Trey Burton's time with the Bears is going to be remembered as strange, and there really isn't any other way to put it. I was excited about him in 2018 after singing him in the offseason, and he had a relatively successful year. Didn't blow the doors off of defenses week in and week out, but 54 catches 569 yards and 6 touchdowns is more than respectable. After reportedly not playing in the Wild Card Game against the Eagles because of anxiety, something went wrong. Whether it was losing the locker room, Nagy losing faith in him, or if what Trey is saying, being misdiagnosed with an injury prior to the start of 2019, things still don't add up.
Not to discount Trey's alleged claims, but I almost died at the hands of a nun in fourth grade. I know what you're thinking- no she didn't beat me senselessly with a yard stick despite deserving that more than a few times. Now don't get me wrong, this nun was normally pretty alright, no Whoopi Goldberg in the Sister Act, but definitely wasn't the worst substitute teacher we would get when our teachers decided they needed the day off.
When I woke up for school this morning, I felt like I had cramps in my stomach. At the time, I really didn't understand it, but when my Dad asked me if I need a tampon I knew it was an insult. Then my mother, a nurse, told me I was fine and I was going to school, at the time I thought this was insulting. Looking back on it now, I do realize that I tried pulling a Ferris Bueller more than once, as well as the oatmeal in a ziploc bag trick in the toilet. Never worked, but the effort was there.
After telling my friends while waiting in line outside of school in the morning that I was going to go home because I didn't feel good, I was yet again met with insults. Our 4th grade football teams was scheduled to scrimmage the public league team after school that day. I don't mean public league as an insult- they were all a year older than us and obviously had a few more hairs on their nuts than us. Needless to say, I understood where they were coming from. It was a tough life considering I was constantly being switched between playing fullback and guard at this point in my career so I knew I'd be on my ass most of the scrimmage because of the unnecessary amount of plays our fourth grade football team had a pulling guard. I guess that's why we were winners and everyone else hated us, but I digress.
But before our morning prayers an announcements were over, I asked our sub, Sister Joellen if I could go to the bathroom because I felt sick, and she obliged. After 10 minutes of alternating between trying to throw up and shit I went back to class and was hunched over my desk like someone was continually kicking me in the nuts. Sister Jo told me to say a Hail Mary and I'd be fine, and if that didn't work after a few minutes, she'd send me down to the office to get a peppermint.
I'm not sure if it was like this at other types of schools, but every person I knew who went to Catholic Grammar school remembers getting a peppermint when their stomach hurt. No one really understands the health benefits of the class red and white peppermint you only find in school offices and your grandmother's purse, but they work. It's 100% mental, but surprise surprise, when the Hail Mary didn't work, I was sent to retrieve my peppermint.
After having tears beginning to swell out of my eyes on my walk to the office, I was greeted by the sweethearts in the main office. Instead of being given a peppermint, I was ordered to go pack my things, and that they would call my parents because they "knew the peppermint wouldn't do anything for this."
I walk back in, without a peppermint in my mouth and it was like I had betrayed Jesus for 30 pieces of silver, but instead I was told to pack my things and go home for the day. Sister Jo forced me to sit down at my desk, and open my Religion book to page 73 and read the third paragraph on the page.
How do you remember the exact page and paragraph?
Great fucking question! I'll never be able to understand what it was like to be ambushed by the Vietcong, but this was pretty damn close. Call it stolen valor all you want, but when it felt like I was being repeatedly stabbed in the stomach by a 13-year old Vietnamese kid who came flying out of the trees like it was Jeff Hardy from the top of a ladder in a TLC Match. I couldn't do it, I didn't care who knew, but I looked Sister Jo in the eyes and told her God could wait today.
She refused to let me leave the room after that brief exchange so I waited in the room until my friends in the office came down to grab me after I had disappeared for about 15 minutes. Thankfully, my old man came and picked me. I was overjoyed, I was going home but my fucking Dad decided to walk and pick me up because he didn't believe I actually had to go home.
Granted, the walk home takes less than 10 minutes, by the time I got home, I was carrying more clothes in my hands than I was wearing on my body because I couldn't bear the pressure they were putting on my midsection. Again, call me a pussy but at this point I felt like a Blood walking home from a knife fight with my red sweater vest in my hands. Eventually, after rolling around on my bathroom floor for about an hour, my Dad decided to take me on a visit to my Mom at work. Needless to say, Sister Jo's hostage situation led my appendix to burst and ultimitaley put a hamper on my fourth grade football career, because nothing was the same after I returned from surgery towards the end of the season. In fact, I never lined up at fullback until 8th grade again, and that definitely had nothing to do with me having no skill or speed.
While at the hospital that day, I also found out I wasn't gay when I had a doctor shove his hand up my ass like I was trying to make it in the porn industry. Apparently you're able to feel someone's appendix when you do this, but I just have a feeling he thought my chubby 4th grader ass was looking pretty plump that day.
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