PhillyB

gotta be the longest play of the year right?

lol falcons are sooooo mad

that was a fuging sick catch too

OHHHHMANNNNNNN

god i love stew

lol roddy white is bitching about something

niiiice

shaq has luke-like instincts

stewwwwwwwww

lol look at cam smiling

middle fingers

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he's down buttfuck

kalil has an abnormal amount of holding calls this season

atl DB got punched lol

keeeeeeeeeeep pooooounding

i'm waiting to see him do the shopping cart

why's that

bahahaha amazing. did nfl memes run with it yet?

NASCAR used to matter. Back when glam bands were in and nobody had heard of the internets and Lee Atwater was laying the groundwork for a Donald Trump candidate, stock car racing was on a meteoric rise, ascending past baseball to reach the enviable position as the second-most watched spectator sport in America behind the NFL. Guys used to drink a six-pack of Coors before climbing into their cars and punch each other in the face on the turn-three infield grass. NASCAR was unscripted and unpredictable, filled with characters and therefore fun to watch. One of the most entertaining figures to emerge out of the 1980s racing scene was a guy named Darrell Waltrip. If you know anything about racing (congratulate yourself if you don't) you know Darrell Waltrip has been commentating races for decades and iconically jumped out of the booth to stand with his hands pressed against the glass to watch his younger brother win the 2001 Daytona 500 while Dale Earnhardt died in turn four. They call him "D.W." and he does that "boogity-boogity-boogity boys let's go racing" thing. He's charismatic and universally loved. But that was not always the case. Darrell Waltrip rose to prominence in the late 1970s by showing up at racetracks and stealing everybody's lunch. Darrell Waltrip was the Jeff Gordon of the 1980s: this fresh punk kid who hadn't paid his dues driving his city-slicker ass up and down the track and giving dinosaurs like Richard Petty championship competition. He didn't drive a rainbow car so they couldn't call him gay like Jeff Gordon, but man they booed Darrell Waltrip somethin' fierce. He couldn't win a game of checkers at the Cracker Barrel without some pissed-off Bobby Allison fan from Chickpea Junction, Alabama hucking an empty Keystone Lite can at his head. They hated him because he was different and they hated him because he was beating their favorite drivers. They hated Darrell Waltrip because he was great, and they always would, they swore. Then suddenly it was 1989 and everything changed. Not unlike a dumb Taylor Swift album by the same name, this year saw a young, marginally-capable product trying to assert itself as a top-shelf talent. His name was Rusty Wallace and he was trying to make a name for himself. In the 1989 running of The Winston, he positioned his inferior car behind Darrell Waltrip's awesome car and purposely spun him out on the final lap. Wallace went on to win the race five seconds later, Waltrip bitterly and famously said he hoped Wallace would choke on the $200,000 purse, and by some strange twist of fate, the entire crowd - all of which had consistently booed Waltrip - suddenly rained down a chorus on Rusty Wallace that would make a Browns quarterback blush. That year Rusty Wallace won the Winston Cup championship, but Darrell Waltrip became the most popular driver in NASCAR. It was one of the most dramatic public perception turnarounds in sports history. I think Cam Newton is this generation's Darrell Waltrip. Cam Newton has been a bad guy for the entirety of his career. Media-driven narratives saw to that from the moment he declared for the draft. No amount of winning or charitable effort could sway the vitriol. And that on-the-field stuff? Pointing after first downs, celebrating, wearing a towel on his head... And then, of all things, dabbin' on them folks? That's it. That was Cam's Darrell Waltrip moment. The day he dabbed on the Tennessee Titans defense late in that scrappy game was the moment Waltrip rounded turn three the apparent winner. And the day the aghast mother from Nashville wrote a viral letter to Cam Newton trashing him for dancing was the moment Rusty Wallace came out of nowhere and spun him out. That changed everything. Fans across the Carolinas mobilized in support. ESPN commentators laughed and dismissed it. The undefeated Panthers rallied in the midst of it and drubbed the Redskins a week later. Then when Cam ran in for a touchdown against Dallas on national television he appropriated some corny Happy Days doo-wop with Betsy Sue and took it back to the 1950s. Everyone laughed because it was hysterical. Everyone. Not Cowboys fans obviously, or NFC South fans, but in the two-week span from the beginning of the faux outrage at the Titans to Cam's midtown boogie at Dallas, you could feel the tone of the entire nation's opinion of Cam Newton collectively shift. You could feel the annoyance at a quarterback doing those sorts of things finally collapse, the resolve of old-style traditionalists finally crumble with the realization that Cam is both harmless and infectious, the dissonance between liking guts and moxie but disapproving of Cam finally crystalizing, and shattering. You could feel the last of it seep away when Jerry Richardson himself strode into the locker room, threw up an arm, and snapped his head forward, dabbed on 'em. The camera shook as the players roared and you knew something special had happened in that moment. Dabbing had just been officially sanctified. Now the Panthers are 12-0 and Cam Newton is on his way to an MVP nod and a cemented position as one of the most popular players in the league, if not the most popular. An entertainer and an icon, a guy who'll win superbowls and spend twenty years in the broadcasting booth. The most popular football player of his generation, all because, like Darrell Waltrip, a nobody with something to say played dirty and spun him out. Thank you, Rusty Wallace. Thank you, Rosemary Plorin. The tidal wave will only grow as the Panthers continue to win and Cam's genuine love of the game transcends the fact-barren monoliths of the uninformed masses. Of course, to continue to win, the Panthers need to beat the Atlanta Falcons on Sunday. To that end, here are ten things the Panthers need to turn up a home field victory: 1) show up 2) show up 3) show up 4a) show up 4b) show up 5) show up 6) show up I'm not even kidding. The Falcons are terrible. They're structurally broken and the mess matriculates to every level of that organization. They're cracking and splitting apart. Thomas Dimitroff is going to lose his job. A new GM will probably want a new quarterback. Roddy White is as good as gone. Half a decade later and they're still ignoring personnel issues in the trenches. They're soft and selfish and overrated. They live and die on the deep crossing routes, so we'll play man and unleash the dogs at Matt Ryan all day long. Predicting blowouts is bad news, but the Falcons are in for a mauling by the best team in the NFL. 45-13 Panthers 13-0 View full article

this almost looks photoshopped. look how small ginn is compared to cam. cam is massive

someone post that gif of ron rivera thumbs-upping next to the merry christmas graphic at the falcons dome

4:30. it makes me edgy too. but... this team has broken all its past barriers, winning in primetime on monday night, on sunday night, on the west coast, against seattle, against green bay, in absence of stars, after a bye. fug it, saints are gonna die like the rest.

idk but this seems like an appropriate place to mention that i met michelle rodriguez there

defense looking at drew brees like