=O/Dear White People, parts Two

You'd look like this too if you just got $42 million guaranteed.

So holy god damn, for the second year in a row, the Bears made the biggest power move on International Free Agent Day, picking up superduperstar defensive end Julius Peppers, wholly adequate running back Chester Taylor, and probably useful tight end Brandon Manumaleuna. Peppers gives the Bears their first big-time defensive end since Wanny decided that the Alonzo Spellman/Albert Fontenot combination would work out better than the old Richard Dent/Trace Armstrong one, sending us into a million-year death spiral of not having even a slightly-feared pass rusher, aside from two good years out of Rosevelt Colvin. Chester Taylor serves as insurance against Matt Forte's 2009 problems not being a fluke and points toward a running back-by-committee situation next year, which is fine, since they've been running poor Forte to an early grave over the last two years. Brandon Manumlamalapolamaluknightshamalan ushers in the age of Mike Martz's "tight end as a second offensive tackle" philosophy and probably spells the exit of Greg Olsen and Desmond Clark, which is crazy, seeing as they've been the one consistent bright spot on offense for a while now. But the discussion of all this shall come at a later time. There are more pressing issues at hand here today, and I'm sure all player personnel and football strategy issues will be worked out one way or another by September.

Right now, I'd like to discuss nicknames.

You see, we've been through all this before, and if I know anything about Chicago football fans, it's that they're all terrible white people, and terrible white people put terrible nicknames on things. Just looking at the Bears' website this morning, it's already happened, with Julius Peppers being referred to as... Navy and Orange Julius.


Seriously, this has to stop, white people. Luckily, the "Midway Jay" shit from last year sort of petered out, but Devin Hester is still somehow referred to as "The Windy City Flyer" by a whole bunch of people, and I've got to put my foot down, before this shit gets out of hand. Seriously, that is some lame-ass Chris Berman play on words crap, and this can't go any further, or we'll have terrible white people referring to this dude as something like "Salty Peppers" or "Julius Peppers and Eggs" or "Julius Ceasar Salad with Cracked Peppers" or something equally as asinine. So no. Just no. No Berman shit, none of that 19th century shit Hester got stuck with, and none of whatever the hell that "Midway Jay" shit was supposed to be. Look at this dude. Look at him:

This dude is a six foot, seven inch beast of ultimate goddamn destruction. If you insist on putting a name on the dude, you have to use one that reflects that, and not just throw whatever cutesy shit on him that comes into your head first. Something terrifying and intimidating; something to send chills down the spines and fear into the hearts of opposing players. Something really nasty.

So I thought about this for several minutes earlier today, and eventually my mind went back to an old Bear player from the days when helmets were still made out of leather and smoking was still good for you. See, there was this dude, Ed Sprinkle, and man, that name isn't gonna inflict fear into anybody. It sounds like the name of a fictional ice cream man. But the dude had a nickname, you see, and oh damn what a nickname. "The Claw." Ed "The Claw" Sprinkle. Now that there is a righteous fuckin' nickname. So there I was, and I tried to think of something along the same lines, but I failed. Then, I started thinking about GWAR, because sometimes, that's how my mind works. So there I was, thinking about GWAR, and thinking about how they put out an album not too long ago, and how I still haven't bothered to check it out, except for that one song I found on Youtube, and OH SHIT, THERE IT IS RIGHT THERE.



THE ÜBERKLAW. It combines the sinister nature of "The Claw," and adds a certain touch of pure Prussian evil that sends it into a whole new level. That's some shit right there, man. Think about it. Let's say you're an offensive lineman. And a coach walks up on game day and goes "son, you're gonna have to block Julius Peppers today," and you'd probably say "oh dear me, this certainly represents a challenge," because with few exceptions, offensive linemen are the smartest and most cultured players on the field, and they talk all high-falutin' like that. So you'd be concerned, but not afraid.

Now, let's say the same coach comes up and tells you, "son, today, you must face THE ÜBERKLAW!" Seriously, you would freak fucking out. You'd shit your pants so much that there'd be no more room in them for things like your legs. You'd grab the sharpest object you could find and run into the other room to cut your own throat, screaming "NO! NO! NOOOO!" the whole time, because that would be a better fate than to try and block the sort of hacksaw butcher that would have a name like that.

(Pictured: Julius Peppers.)

So as of right now, with all the authority that being a high-profile football blogger has bestowed upon me, I hereby declare that if we must place a nickname on Julius Peppers, then from this point forward, he shall be Julius Peppers: The Überklaw. And look, it even fits on a jersey: