Throwing Santana Moss Under the Bus

It has been an interesting offseason in D.C., with the arrival of Donovan McNabb, who has apparently shaved his head since starring in Hot Tub Time Machine, and Albert Haynesworth being such a big, fat piece of shit, he is the first overpaid, overhyped, waste of money free agent ever that Dan Snyder has publicly proclaimed his disappointment in. Seriously, Dan Snyder is like that delusional billionaire type who always thinks everything can be fixed, easily, by throwing the right amount of more money at it. For him to actually be like, "I'm disappointed in Albert," and to the press while on the record, it is actually tricking me into thinking something has changed in Washington.
Then late yesterday afternoon, the rumors started to break that there was a Redskins player connected to some Canuck doctor who was bringing HGH to America to make players feel right again. And honestly, from player reactions, I knew who it was right away, as the defensive players were all talking about how until they find out who it is, everyone there is still all fam, but if a name comes out, fuck that shit, because you know you ain't supposed to take HGH in the NFL. (Although, I would suspect HGH is far more prevalent in the NFL than the NFL would lead you to believe. I imagine at some point in the next few years some group of shady doctors are going to get busted and like one-third of the league will be implicated, but I'm sure the NFL has enough political power to make this happen in retrospect, like two doctors from 2002 will get busted, players no longer in the league will be accused and besmirched and have ruined reputations, and the league will institute some new drug testing policy where "we double for-real triple-check every test, randomly, but specifically, twice a month, we promise forever" to make it all right again and continue to cash fat corporate advertising and television rights checks.) The wide receivers were remarkably "Oh shit!"ish about the whole story, and Santana Moss said some standard thugonomical lawyerly bullshit about, "I ain't speaking on nothing until I hear what it really is."
And of course this morning, Santana Moss gets outed as that guy.
So before I throw Santana under the bus on this, let me just say that the one Monday night game where the Redskins were losing to the Cowboys in Texas Stadium, 13 to nothing, and basically getting waxed all over the field to where it felt like it should be 42 to nothing, yet somehow Mark Brunell flicked his noodle arm just right for two long TD passes in the 4th quarter to Santana Moss to win the game in dramatically awesome fashion... that was a great moment to be a Redskins fan. Sadly enough, probably the two most memorable moments of the Dan Snyder era of ownership, gamewise, were that game and the one after Sean Taylor died where Joe Gibbs called double timeouts and the Bills kicked a game winning field goal as time expired. What a pathetically tragic era.
But nonetheless, there can be no denying that over his time in D.C., though he works as hard as any midget with cornrows you can find, Santana has a primadonna quality about himself. If he drops a pass, he will almost always look to the officials with his hands up, as if he had been moonsaulted by the defense. And if he catches a first down pass, even if the Skins are losing consistently and deeply, in the individual game or overall season, he will celebrate this first down like he just hit a $1000 scratch-off lottery ticket. These have always been things that bothered me, especially since he has been considered for years now, the head of our wide receiving corps. This means all our shitty underachieving second round draft pick wunderkinds from a couple years back have been learning under Santana's veteran advice.
And yet, here is the worst part of it all. The Canuck doctor, former WWF tag team champion Tony Galea, was coming to America when he got popped last September, specifically to treat Santana Moss. In investigating Galea, the pigs found at least fifty invoices to Moss as a patient, even though Moss is apparently using the Barry Bonds defense of "But I ain't even know what it was!" with big bug eyes like a black guy seeing a ghost in Three Stooges skits. In the criminal complaint filed on Tuesday in American Super Court, authorities listed the player Galea was coming to see as "Witness No. 1". Oddly enough, Santana Moss is not expected to be charged in the matter, at least not legally.
So not only is Santana a cheat (which may or may not be common practice in the NFL, so I can't necessarily hold that against him), but he has become a willing informant for the feds. Even as a gainfully employed white man with a college degree, I understand and respect the prevailing philosophy behind the simple phrase "snitches get stitches." I mean, I'm not gonna go all Cam'ron on 60 Minutes and refuse to turn in a child molester, or when something I see that's wrong as fuck happens, wrong by my moral code, not the law necessarily, I'll drop some information if necessary. Two years ago, I knew about a woman who was the mother of one of the kids I used to soccer coach getting the shit constantly beat out of her by her piece of shit husband, to the point she was hiding for her life. I knew a cop, and I didn't outright tell him, but we had one of those conversations where we said things to each other without actually saying them to each other, so that I didn't officially go, "This dude did this, officer," and he didn't officially tell me back, "If she shoots him, she won't be charged," but we kind of did lay those things out to each other. This is a completely different situation than being knowingly involved in something with another person, and when that person is busted, you are like, "Yeah, they totally were doing that, I'll help you prove it." There is no moral code - football locker room, criminal underworld, office cubicles, Waldorf school playgrounds, anything - that backs a move like that.
So #89, it looks like you have made your deals with the devils of law enforcement. And you will probably be suspended by the NFL for a four-pack of games, which will give your freshly arthroscoped knee a chance to heal a little longer. But more importantly, you just justified all those, "man, what a bitch" thoughts I'd had all these years when you showboated after an 8 yard slant route, or complained to the refs that wind patterns created by defensive backs running disrupted your ability to keep a football in your hands. Those two touchdowns against the Cowboys that one Monday night game were a long time ago, and for as good as you proclaim to be, you haven't exactly stacked a lot of great memories for me as a fan on top of that one in your time here in D.C. At least Barry Bonds used drugs to become one of the best ever at what he did. You have HGH black clouds over you now, and no shiny Super Bowl rings or even NFC champion rings to brighten up that darkness. Although I'm sure there was an uncalled penalty that caused that. It's always somebody else's fault, not your's. The mind of a fucking rat.