Mitch Wishnowsky - Punter (Utah) is a 49er

He gunna get a run in or?

I put ten cents on 49ers punter Mitch Wishnowski to win the SB MVP. Vegas has him at 100,000/1 odds to win, so by my math, that would make me a millionaire if it happens. Consider the following plausible scenario to that end:

1st and 10 at the 25, Niners Football. Opening play. As the play-clock operator sets down his coffee and pushes the big green button, the 49ers are rushing the punt team onto the field for the first play of the game. The sleekly designed sports arena, which houses hundreds of people, gasps. It's the loudspeakers trying to convince the fanatics that something interesting is happening. It indeed works as we all gasp too. Everyone in the world.

The bigwigs at Guiness Books of World Records are on hand in the auditorium. They confer with each other near one of the endzones, then they turn to the crowds of hundreds and raise their thumbs proudly. The crowd has indeed broken the record for largest collective gasp of 2024. Hip, hip, hurray! The fans scream in unison. Guiness confers again and that is also the record for most people saying hip, hip, hurray! Two records broken before the playclock has barely counted to ten. Unreal. The fans are f**king stoked.

Meanwhile, the niners hurry to the line in Punt formation. It's all cartwheels and backflips and somersaults as the punt team dances into position. The players from Kansas City, in their crimson cloth, festooned with the entrails from previous opponents, are enthralled by the acrobatic display. They don't even realize that Mitch Wishnowski and Trent f-ing Williams have snuck onto the field behind the other dancing players. It works. The defense starts freaking out when they realize they've been tricked. They cry to the sideline, "what do we do, what do we do?"

The Kansas City sideline is in complete disarray. Reid yells at the ST coordinator, "Get your friggin' unit out there, Donovan!" But what Reid doesn't realize in his existential panic, is it isn't his special team's coach Donovan that he's yelling at, it's sideline reporter Pam Oliver.

Pam, being the empath she is, mirrors Reid's panic and anger. Now she's panicking too. Why don't people understand how hard it is to be an empath? Pam thinks to herself. Then she feels the rage in Andy Reid growing. Maybe it's just his gerd. Who cares, Pam is pissed.

"Punt Team!" she screams as she just starts grabbing KC players from the sideline and tossing them on to the field." Moams, Big Kersey, uh, Poor Chico, Lincoln, Wilson, Adams. Pam throws all the Chief's superstars out there.

It's pandemonium. Everyone from the KC sideline is out there, just tripping over each other.

Mitch takes the long snap. Yellow flags go flying like confetti. The refs are freaking out because they ran out of flags to throw, so start to pick up the ones they already threw, and throw them down again. The Chief's are gonna be flagged for having 53 men on the field, each infraction costing them five yards. Mitch knows he's got a free play here.

"Oye!" He screams in his native tongue as he meets eyes with his long snapper. But its not the normal pig skin spinner, it's Trent f**king Williams who was disguised as the long snapper the whole time. The shame of the KC players in unbearable, how could they not have seen Trent sneak into the middle of the play, the heart of their defense? Trent was the mother f-ing trojan horse. Most KC players collapse into the fetal position. "Make this play stop," many of them moan as they rock back and forth.

Mitch, sensing some confusion from KC, decides to follow the big man forward. Trent is like Moses parting the entire KC team as the players fall into the fetal position, one by one in his wake. Mitch, just like Jesus had in the story of Moses, walks casually towards the end zone, 75 yards away.

Meanwhile. "The band is on the field! The band is on the field." Exclaims Tony Romo from the booth. It's the best he could think up in the moment. He wishes he had said something that made more sense. Romo scours the field, hoping Usher or Reba McEntire had entered the fray so he could point to them being the band he had just referred to, but neither were in the ball park as far as he could tell. Plus he knew that Jim Nance would have none of his bs out about calling solo performers a band. It's not like Reba and Usher were touring in a band together. God, it would have been so cool if there was a band on the field when I claimed there had been one, Romo thinks to himself.

Mitch crosses the zero yard-line for 8. The fans are freaking out. Everyone is freaking out. The guys at Guinness are besides themselves. There has to be at least 100 records alone just broken on one play. They can write an entire volumes of records on just this game alone. "What a cash cow this sport is," one of the Guiness execs whispers to another, "Who knew?"

Andy Reid throws in the terrible towel, signaling his team's forfeiture.

The crowd, who are all just flipping out at this point, sings in unison, "For he's a jolly good fellow…" to Mitch as he wins superbowl MVP. Romo is just beside himself.

Anyway, that's just one of many ways, Mitch can make me a cool million. Can't wait to buy that mega yatchte

Mitch don't give a f**k. Adding to his legend by trying to take out a hippy kayaker with a bomb of punt. Just missed the b*****d by inches.

https://youtube.com/shorts/W7Nv7v4eqLI?si=6sYdEapE0emixcFt

Originally posted by Chance:
I put ten cents on 49ers punter Mitch Wishnowski to win the SB MVP. Vegas has him at 100,000/1 odds to win, so by my math, that would make me a millionaire if it happens. Consider the following plausible scenario to that end:

1st and 10 at the 25, Niners Football. Opening play. As the play-clock operator sets down his coffee and pushes the big green button, the 49ers are rushing the punt team onto the field for the first play of the game. The sleekly designed sports arena, which houses hundreds of people, gasps. It's the loudspeakers trying to convince the fanatics that something interesting is happening. It indeed works as we all gasp too. Everyone in the world.

The bigwigs at Guiness Books of World Records are on hand in the auditorium. They confer with each other near one of the endzones, then they turn to the crowds of hundreds and raise their thumbs proudly. The crowd has indeed broken the record for largest collective gasp of 2024. Hip, hip, hurray! The fans scream in unison. Guiness confers again and that is also the record for most people saying hip, hip, hurray! Two records broken before the playclock has barely counted to ten. Unreal. The fans are f**king stoked.

Meanwhile, the niners hurry to the line in Punt formation. It's all cartwheels and backflips and somersaults as the punt team dances into position. The players from Kansas City, in their crimson cloth, festooned with the entrails from previous opponents, are enthralled by the acrobatic display. They don't even realize that Mitch Wishnowski and Trent f-ing Williams have snuck onto the field behind the other dancing players. It works. The defense starts freaking out when they realize they've been tricked. They cry to the sideline, "what do we do, what do we do?"

The Kansas City sideline is in complete disarray. Reid yells at the ST coordinator, "Get your friggin' unit out there, Donovan!" But what Reid doesn't realize in his existential panic, is it isn't his special team's coach Donovan that he's yelling at, it's sideline reporter Pam Oliver.

Pam, being the empath she is, mirrors Reid's panic and anger. Now she's panicking too. Why don't people understand how hard it is to be an empath? Pam thinks to herself. Then she feels the rage in Andy Reid growing. Maybe it's just his gerd. Who cares, Pam is pissed.

"Punt Team!" she screams as she just starts grabbing KC players from the sideline and tossing them on to the field." Moams, Big Kersey, uh, Poor Chico, Lincoln, Wilson, Adams. Pam throws all the Chief's superstars out there.

It's pandemonium. Everyone from the KC sideline is out there, just tripping over each other.

Mitch takes the long snap. Yellow flags go flying like confetti. The refs are freaking out because they ran out of flags to throw, so start to pick up the ones they already threw, and throw them down again. The Chief's are gonna be flagged for having 53 men on the field, each infraction costing them five yards. Mitch knows he's got a free play here.

"Oye!" He screams in his native tongue as he meets eyes with his long snapper. But its not the normal pig skin spinner, it's Trent f**king Williams who was disguised as the long snapper the whole time. The shame of the KC players in unbearable, how could they not have seen Trent sneak into the middle of the play, the heart of their defense? Trent was the mother f-ing trojan horse. Most KC players collapse into the fetal position. "Make this play stop," many of them moan as they rock back and forth.

Mitch, sensing some confusion from KC, decides to follow the big man forward. Trent is like Moses parting the entire KC team as the players fall into the fetal position, one by one in his wake. Mitch, just like Jesus had in the story of Moses, walks casually towards the end zone, 75 yards away.

Meanwhile. "The band is on the field! The band is on the field." Exclaims Tony Romo from the booth. It's the best he could think up in the moment. He wishes he had said something that made more sense. Romo scours the field, hoping Usher or Reba McEntire had entered the fray so he could point to them being the band he had just referred to, but neither were in the ball park as far as he could tell. Plus he knew that Jim Nance would have none of his bs out about calling solo performers a band. It's not like Reba and Usher were touring in a band together. God, it would have been so cool if there was a band on the field when I claimed there had been one, Romo thinks to himself.

Mitch crosses the zero yard-line for 8. The fans are freaking out. Everyone is freaking out. The guys at Guinness are besides themselves. There has to be at least 100 records alone just broken on one play. They can write an entire volumes of records on just this game alone. "What a cash cow this sport is," one of the Guiness execs whispers to another, "Who knew?"

Andy Reid throws in the terrible towel, signaling his team's forfeiture.

The crowd, who are all just flipping out at this point, sings in unison, "For he's a jolly good fellow…" to Mitch as he wins superbowl MVP. Romo is just beside himself.

Anyway, that's just one of many ways, Mitch can make me a cool million. Can't wait to buy that mega yatchte

Stopped reading after the first 2 sentences because nope

Originally posted by Zachary:
Stopped reading after the first 2 sentences because nope

Dang, and I wrote it just for you.

Originally posted by Chance:

Originally posted by Zachary:
Stopped reading after the first 2 sentences because nope

Dang, and I wrote it just for you.

10 cents on 100,000/1

Originally posted by Zachary:

Originally posted by Chance:

Originally posted by Zachary:
Stopped reading after the first 2 sentences because nope

Dang, and I wrote it just for you.

10 cents on 100,000/1

Yeah, could have been a multimillionaire had Mitch taken home the MVP.

0.10 x 100,000 = $10,000.00

It's f**king satire guys.

Originally posted by Chance:
It's f**king satire guys.

it's A LOT of satire

I'll finish it by the end of the year i promise

Originally posted by Chance:
I put ten cents on 49ers punter Mitch Wishnowski to win the SB MVP. Vegas has him at 100,000/1 odds to win, so by my math, that would make me a millionaire if it happens. Consider the following plausible scenario to that end:

1st and 10 at the 25, Niners Football. Opening play. As the play-clock operator sets down his coffee and pushes the big green button, the 49ers are rushing the punt team onto the field for the first play of the game. The sleekly designed sports arena, which houses hundreds of people, gasps. It's the loudspeakers trying to convince the fanatics that something interesting is happening. It indeed works as we all gasp too. Everyone in the world.

The bigwigs at Guiness Books of World Records are on hand in the auditorium. They confer with each other near one of the endzones, then they turn to the crowds of hundreds and raise their thumbs proudly. The crowd has indeed broken the record for largest collective gasp of 2024. Hip, hip, hurray! The fans scream in unison. Guiness confers again and that is also the record for most people saying hip, hip, hurray! Two records broken before the playclock has barely counted to ten. Unreal. The fans are f**king stoked.

Meanwhile, the niners hurry to the line in Punt formation. It's all cartwheels and backflips and somersaults as the punt team dances into position. The players from Kansas City, in their crimson cloth, festooned with the entrails from previous opponents, are enthralled by the acrobatic display. They don't even realize that Mitch Wishnowski and Trent f-ing Williams have snuck onto the field behind the other dancing players. It works. The defense starts freaking out when they realize they've been tricked. They cry to the sideline, "what do we do, what do we do?"

The Kansas City sideline is in complete disarray. Reid yells at the ST coordinator, "Get your friggin' unit out there, Donovan!" But what Reid doesn't realize in his existential panic, is it isn't his special team's coach Donovan that he's yelling at, it's sideline reporter Pam Oliver.

Pam, being the empath she is, mirrors Reid's panic and anger. Now she's panicking too. Why don't people understand how hard it is to be an empath? Pam thinks to herself. Then she feels the rage in Andy Reid growing. Maybe it's just his gerd. Who cares, Pam is pissed.

"Punt Team!" she screams as she just starts grabbing KC players from the sideline and tossing them on to the field." Moams, Big Kersey, uh, Poor Chico, Lincoln, Wilson, Adams. Pam throws all the Chief's superstars out there.

It's pandemonium. Everyone from the KC sideline is out there, just tripping over each other.

Mitch takes the long snap. Yellow flags go flying like confetti. The refs are freaking out because they ran out of flags to throw, so start to pick up the ones they already threw, and throw them down again. The Chief's are gonna be flagged for having 53 men on the field, each infraction costing them five yards. Mitch knows he's got a free play here.

"Oye!" He screams in his native tongue as he meets eyes with his long snapper. But its not the normal pig skin spinner, it's Trent f**king Williams who was disguised as the long snapper the whole time. The shame of the KC players in unbearable, how could they not have seen Trent sneak into the middle of the play, the heart of their defense? Trent was the mother f-ing trojan horse. Most KC players collapse into the fetal position. "Make this play stop," many of them moan as they rock back and forth.

Mitch, sensing some confusion from KC, decides to follow the big man forward. Trent is like Moses parting the entire KC team as the players fall into the fetal position, one by one in his wake. Mitch, just like Jesus had in the story of Moses, walks casually towards the end zone, 75 yards away.

Meanwhile. "The band is on the field! The band is on the field." Exclaims Tony Romo from the booth. It's the best he could think up in the moment. He wishes he had said something that made more sense. Romo scours the field, hoping Usher or Reba McEntire had entered the fray so he could point to them being the band he had just referred to, but neither were in the ball park as far as he could tell. Plus he knew that Jim Nance would have none of his bs out about calling solo performers a band. It's not like Reba and Usher were touring in a band together. God, it would have been so cool if there was a band on the field when I claimed there had been one, Romo thinks to himself.

Mitch crosses the zero yard-line for 8. The fans are freaking out. Everyone is freaking out. The guys at Guinness are besides themselves. There has to be at least 100 records alone just broken on one play. They can write an entire volumes of records on just this game alone. "What a cash cow this sport is," one of the Guiness execs whispers to another, "Who knew?"

Andy Reid throws in the terrible towel, signaling his team's forfeiture.

The crowd, who are all just flipping out at this point, sings in unison, "For he's a jolly good fellow…" to Mitch as he wins superbowl MVP. Romo is just beside himself.

Anyway, that's just one of many ways, Mitch can make me a cool million. Can't wait to buy that mega yatchte

So you're saying there's a Chance

Originally posted by Howlett49:
So you're saying there's a Chance

Originally posted by captveg:
0.10 x 100,000 = $10,000.00

Originally posted by Chance:
Mitch don't give a f**k. Adding to his legend by trying to take out a hippy kayaker with a bomb of punt. Just missed the b*****d by inches.

https://youtube.com/shorts/W7Nv7v4eqLI?si=6sYdEapE0emixcFt

That was sick!

Originally posted by GoreGoreGore:

Originally posted by Chance:
It's f**king satire guys.

it's A LOT of satire

I'll finish it by the end of the year i promise

I can imagine him typing this thinking how it's gonna be a HOF s**tpost someday