OK, so it's 8:00 pm Central Time, and I'm plastered on the butt indentation in my couch to watch the season premier of one of the greatest sports pasttimes, Monday Night Football...and who do I see on my TV but...Jessica Simpson? "Dammit! Stupid cable company switched stations on me again!" I thought. It MUST be on MTV...Hell, that's where I would turn to if I wanted to see Jessica Simpsons, not MNF. Sure, she's hot and everything, and I would gladly watch her prance around in some tight blue jeans and skimpy little pink shirt...just not on Monday Night! On this night, all of my excess sexual energy is focused on deciphering what exactly Dennis Miller means when he compares Mike Shanahan to an Ernest Lawrence Thayer poem, not on the otherwise sensual Ms. Simpson... Then, Al Michaels starts the MNF intro...Brian Griese this, Giants lose in the Superbowl that...Charles Schwab Investment Portfolio Stadium at Mile High...yadda yadda yadda...where is my "Are you ready for some football?!?!", dammit?! Uh oh...More Jessica...this ain't good. Didn't MNF learn from this a few years ago? I seem to vaguely remember some ill-forgotten musical numbers by Amy Grant and Carlos Santana...I believe those atrocities were met with a huge "WHERE THE F*** IS HANK WILLIAMS JR?!" from legions of Monday Night Football fanatics... Then, when almost all hope is lost, I hear the soothing, mellow tones of Mr. Williams himself. Sure, he still has that dorky gospel thing behind him, but it is Hank Williams Jr. on Monday Night Football, the way it's supposed to be... Who will we have to listen to next week? The Fagstreet Boys? N'Sync? Limp Bizkit? (It's time for some mother F***ING Monday Night Football!)...It doesn't matter. I can put up with 20 seconds of a teeny bopper band. As long as I hear that oh-so-familiar chant that resonates through millions of homes every Monday, it's all good...
