The Coggin Toboggan is officially a Chiefs fan site now. Just bathe us in red and gold, we’re all in the on the Chiefs and big Andy capturing that elusive Super Bowl ring. He deserves it more than any of the remaining three teams still in this god forsaken playoff stretch.
After the first Super Bowl in franchise history, the Eagles fell short in the Divisional Round against the #1 seed Saints, 20-14. It was a little colder this morning, a little grayer, at the thought of the Saints moving on to fake the Rams in the NFC Championship.
You have to hand it to the Saints. They put up 20 points against a completely battered defense that was down to playing Linc stadium security in the secondary against a hall of fame quarterback.
It’s fine. The balm of Super Bowl LII takes the sting out of another playoff loss. Sure, it burns a little more that fat boy Sean Payton beat them again after running up the score earlier this year, but it is what it is.
We can all take solace in the idea of him suffering some sort of cardiac event leading up to the NFC championship. Nothing serious, but just a little something to really put the fear of god into him. It seems only fair.
But the end of the road puts the Eagles firmly onto the Turnpike of Questions. This roster, suddenly, is on rocky ground.
Well well well, Sean Payton, two can play at this game.
Fat boy Sean Payton reportedly wheeled $265,000 and the Lombardi Trophy into a meeting this week, challenging his team to win “three fucking games” if they wanted the trophy and the Super Bowl victory bonus.
Some would call it a masterclass in motivation. Others would call it a cheap ploy to garner attention by a chubby coach who has done less with more than any other coach in NFL history.
Well you know what? I don’t see any New Orleans fans offering up anything of sentimental value to their team if they win this Sunday. So the Coggin Toboggan is announcing that we will officially bequeath this Evan Turner signed mini-ball to all members of the Philadelphia Eagles if they win this Sunday.
What an honor!
Who will be next? Eagles fans have slowly drilled themselves into the brains of opposing NFC North fanbases the past two season, needling their way into the subconsciouses of fans and media as the franchise lays waste to playoff hopes and dreams.
Last year we drove Minnesota fans insane after a small traveling group of fans DARED to do the idiotic SKOL SKOL SKOL chant on the Art Museum steps before the mauling of their beloved Vikings hours later.
Their fans are STILL bitching more than a year later after the Eagles threw their fraud team in the garbage can on way to winning their first Super Bowl (in Minnesota, no less).
Look at this poor bastard. I’d wager he tweets about the Eagles at least once a week through tear-filled, reddened eyes.
Uh oh. Uh OH. UH OH……the Eagles have forced their way into the playoffs party and they’re ready to fuck some shit up.
Nobody wanted them in. Nobody thought they were coming in. Everyone was set for a calm and collected first round exit from Kirk Cousins, not a whole lot of mess, not a whole lot of fuss.
The Eagles threw a trashcan through the playoff window a la Cactus Jack and they’re looking for a piano to poop in to completely ruin the party for everyone else.
In retrospect, we should have seen it coming. The signs could not have been more clear. Everything pointed to a down season for the Eagles, the vaunted “Super Bowl hangover” that seems to plague every Super Bowl Champion outside of Foxboro.
But we turned our heads. We ignored it. We pointed to the beefed up defensive line, a healthy Sidney Jones, a largely intact and returning offense, and Big Balls Doug Pederson leading us back to the promised land.
We put the blinders on. We ignored Carson Wentz coming back from a devastating knee injury. We ignored Alshon Jeffery coming back from a devastating shoulder injury. We ignored Brandon Graham coming back from a devastating ankle injury. We ignored Jason Peters coming back from a devastating Achilles injury. We ignored Darren Sproles coming back from a devastating leg and knee injury. We ignored a spine injury to Tim Jernigan. A spine injury!
After the Eagles fucked away a 17-point lead against the Panthers three weeks ago, Doug Pederson proclaimed the pressure was off his team.
Imagine how little pressure this team feels right now.
Oh me oh my. What the hell did we all watch last night? More important, WHY did we all watch that last night? If we had paid closer attention to this team, to the smoke and mirrors it had displayed during their four wins, we surely would have noticed that the air was dewy sweet with the potential for a massive letdown.
Please go someone else if you want any type of analysis from this game. Stay here if you want to listen to pure, unadulterated bitching.
Look over here! It’s Brandon Graham stripping Tom Brady in the Super Bowl! Remember that? Hey look at this, it’s the Lombardi trophy! Awesome, right?! No no, don’t look over there at the patchwork secondary, the questionable coaching decisions, or Darren Sproles taking up a roster spot all year to get free healthcare….look back over this way, it’s another replay of the Philly Special! Remember that? Philly Philly? Too cool, right?
Election day is what separates this fine country from all the others in the world. It’s what this country was founded on, your right to cast a vote to decide who will lead us into the promised land. Why, our electoral process gives millions of inbred middle-American morons a voice to elect a senile, blustering, embarrassing reality TV star to the White House (ok…it may have its flaws).
But, who should we vote for, Uncle Coggin? There are so many candidates, so many fancy ballot questions that those fat cats in Washington make so hard to understand, why, I don’t know where to start!
Well I’m here to steer you through the rigorous voting landscape and offer my humble opinion on who and what you should pull the lever for today.
So please, sit back and let a middle school drop-out guide you into that voting booth, nuzzle up to your body, wrap my arms around your waist and kiss at your soft, luscious neck while we play out our sensual role in democracy.
Don’t come a knocking if that voting booth is rocking.