With the NFL lockout now in its third month, it's obvious we're all beginning to have weird football withdrawals. People are so desperate for football talk, Vinny Cerrato co-hosts a radio show in Baltimore. We're gnawing for scraps, people. If this lasts another two months, I'm pretty sure I'm going to start to feel like Ewan McGregor's character in Trainspotting, when he locks himself in his room and tries to kick his addiction to heroin.
Some of my thirst for the NFL is just general curiosity. I'm curious to know what the players have been up to in all these months they've been scattered about the country, forced to live a life lacking structure for the first time in many years. I suppose I could scour 1,500 Twitter accounts and piece together a quilted narrative of the NFLPA's Endless Summer, but that seems like a lot of work. Plus, it's way more fun to speculate. So here's what I assume various NFL players have been up to while the two sides try to figure out a way to divide a $9 billion pie.
Joe Flacco -- Spends hours each day at a crosswalk near his house, waiting for an opening in traffic large enough so he can pull the trigger and cross the street, where Anquan Boldin is waiting with diminishing patience. It probably doesn't help matters that Cam Cameron keeps calling Flacco on his Bluetooth every two minutes to blame the bad traffic on Jim Zorn.
Mark Sanchez -- Days are filled by throwing Frisbee passes to his golden retriever that are either way too high or way too low for the canine to catch cleanly. Nights are spent drunk-dialing Selena Gomez, Demi Lovato and the entire cast of The Secret Life Of The American Teenager.
Albert Haynesworth -- Typically begins each day by waking up at 3 p.m., complaining that no one called to rouse him from his slumber. Writes a lengthy journal entry on his laptop about how disrespected he feels, but spills gravy on the keyboard and forgets to click save. Is driven to a Chipotle by off-the-books Dan Snyder crony, where he orders a steak burrito with a chicken burrito stuffed inside, and then deep fried in guacamole. Eats five bites and is out of breath, then falls asleep. Throws a tantrum when Chipotle refuses to fully refund his $13 burrito.
Ray Lewis -- Nights are spent dressed up in a purple Batman costume, driving around the streets of Baltimore in a purple and black Hummer, telling overworked and exhausted cops not to worry, that he will keep crime at bay until the NFL returns. When members of the Baltimore Police Department roll their eyes and express concern that Lewis is no longer quick enough to run down criminals who posses significant lateral quickness, Lewis brushes it off by explaining that "bottom line, even a blind cat will find a meal every once in awhile."
Adrian Peterson -- Passes the time by carefully reading Toni Morrison's "Beloved" and Edward P. Jones' "The Known World," in a sincere attempt to figure out why people were so offended by his comparison between the NFL labor situation and slavery. Just kidding! Probably lots of X-Box and push-ups though.
Jay Cutler -- Has been busy planning his wedding to reality star Kristin Cavallari, and having some of the typical pre-wedding spats most couples endure. Cavallari wants Cutler to grit his teeth and finish his vows if he injures his knee while walking into the church, but Cutler doesn't understand why Caleb Hanie can't step in and read his vows while he rides an exercise bike off to the side so he can get ready for the reception.
Vince Young -- Most days are spent standing in front of a mirror, shirtless, listening to homemade Death Cab For Cutie and Public Enemy mash-ups. Also leaves several tearful voicemails each day for Reggie Bush, wondering when he'll be getting "his" Heisman Trophy.
Rashard Mendenhall -- For the last two months, has been working on a Huffington Post Op-Ed scolding the Americans for celebrating the death of the Emperor -- someone they've never even met! -- at the end of "Return of the Jedi." Near the end, floats the idea that Alderaan might have been an inside job. "I just have a hard time believing a space station could take down a whole planet, demolition style," he says.
Kevin Kolb -- Each day, he drives past Michael Vick's house in his truck, clutching a puppy while listening to the "Rocky" soundtrack. Contemplates dumping puppy in Vick's backyard and calling the Humane Society. Loses his nerve. Drives home to watch "Friday Night Lights" reruns in his Matt Saracen jersey.
Aaron Rodgers -- Sends Brett Favre daily text/picture messages of himself clutching his manhood while wearing his Super Bowl ring.
Ben Roethlisberger -- Working hard at finally finishing David Foster Wallace's 1,100-page masterpiece, "Infinite Jest." Just kidding! We all know Roethlisberger would be way more into Bret Easton Ellis. If he knew how to read.
Peyton Hillis -- Nights are spent wrestling boars for money, fame. Glory, even. (Glory is forever, people.)
Danny Woodhead -- Summer internship at Grantland.
Peyton Manning -- Takes a job teaching summer school kickball at a suburban New Orleans middle school, hoping it will keep him sharp mentally while he recovers from shoulder surgery. Gets a scrappy band of overachievers to work together and put up gaudy statistics, thanks in part to his intensive in-game strategy, which includes studying stills of kickball formations taken by a passing blimp. Under his direction, the team makes it to the conference semifinals of the Louisiana middle school kickball state championship before wilting in the final innings. "We had some kicking problems," Manning will tell the school paper shortly after the loss.
Drew Brees -- Spends hours admonishing himself for failing to figure out a way to cure cancer.
Philip Rivers -- Spends hours admonishing himself for failing to figure out a way to beat Call of Duty 4: Modern Warfare.
Derek Anderson -- Is kicked out of a film studies class at Arizona State when he giggles at the end of a screening of "Schindler's List."
Derelle Revis -- Likes to go to fancy restaurants without a reservation, then hold out for a better table when the maître d' tries to seat him. When he finally gets the fanciest table in the restaurant, he hurts himself 10 minutes into the meal, forcing himself to sit out several courses.
Steve Johnson -- Blaming God when his Netflix DVDs don't arrive in a timely fashion.
Tim Tebow -- Making it rain. Not in strip clubs with sweaty dollar bills, but literally making it rain, somewhere in Africa. I can only presume he'll also catch the rain water in his cupped hands, boil it to sterilize his instruments, then get back to the business of handing out free circumcisions. Followed by inspirational speeches, of course.