In an unprecedented display of strategic mystique, Penn State’s offense has decided that scoring points is so last season. Instead, the Nittany Lions have pivoted to perfecting the art of invisible playmaking—complete with audibles only the players can’t hear and route trees thicker than their playbook. On third-and-goal, the quarterback ceremoniously unlaces his sneakers, tosses the ball toward the sky, and invites everyone to a group discussion on the existential nature of “downs.”
Observers note that the offensive line seems less interested in protecting their quarterback than auditioning for an upcoming Broadway revival of “Statues of Liberty.” Meanwhile, the wide receivers have embraced social distancing so zealously they might as well be broadcasting from different time zones. Tip routes? More like tiptoeing around the idea of routes.
Special teams, mindful of not wanting to overshadow this grand experiment in non-football, have dutifully kicked off into the back of the end zone with the enthusiasm of a cat being sprayed with water. Analysts theorize the entire operation is a performance art piece mocking the concept of offensive productivity—an avant-garde critique of modern spectator sports. Or maybe someone just forgot to read the playbook.
Regardless of intentions, fans have united in bewildered solidarity, chanting “Do Something!” during timeouts and fondly reminiscing about sepia-toned highlights from the days when “underwhelming” was a word reserved for movie sequels. As fall creeps on, the question remains: is this a revolutionary reimagining of the gridiron or just an especially elaborate way of losing? Either way, concessions staff are thrilled—after all, nothing brings folks to their feet like collective disbelief.
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