NFL Quarterback Club

NO GIRLS ALLOWED

Do you remember that Christmas episode of The Simpsons where Bart is caught stealing a copy of Bonestorm from his local supermarché?  When his mother finds out, she practically disowns him and leaves him to his own devices.  He has to drop his own marshmallow in his hot cocoa, which inexplicably swells to the size of the entire mug to become a marshmallow ‘loaf’ of sorts.  Bart casually cuts the loaf into slices and consumes it prior to “hitting the hay”, as he puts it.  Marge doesn’t tuck him in.  The next morning he wakes to find that his family have created snowman-representations of themselves.  Bart wants to build his own snow-self, but there’s precious little snow left in the front yard.  The rest of the family move back inside and inform him there’s some slush beneath the car that he can use.  Snowman-Bart slumps over and melts on the lawn, a fitting metaphor for his diminished status in the family.

That’s how I feel playing NFL Quarterback Club.  Like I’ve walked in on something that’s already started without me.  The game practically plays itself.

"WhatdoIdowhatdoIdowhatdoIdouuuUUU-gug-gug-gug-gaaAGGH!!"

The Quarterback Club is an exclusive club.  An elite band of gamers that can glance at an array of crosses, circles and lines and not feel immediately alienated, and, more than that, actually *select* one based on their perceived strategic value within an extremely brief period of time!  Later they retire to the parlour to smoke fresh tobacco.

Better than a well-constructed club sandwich? I should think not!!

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