The Great NFL Debate: Match One: Sharpe vs. Long

Since 1992, sorcerer Shang Tsung has held vicious fighting tournaments known as “Mortal Kombat.” As the years have passed, however, interest has waned in the tournament, with this past year’s winner being Vestor, a mildly retarded 300 pound 6-6 giant who refuses to swallow his spit, resulting in speech that sounds like “SHSHSHSHSHSHSSHSHSHSHH” regardless of what he is saying. As the gentle beast gave his victory speech after laying waste to Raiden via an Afro Condor Chomp (Vestor's finisher, which entails a condor with purple and gold wings--one purple, one gold--emerging from a deep slumber within Vestor's unruly bird's nest of hair to poke its head out and snap out the opponent's appendix), Shang Tsung had an epiphany. Perhaps the world had evolved past a time when six-armed demons battling lizard ninjas was entertaining; perhaps the world demanded to have their minds challenged. So Shang Tsung determined to collect 8 of the most rambling, incoherent men he could find and transport them to his dimension for a tournament of debate. Those men: the announcers and analysists who cover the NFL. The tournament: The Great NFL Debate. The moderator: Shang Tsung. Get ready! FIGHT!

Match One: (1) Shannon Sharpe vs. (8) Howie Long
Shang Tsung (moderator): Sharpe-san and Rong-san, having both played in the NFL and eventuarry retiring, what have you to say to Favre-san as he struggres mightiry after returning perhaps past his time? Sharpe-san, you are first.
Shannon Sharpe: abada-abada-Dobodan McNabb-abada-abada-Packers-abada-abada-24-10.
Shang Tsung: Sharpe-san, I speak very ritter Engrish, but even I, the great Shang Tsung, know that you have only spoken two Engrish words. And I berieve the score of McNabb-san and Favre-san’s game was 31-9, not 24-10. You simpry are browing my mind. Rong-san, a rebuttar?
Howie Long: First off, Mr. Tsung—
Shang Tsung: You wirr address me as the great Shang Tsung, indorent creature.
Howie Long: Excuse me, great Shang Tsung, my name is Howie Long, not Rong. Now, onto to Brett Favre, he needs to realize that—
(Terry Bradshaw and Jimmy Johnson burst into the battle ground, loudly debating a topic unrelated to Brett Favre and completely drowning out the overmatched Howie Long. With a wave of his hand, Shang Tsung evaporates the two intruders and freezes Sharpe and Long.)
Shang Tsung: Rong-san, for such a rumbering man you are as timid as a kitten. Even though you were interrupted and said essentiarry nothing, you’re brief sentence made eons more sense than Sharpe-san’s argument. Therefore, I have no choice but to award the match to Sharpe-san. Sharpe-san, FINISH HIM!
Shannon Sharpe: abada-abada-fumble-abada-abada-touchdown-abada-abada-24-10.
(Howie Long’s head explodes.)
Shang Tsung: SHARPE-SAN WINS!

Tomorrow: (2)Michael Irvin vs. (7) Joe Theismann. Don’t miss it!