There’s one place in the United States – in the world, maybe – that’s been blessed and prepared from birth for December 25. Of course, it’s probably a manmade thing. It was probably planned. “Well, if we name our town after the world’s most famous Nicholas, then Christmas will be good to us.” It’s not like the phrase In God We Trust on the $1 bill.
There was a moment in Monday night’s shallacking of the Dallas Cowboys where Jay Cutler stood in the middle of the field with his hands in his warmer and his helmet rested atop his forehead, and smirked and giggled at Jason Garrett and Rob Ryan, who were going nuts trying to throw a flag and delay Chicago’s easy win.
It was the opposite of Santa.
It the casual brilliance of a man who was still living in a frat, only reluctantly solving problems like Matt Damon from Good Will Hunting.
If Jay Cutler was a home appliance, he’d be a dryer.
He’s the easiest villain in the NFL, and he’s actually a good guy.
Jay Cutler is from Santa Claus, Indiana. As if that state didn’t have enough coal.