Listening to Kirk Cousins at training camp is like having lunch with your grandma
Emily Dickinson references. Talk about the new barn. “That’s good water.” If you were to close your eyes, light a lavender candle, and listen to Kirk Cousin mic'd-up at ‘Skins training camp Wednesday, you might forget—if only for a moment—that you weren't at grandma’s choking down liverwurst and milk with the heater turned on full blast in the dead of August. Take it away Kurt (or Kirk, whatever):
From reciting the periodical formula for H20 to reiterating his love of worship music, Cousins takes teammates and staff on a Buick ride straight to the heart of Del Boca Vista, where the speed limit is always 40 mph and the beef wellington is served at 4pm sharp. He even met Brandon Jacobs once, if you can believe it.
Yet for all my poking between his probably osteoporosis-stricken ribs, I have to admit: Switchfoot- and Creed-sympathy notwithstanding (dude, THOSE are mortal sins), I like Cousins a hell of a lot more now than I did five minutes ago. For the past several seasons, Cousins has been little more than a bland scoop of vanilla ice cream on the-feces-sundae-with-the-racist-name that is the Washington Redskins organization, but now we finally have a sense for who really lies behind the facemask:
An 83-year-old woman named Minerva who'd like you to come over here and sit down so she can show you photos of grandpa in his army fatigues for the 9,000th time while All My Children reruns roar like a jet turbine from the next room.