Former player and Minnesota Vikings head coach from 1961 to 1966, Norman Van Brocklin has a unique view on the team. What does he think about these new spread offenses and Wildcat formations? What’s changed about the speed of the game? Which current Vikings could play for a Norman Van Brocklin coached team, and which one couldn’t? These are some of the issues he’ll touch on, after we interviewed him from his grave, in the first ever installment of … INTERVIEW WITH A PEEPAW!!
“Phhw, the NFL is a joke now-a-days. When I was a coach it was a real mans game. Ya didn’t have people cryin’ at the podium of a press conference like a school girl bitch that just had her lunch money stolen. No! We played the game like real men! We also didn’t play inside of some condom covered building either, no sir! We played this beautiful game outdoors in the elements, like we were at war! Hell, sometimes we lost some good men even, but no one stopped to wipe their tears up with a tissue, or soak up their blood with a tampon. Never! We’d bite down on our lips and fight through, even if things got a bit hairy. Instead now, ya got men out there running around like some Commie piglet! Afraid to take a hit or give one out! Lay some wood, faggots! Hit something! Bash it straight up the gut instead of prancing around behind your line, you cock sniffers! God damnit, they make me so upset now-a-days. Everyone thinks speed kills ya in this game today too. Well, I’ll tell ya what’ll kill ya … gettin’ loaded on some moonshine with the boys ‘round the fire in 40 below temps before ya play those basteds from ‘Sconsin the next day! WhooWee, that’ll give ya killer hang over! But Jesus, it didn’t stop us! I’d have to hide my flask of whiskey in my coat on the side lines just to catch my hair o’ the dog during the match. Think about it, this pansy league won’t even let ya drink on the side lines anymore! Com’on! At least let me gnaw my cigar or somethin’. Jesus. Phhw, give me one of my ol’ D-linemen any day of the week over some dainty Jew fiddlin’ with the ball and we’ll knock him flat on his ass! There’s some little cock boys out there now, like that cross dressin’ Reggie Bush … don’t trust’em. He spends more time on his eyebrows than he does with his playbook. I tell ya, the only basted out there that could play on my squad now-a-days is that fat som’bitch Pat Williams. He always sounds like he’s drunker’an piss with a beer keg for a stomach. Funny fat fucks like that are always welcome to play for the late, great, Norman Van Brocklin!