Josh Norman

http://blackandbluereview.com/why-panthers-cut-ties-with-josh-norman/

 

Transitioning?
Just kidding. Welcome back

 

Free agent CBs still out there for a 1 year rental?

• Leon Hall
• Antonio Cromartie
• Jerraud Powers
• Cortez Allen

 

Gettleman just insured that his mediocre WRs will look better in camp, his QB will have more completions in camp, and his crappy O-line will even look better since newton won't need as much time . . ..

brilliant

 

I've searched ardently, but can't find the deadline for a player to sign his tender. Is there even one? Because the answer could dictate whether I think rescinding the tag is a reasonable decision or a horrible one.

 

When Von Viller stripped Cam, I stumbled out of the house in a fugue state, vomiting blood and bile. Down the driveway and into the road I ran, screaming curses in Romanian at a moon that seemed to have adopted the smug, twatish expression of John Elway. I wanted nothing more than to punch the moon out of existence, to vent my fury by casting the night sky into everlasting dark. So lost was I in my frenzy that I didn't even notice the headlights coming toward me. Screeching brakes and a blaring horn filled my ears but I stood still. It wasn't paralysis or a desire for self-harm, I simply didn't move out of the way because my mind was such a haze of unconstrained anger that I felt like I could destroy anything in my path through force of will. The driver was a balding man in his forties that I didn't recognize. He opened the door and waved his fist, excoriating me for being in the middle of the road. Clearly he was not a Panthers fan or even a sports fan in general. I imagined that he must be a soulless drone, the type of man whose wife keeps his genitals stashed safely in her purse to display for the amusement of her friends. He would not understand my pain, much less share it. For that, and as an outlet for my rage, I knew that I had to end his existence. The first few blows were a satisfying crunch of gristle and bone as his prior shouts devolved into mewling cries. The quieter he got, the more urgency I felt. I had to keep pounding. Keep pounding. Keep pounding. His feeble blubbering eventually stopped, the only remaining sounds being the wet slap of bloody flesh, but my anger would not abate. I grabbed his left wrist with both hands and placed my foot against his shoulder, wrenching the arm with all of my strength until it dislocated and eventually detached. I beat him with that arm over and over again, dashing his brains across the road. Another car appeared over the hill and stopped just before us. I cannot imagine what I must have looked like, holding a man's arm aloft while covered in viscera. The other car squealed into reverse and drove away. I didn't care if I was caught, I didn't care about anything anymore, but I didn't want to stand idly in the blood of the vanquished. Slowly, as if my limbs were weighed down by some immense planet's gravity, I staggered into the nearby woods. There were no sounds, no crickets, no critters. It was as if the wild recognized the tempest within me and fled from its coming. Onward I went, with no direction in mind or any awareness of where I was. In the distance I began to hear sirens. I don't know if they were police or rescue, but there was no one left to be saved, not the mangled corpse I had left behind or the shattered shell of a man that had sent him to his fate. I kept walking. It was not fear that drove me, but rather a refusal to be judged and condemned for the fate of someone so miserable. I knew that I had been right to end his existence. Anyone who could not comprehend the anguish that I felt did not deserve to exist. Eventually I came to the river and stopped to wash myself off. A few hasty gulps took some of the sting out of my crackling throat, inflamed from all the furious howling I hadn't even realized that I had been doing. Slowly the red haze that had clouded my mind began to dissipate and my wits began to return. I knew I couldn't go back to the house, as it would be too easy to tie me to the bloody mess in the road. I had to go on. Some part of me wanted to go to Denver and find Elway, to watch the life drain from his eyes as his body was ripped apart by the merciless acts of the damned, but that was ridiculous. I had to go south. There were tracks along the river where the trains ran. It would be hard going and I had no food or water, but my will pushed me ever forward. Eventually a train came, fortunately slowly enough for me to climb aboard. At first I had to ride atop one of the cars because they were locked to protect the cargo inside, but eventually I worked my way down the line and found an opening. Weary from fleeing and fighting and the weight of what we had been denied, I collapsed into the dark, no longer concerned about my fate, only wishing for rest. My sleep was fitful, plagued by visions and nightmares. What haunted me wasn't the scene from the road but rather the one in San Francisco. I saw the fumbles, the sacks, and the indefensible calls. Somehow I knew that the officials had been bribed, not with money, but with Big Red's enthusiastic slurping of shaft and testicles. There was no other explanation for their decisions. But even I couldn't pretend that we were robbed. The flaws that we discussed here all season were the real culprit. We lost because we deserved to, because of the plan that had been set in motion by the nerdy fat fuck from New York. It was as if this had been his design, to torture us all by coming so close only to be undone by his devious plan. Cam, who had been built up into an icon and entertainer, was exposed as a back-foot throwing athlete without the technique or discernment of a quarterback who has mastered his craft. The two tackles who had been so widely credited by a vapid media had dissolved like salt blocks in a storm, washed away by an unending application of superior talent. The things we had been surviving all season, so much that we wanted to pretend they didn't exist, had instead merged into a tsunami of shit that drowned the team in its wretched stench. Only Ealy, Kony Ealy, who I had doubted and demeaned, had risen above this fate. He deserved better. When I awoke, sunlight was beaming through the hole in the roof of the container. The heat was stifling but I stayed inside. Eventually, hunger got the best of me and I had to leap off, nearly breaking my ankle in the process. I chased what animals I could see but to no avail, far too slow and sickly to secure any nourishment from the environment. I ate what berries I could find and drank what stagnant water I saw, unconcerned about the illness that would undoubtedly result. One day passed into the next as I continued south, trying to make my way for the border. Trapped in isolation and wracked by sickness, I began to lose my mind again. I honestly don't know how I made it. Some animal instinct for survival must have taken over because the next thing I remember, I was surrounded by sun and sand. There I stayed for some time, eking out a living on refuse and vermin. There must have remained a madness in my eyes because even the other vagrants steered clear. I was left alone in my misery, waiting for time to heal just a little more of my spirit with each passing moment. Months had passed before I became whole. It wasn't until I could watch Skip Bayless prattle on about Cam's press conference without murdering hookers that I knew it was safe to go home. If I could endure that then I could endure anything. And I did want to go back. As much as the heartache had cost me and as blinding as that pain had been, when you are that close to heaven you have to try again. This team could overcome the nerdy fat fuck from New York. Cam would be steeled from the cacophony of criticism, emerging with a real dedication to improve himself. Thomas Davis would rally his followers and have them prepared to resume the fight. I felt hope again. And then this happened. When I had let my heart re-open, that is when the devil struck. The nerdy fat fuck from New York waited all this time with such devious patience, knowing just how long to wait before plunging the knife into our hearts and ending our dreams just as surely as I had ended that one man's life. I would never have peace. I would never know heaven. My lot in life was to watch other men, other undeserving rectalcun+s like Elway, experience the joys that I would never have. The devil was sent to earth to torment me and he came in the guise of a women's volleyball coach.

 

That post is better than a Panthers SB parade would have been, so it's all for the best.

 

there isn't... corey simon had his tag removed during camp. a player can refuse to sign for the whole season but then the franchising team retains his rights so most guys have to sign with I think 6 games left to reach free agency again.