YR WEEKEND | sucks 10/25/14




It is four a.m. Sunday morning.  In your kitchen, Peyton Manning is making Turkey-Mayonnaise sandwiches.  He is wearing a Papa John’s sweatshirt.  He is standing over a counter “island.”  In front of him, there are at least two dozen slices of plain white-bread.  “Safeway brand,” he says.  “I like to keep it simple.  Mayo is Safeway, too.  Don’t know where the turkey’s from.  It was in your fridge.”  He spreads mayonnaise onto a slice of turkey, rolls the turkey up like a wrap and drops the whole thing in his mouth.  Plop.  “Mmmmm,” he says.  “I usually just eat the mayo and the bread, but this turkey’s great!”  You look at the slices of bread.  Each slice has a number written on it in mayonnaise: 509, 510, 511, 512, 513 . . .  you think it ends around 540, but – just behind Peyton on the kitchen counter – you can see three or four grocery bags all filled with white bread.

“Yeah.” Peyton says, “It’s a little pre-game ritual I have.  Helps me really visualize each touchdown pass.”  He’s scraping out the last of the mayonnaise now.  “Geez, it’s just so easy to fly through this stuff.”  He turns his back, opens your fridge and pulls out another jar.  “Good thing you’re stocked up.”

“Hey Peyton.”  It’s Russel Wilson.  He’s wearing a neon green Seahawks hooded jogging sweater.  “How are the sandwiches coming?”

“They’re great, Russel.  You want one?”

“No thanks.  I found some great perspective out on the pavement this morning.  Really enlightening stuff.”

“Really?  That’s great, man.  Sure you don’t want one?  You could do what I’m doing.”  Peyton has a triple-stacked sandwich – numbers 533 – 536 – and he’s putting it in the microwave.  “Ten seconds on high.  That’s all you need for the perfect turkey-mayo melt.  It’s better than Quizno’s.”  Russel is stretching his hamstrings while breathing loudly through his nose.  He’s dripping sweat onto your kitchen floor, but you don’t think it is your place to tell him.

“No thanks,” he says.  “ I’m staying away from carbs.  I’m just gonna drink this kale-onion smoothie I brought from home.”  He reaches into the hood of his sweater and pulls out a re-used Gatorade bottle.  “You bring any Tupperware for those sandwiches, Peyton? Or are you eating them all?” he says, laughing.  “But seriously, mayonnaise really clogs your arteries, you might want to switch to hummus.”

“Don’t care much for foreign food, Russel.  Hummus doesn’t get you to 509.”  Peyton is looking down at his iPhone.  You can just make out game footage of Eli getting sacked and then  holding up a super bowl trophy – his second. Peyton cringes and takes a giant bite out of his triple-stacked sandwich.  A little bit of mayonnaise runs down his cheek and down his chin.  “I’ll catch you Eli.  One of these days I’ll catch you too.”


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