Oh, NFL Draft gods of great acumen, foresight and prowess, we beseech thee now in our times of trouble. For thine alone has the power to save us from the vast emptiness of our current roster. Lo, gutted were we in the year of our Lord’s 2018 NFL free agency frenzy.
Yea, tho we walk through the valley of the shadow of the NFC West, we fear no 2018 NFL schedule — for we have yet to behold it. Once it shall be published, we may prefer a plague of locusts.
Thine Schneider-Carroll brain trust is our shepherd. We lack nothing, except Shermans, Chancellors, Avrils, Bennetts, Sheads, Grahams, Walshes, Joeckels, Boykins, Lacys, Richardson, the other Richardson, the other Willson, halt! We beseech thee. They make us lie down in green pastures and leads us to cry beside eternally muddy, grey-clouded, rainy waters.
Carroll’s sunny optimism refreshes our soul. He guides us along the right paths … at least that one time. More recently, not so much for his name’s sake.
Even though we walk through the darkest valley of the upcoming season and probably for many to come, we will fear no evil. For D.J. Fluker is now with us. He’s got 355 lbs. and plays like it. This comforts our remaining Wilson.
We can do all things through Fluker, which strengtheneth us when we must speaketh with Los Angeles Rams fans, whose Donald and Suh shall wreak havoc and rain hellfire down on the bones of our remaining Wilson and daily running back.
You prepare a table before us in the presence of our pigskin enemies. I mean, you are, right? You’re gonna fix it all in the NFL Draft next month, right? Because as of right now, thou anointst our heads with stale urine and yet profess it is merely our customary rain. Our cups overflow.
Thine Seahawkian offseason plan is patient. Love is … something we’d like to have. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud — for how could it be?
Roster building does not dishonor others. It is not self-seeking, although, let’s try a little self-seeking and see how it goes, hmm? It is not easily angered, tho verily, the 12s are. It keeps no record of wrongs. For that will happen soon enough when the 2018 season kicks off.
Roster love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. Except right now. We better gloss over the truth. Speaking of truth …
Offensive lines always protect, always trust, always hope, always persevere. Except in Seattle. Thine truth hurts.
Seahawks love never fails. Unless you trade out of the first round again. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. Because we’re talking about a mob of Seahawks fans. Hast thou ever been to a Seahawks football arena? Then thou knowest of what I speak.
May the NFL Draft gods bestow their light and love upon us. Plus some impact players.
Surely your goodness and love will follow us all the days of our football lives, and the 12s will dwell in the house of the Super Bowl forever.
Achoo.
