Aaron Rodgers Deserves a Wingman Like Me
When I saw the rumor confirmed that Aaron Rodgers and Olivia Munn were breaking up, I thought, “What can I do to help? Of course. I’ll offer to be his wingman.”
Now, everyone who’s not Aaron Rodgers is still welcome to read on, but I’ve got a few things to say to the best pure passer in league history.
Let’s face it, dude, whether you’re a Super Bowl-winning MVP quarterback or a striving writer with big dreams and a crummy day job, the dating scene presents a lot of challenges. But it can also be fun! The trick is to transcend all the sadness and disappointment found in the pursuit of true love. Get optimistic. “We’re single and on the wrong the side of 30 so let’s cry about it” is how pessimists think. That’s bogus. We’re on the right side of 35 with the perfect amount of experience and youth to give two gorgeous, lucky ladies.
You might be wondering: Who the heck am I? Am I some whacko or do I have credentials? What right do I have to request a visit to discuss the terms of a one-year contract to become your new wingman? Those are valid questions that I’d expect from a signal-caller who’s so astute at recognizing blitzes at the line of scrimmage.
Well, I’ve written two books. Let’s see Jordy Nelson do that. Plus, I’m responsible for this article. And I hate to brag, but when it comes to athletic feats, I’m an awesome tree climber, and like you, I’ve appeared on the cover of a magazine.
What do we have in common? Well, you were taken by the Packers with the 24th pick in the 2005 draft, which means 23 teams didn’t want you. And that motivated you.
Dude, I can totally relate to feeling unwanted. Feeling unwanted or overlooked by people and proving them wrong is a great motivator. I get that.
Furthermore, we both know what it’s like to throw five touchdowns as Aaron Rodgers. The only difference is, I did it in a Madden game and you did it literally.
I think I’ve made my point, AaRo. That could be your new nickname, by the way. Pronounced “Arrow.” It’s more original than A-Rod, so file it under maybe. Also, if you ever want to give me a nickname, my first choice is Hammer.
Do I have any notions about courting sweet ladies? For sure. We could take a road trip to Cali to scope some babes on the beach. My ride is a 2008 Dodge Caliber. For security reasons, it’s tan, which means no one will ever try to steal it. Or, by chance, if you’ve got a more rockin’ set of wheels, I guess you could drive. Whatever.
If you happen to know any female movie producers in your home state, we could set up a routine where you go, “Enough about me. Nick here’s a writer!” Then I’d launch into my Rom Com pitch about a seismograph repairwoman who falls for a seismograph repairman, and she gets preggers with octuplets. I call it Birthquake.
Or… we could chase women right here in wonderful Wisconsin. You name the Applebee’s and I’ll be there to buy the first round of beers and mozzarella sticks.
Here’s a tip: If you start to feel flustered talking to a lady, just look her in the eyes, tell her you’ve got something to show her, get your phone out, and play the Hail Mary throw you made to beat the Lions in 2015. Then shrug boyishly like it was no big deal. She’ll dig that.
If Applebee’s sounds way too depressing, perhaps we could go to a Bucks playoff game with two ladies. I’ve never sat courtside, but I hear it’s nice.
Another option is mini-golf at the Fondy Sports Complex. That’s in Fond du Lac. We could survey the scene beside the air hockey table until a couple angels flutter into the place. Then we’d cordially ask them to be our Putt-Putt partners. (I call dibs on the pale, short one with glasses. To be clear, this is kind of a deal breaker, AaRo.)
On the walk home, I could demonstrate my value to the near-sighted angel by climbing to the top of the first towering boxelder maple we come across. Afterward, maybe I’d set an empty can of Pabst on my head that you could knock off with a pigskin from 40 yards away. That way, you could do something to look cool too.
Those are just a few suggestions. If Randall Cobb can get more creative than me, then so be it.
The grieving period of three days for a relationship that lasted three years has passed. Your first bachelor weekend in a while draws near. Believe it or not, I know what it’s like to be single. Let me be your wingman, AaRo.