One of the most difficult parts about writing humor articles is that while most articles are at least based in truth, sometimes people just don’t believe that anything so stupid could actually happen.

Case in point: Jacksonville Jaguar wide receiver Troy Williamson has challenged Minnesota Vikings head coach Brad Childress to a fight on the 50-yard line during their upcoming game this Sunday.

The bad blood, at least on Williamson’s side, came from games that were missed by the butter-fingered receiver while he was an over-hyped and over-paid receiver for the Vikings. Williamson told the Vikings that he would not be at practice for a few days in order to attend his grandmother’s funeral.

The Vikings paid their respects by docking the massive letdown’s pay.

The bad blood on the Viking’s side comes from the fact that Williamson sucked as a player and a person.

In Williamson’s statement, the aspiring pugilist stated that, “We can meet on the 50-yard line and we can go at it.” Williamson even stated that he would fight with both hands tied behind his back. Much like the way his plays wide receiver.

Childress responded with more words and emotion than he has shown in his entire tenure as head coach in the frozen north, “Do you need my reach? I’m not like a woman; I’ll give you my weight. It’s 190-pounds of twisted steel and rompin’, stompin’ dynamite.”

Using the Bleacher Report Crystal Ball of Future Sporting Disasters (a device not used since predicting the outcome in the “Chad Johnson challenges Michael Phelps to a Race; Drowns” article), we can now see how this fight would have turned out:


Going into halftime trailing 14-3, Vikings’ head coach Childress’ blood pressure has begun to soar, raising to an all-time high of 100/20. As the clock ticks down the last two minutes of the half, Childress begins shadow boxing and jumping rope to work up a good sweat, chanting, “Go in cold, get knocked out cold.”

Meanwhile, Williamson is on the opposite sidelines drying off and repeated chalking up his hands in order to counter act the steady flow of butter that oozes from the pores on his hands, the real reason why he can’t catch a pass to save his life.

Vegas odds makers have made this an even money fight, enraging Williamson.

As the final second ticked off the clock to end the half, the two men run at a dead sprint towards one another and collide like Neo versus Agent Smith in the final/crappiest Matrix movie. The shock wave is nearly enough to drown out the obnoxious yelling that is ever present in the big inflatable toilet (the Metrodome).

Williamson begins the punching with several well-aimed shots to the jaw of the older and bespectacled Childress. Sadly, the grease pouring from his palms creates a frictionless surface and all punches slide off Childress’ chin.

Childress responds by calling a quarterback sneak on third-and-12, hoping to fool the opposing defense while his best player, Adrian Peterson, is forced to stand on the sidelines since he is unproven in pivotal situations.

This confusing move momentary trips up Williamson, who literally trips over his own feet, falling forward into Childress’ perfectly manicured mustache which has been waxed to a sharp point, cutting Williamson above the eye and forcing the fight to be ended in a effort to enforce fighter safety.

The completely inebriate crowd erupts with applause, not due to the fight itself, which has gone largely unnoticed, but instead for the Frisbee catching dogs that often put on the most entertaining part of Sunday games at the Metrodome.

The outcome convinces former Minnesota head coach turned line coach for Jacksonville Mike Tice to unwrap the tape from his hands, wipe off the Vaseline from his brow line and slink back into the locker room, to plot an alternate form of revenge for being drummed out of town due to sucking.