Retro: Bowl Onion 'link'

Within minutes, the locker room became a portrait of suffering. The quarterback tried to hide his onion inside his helmet, but the stench clung to his gloves. The kicker, a delicate soul, simply held his onion and sobbed. Coach Spuf watched as his star wide receiver bit into the onion like an apple, shuddered violently, and then curled into a fetal position.

He held up the wilted, half-eaten shallot. “Sometimes,” he said, tears finally falling (for which he was fined $5,000), “you just need a smaller layer to win the big game.” retro bowl onion

The second half was a disaster. On the first play, Barry took the handoff, but as he cut left, a single tear blurred his vision. He fumbled. The onion, still undigested, gurgled in his gut like a dying dial-up modem. The opposing team—who had smuggled in a case of hidden ranch dressing—scored 21 unanswered points. Within minutes, the locker room became a portrait

In the post-game interview, a reporter asked Coach Spud the secret to his success. Coach Spuf watched as his star wide receiver

“Coach,” said a rookie sideline reporter, her polygonal hair clipping through her microphone, “the league has issued a new mandatory snack for halftime. It’s… an onion.”

He diced the shallot with his play-calling card, mixed it with a packet of mustard and a squirt of sports drink, and fed it to his quarterback. The QB’s eyes widened. It wasn’t good. But it wasn’t evil .

“A whole, raw, unpeeled onion,” she confirmed. “Each player must consume it. No dipping. No crying. It’s the ‘Retro Bowl Onion Mandate.’ For ‘intestinal grit.’”