Fake Scoop Jackson Meets Rick Reilly And Bill Simmons

In a forthcoming issue of ESPN Magazine, Rick Reilly has a column about Kurt Warner. His message is immaterial. It’s the means which bear investigating.

Below, Reilly’s introduction and a response from our very own Fake Scoop Jackson:

Kurt Warner. Flattened like a tortilla. Can hardly breathe. Every rib howling. Wife watching. Can’t breathe either. And they pile on. Four of them. Pain doubles. Pain like passing a softball through your kidney. No penalty flag. No nothing.

Of course, this was in Warner’s Arizona living room. Monday. With four of his kids.

Yeah, you’re listening, but are you hearing me? America. Home of the free. Land of the brave.

Sentence fragments for emphasis.

WE made it, THEY stole it. Kurt Warner, and family, and God. America. Middle America. But we're talking about writing styles here. Chuuuch.

Not dental metaphors. Not dental metaphors. But writing styles. Co-opted by you know who.

Rick Reilly. Scoop makes it, and Rick steps up to take it. America. Same old song, yall.

And what's that? Simmons thinks like Lebron:

Hey Baron! What up, dog! Watch this, I'm gonna make a half-court shot with my eyes closed ... DAMN! Just missed it. You know what I really feel like doing? Jumping on Shaq's back. Look out, Big Fella, eeeeeeeeeeee-yah!!!!!!!

Hey Bill! Lebron's not your DOG, bro. In that vernacular, you spell it d-a-w-g. That's outside your comfort zone, huh? Can't roll with the big dogs? Stay on the porch, brother. You think you know, but you have no idea. Same old song.

You listening yet? Holla if ya hear me, yall.