*? I mean, the guy’s like 80 years old in NFL years! And they’re still acting like he’s gonna be the next big thing. I gotta ask, is he taking *Geritol* just to *get out of bed* at this point? Because, let me tell you, it’s like watching an old dog who you just can’t teach a new trick to anymore. The NFL analysts, the talking heads, they’re all obsessing about where he’s going to play next, like it’s the second coming of… I don’t know… *Tom Brady’s younger brother* or something. It’s wild!
But, come on, I wouldn't even *dare* compare a horse to Aaron Rodgers, unless I had a *whole lot* of peppermints on hand. I mean, think about it. The horse is gonna look at you like, “Hey, I’m not in that league. You want me to keep running at that pace? You better bring something better than old-man Rodgers' contract to the table.”
You can’t just toss an *Aaron Rodgers* out there and expect a big performance, like you’re still watching *him in his prime*. It’s like trying to put a horse on the track who hasn’t raced in years and expecting them to be Secretariat. It’s not going to happen. The only thing that gets Aaron Rodgers moving at this point is some media circus telling us he’s still got it, but *we all know* he’s not the same player. Just like an old horse who’s had too many bad races, maybe it’s time to retire gracefully. But instead, we keep waiting for one last glorious win that we all know is never coming.
And what’s the deal with all the attention? I get it, the NFL loves drama, but let’s be real—Aaron Rodgers at this point is like a vintage car. Yeah, it looks nice, but you don’t really want to drive it across country anymore. We’re all just sitting around waiting for the inevitable, and it’s like watching a horse that’s been retired a few seasons too long—*you know the end is near*.
Aaron Rodgers was refer to yesterday as a real thoughtful thinker, the horror, and I am Albert Einstein, then.
Trot out Aaron Rodgers and give him a mint in 2025 with a shot of Geritol, come on ~!!
It’s a real circus, this whole free agent process. A lot of noise, a lot of hype, and not much to show for it. And you know what? There’s always someone there to buy into it. The real question is—are you one of them?
Ah, you gotta love it when NFL players get compared to thoroughbreds, right? I mean, what's going on here? *Humans* can't be *Pegasuses*! You don’t see anyone soaring through the air with wings on their backs. And yet, somehow, we're putting them in the same category. A player gets drafted, they call him "a stallion," "a thoroughbred," as if he's gonna fly out of the gates and run the 100-yard dash like Secretariat just because he got some fancy pre-game hype. It's insane! Humans can’t be Pegasuses—they don’t even have wings! What is happening around here?
Now, imagine if we started comparing horses to NFL players. "Oh, that colt is an absolute dog, runs like his coat’s on fire, he’s nasty." Can you imagine someone saying that about a racehorse? No, no, we don’t do that. We talk about *class*, *speed*, the horse’s *pedigree*. You never hear a horse’s agent complaining about their contract, demanding more carrots, more peppermints—none of that! They just stand there in their stalls, quietly waiting for their shot on the track. No holds, no demands. They’re like, “Alright, when it’s my turn, I’ll run my race, i'll munch on some alfalfa right now.” But not humans! Oh no, humans gotta negotiate everything—*"I need more peppermints! I want more!"* Ridiculous.
And then, speaking of racehorses, we have the National Handicapping Championship, the NHC, where handicappers come from all over, gathering in Las Vegas like a big Vegas buffet of betting minds, this weekend.
It's like the Super Bowl of handicapping!
Who's gonna win this year? Will it be some repeat champion who’s been there, done that, or will a new face emerge, a fresh shooter? *"He/she loves the game, loves handicapping, loves the horses!"* Oh really? That’s the secret? They “love the game”? That’s the edge? Give me a break! You know what? We all *love* the game! We love it, but that doesn’t mean we’re gonna win! There’s a guy who loves the game, loves the horses, but he can’t even pick a winner to save his life. And yet, somehow, these announcers always throw in the “loves the game” line as if that’s the *X-factor*. “Oh, you know, he really *loves* it, that’s why he’s got the edge.” Really? Is that what makes someone a champion? The love of the game? That’s a factor in victory? Yeah, we *all* love the game—whether it’s horses or gridiron. But love doesn’t get you to the finish line, pal. Hard work, strategy, and a little bit of luck—*that* gets you the trophy. Aaron Rodgers loves the game.
And every time you hear that “loves the game” bit, it just burns me. Because let’s face it—there are thousands of people out there who *love the game* but haven’t achieved anything. Not even close. They’re sitting in their living rooms, in front of their TVs, pouring over stats, and *still* can’t pick a winner. So why is it suddenly a game-changer when someone “loves the game”? The next time someone says that, I just wanna scream, “Yeah, and *I love* winning too—but it doesn't guarantee anything!”
Alright, here’s the deal, all you warriors heading into Las Vegas for the NHC—*pick winners*. That’s it! It’s really that simple, right? Everyone's got their trip notes, their work reports, all the data they’ve gathered, their little formulas—so what do you need to do? Pick winners! You’ve got everything you need, it’s all right in front of you. Forget about overthinking it, forget about all the noise. You know, sometimes I feel like people get so caught up in their notes, they’re like, “Oh, look at this horse's bloodlines, look at the stats, look at his workout,” and they forget about the one thing that really matters—picking the *winner*!
And listen, if you're gonna compete, you've gotta think outside the box, alright? It's like football—if you’re gonna stretch the defense, you’ve gotta run your best routes. *Run your best routes.* You can’t be the guy who shows up and says, “Well, I’ll just follow the crowd.” No, no! You’ve gotta be the one who zigzags when everyone else is zigging! You've gotta be the complete dog, the one who’s out there grinding, working every angle. Be the guy who *works the angles*, who’s ready to spread your wings and fly.
The NHC is your *chance* to be like Pegasus—yeah, I’m talking about wings and everything. You get your shot, so why not go for it? You’ve got all the tools, all the resources. *Just pick winners.* The rest? That's just noise. Just like every NFL player out there stretching their defense and running those routes, you’ve got to do the same. Find that opening, take it, and leave everyone else in the dust.
Because when the dust settles, you want to be the one soaring above, not the one sitting there wondering, “What happened?” Pick winners, be Pegasus, and the rest will take care of itself. It's your shot—make it count!