Guhhhhhhh why can’t I be a shitty NFL quarterback? Life would be so much easier. Instead, here I am, writing dick jokes for bros who treat my self-esteem like it’s a piñata shaped like Osama bin Laden and filled with Copenhagen and mini Maker’s Mark bottles.
I once briefly met Sam Ponder back when she was Sam Steele, and before she was on ESPN. It was 2011, she was on the Longhorn Network, and UT was in Columbia to play Mizzou. She was a camp counselor for one of my fraternity brother’s girlfriends, and said girlfriend brought America’s sideline sweetheart by the house we were at after the game to say hi. Of course, we were all completely shitfaced by this point and mostly just slurred hellos while dreaming of all the sweet, sweet missionary that, realistically, is all any of us could hope to have with the notably conservative and religious blonde bombshell. Pfft, whatever. If the only sex I was ever allowed to have with Sam Ponder was lights off, shirts on, no noises, only for procreation, and prayers before and after, I’d be game. Hey, at least we’d be guaranteed to never use condoms, amiright!?!?! To this day I regret not at least trying to seduce her, which at that point in my life would have involved lying about my lack of employment, the fact that I lived with my parents, and convincing her to
have sex make out in one of my friends’ beds. Considering that trip down memory lane, strike the opening complaint from the record.
Anyway, Sam Ponder and her stupid husband dressed up as Squints and Wendy Peffercorn from The Sandlot and, predictably, the costumes were awesome. Sam specifically just kills it as the heartthrob lifeguard. Excuse me while I go and hate my life for awhile.
Listen, Sam, when your husband turns 40 and starts forgetting who you are and where he is, and, you know, probably messing himself, I’ll be there for you, if you need it. Ah, hell, who am I kidding? Christian Ponder will never play enough to get that concussed. Life just isn’t fair sometimes.