So you think you’re going to survive training camp coverage sober? Sober? Pshaw. You need to (cis)man-up and force sobriety onto its knees and make it smell your rank, Busch-soaked breath. Display dominance. It’s the football pre-preseason, dammit. You have to get in flabby beer-belly shape for an autumn of despondent drinking every time your team loses (feel free to get as fat as you want, Browns fans: having the chair shatter from you immense size will save you the physical exertion of kicking it over). Practice makes perfect, so hit the couch and get ready to booze your way through training camp.
Drink if a Seattle Seahawks player tests positive for PEDs. Drink twice if the PED in question was served with foamy froth-art atop it to really drive the point of home how special, idiosyncratic, and totally non-ironically post-postmodern the user of it is.
Drink if Tim Tebow reveals that he is actually Jesus Christ. Drink twice if he reveals he is actually Og—King of Bashan, last of Rephaites—unto whom was wrought the same justice as was wrought unto Shion of Heshbon.
Drink if a member of the Denver Broncos is busted for a DUI. Just be sure not to mix it with the MDM you just copped off Von Miller: you’ll risk severe dehydration, plus you’ll dilute the molly high.
Drink if a news story mentions “Patriots” and “distraction” in the headline. (Be prepared to drink a lot for this rule; the media will be talking about that shocking David-Ruffer-being-traded story for a long time.)
Drink every time you read the phrase “fantasy football sleeper.” Drink twice if you think, “Wow, I didn’t know Sergio Kindle was primed for a comeback.”
Drink every time Chip Kelly is hounded about whom his starting quarterback will be. Drink twice whenever he responds with some sort of snappy, sarcastic rejoinder, but drink thrice if he collapses in one-straw-too-many frustration and weeps, “Do you all not understand my process?”
Drink if/when it is revealed that RGIII’s marriage is not only just a sham, but he is holding his so-called “wife” captive at the behest of Mike Shanahan in order to harvest her ACL stem cells.
Drink if a player is revealed to have sent dick pics to a paramour. Drink twice if that player is Chris Kluwe and that woman is Samantha Ponder.
Drink if a player is questioned about a “suspicious” tattoo (you know, something potentially threatening like a pair of skeleton hands throwing up the “blood” sign or a bunch of Taylor Swift lyrics or the phrase “I’m going to kill four people next year” written in comic sans).
Drink every time there’s an especially dumb argument decrying the emphasis on “player safety” (because, let’s be real, there’s just no way it can be iambic and not trochaic).
Drink every time Ray Lewis is on ESPN talking about Aaron Hernandez and you can totally tell everyone else is thinking about that elephant-in-the-room-thing the two have in common: their love of dachshund GIFs.
Drink if a player stupidly tweets something conspiracy-theory related, like how Kate Middleton’s baby was an inside job.
Drink every time there is a Top 15 NFL Players That Are So Sharknado Characters article. Feel free to drink until you vomit.