Getting to Know … Asher Allen

The NFL Draft was this past weekend and after the dust had settled, the Minnesota Vikings were able to walk away with five separate players that could readily contribute to the team. In our week long effort to introduce all five individuals, we’ll continue by getting to know former Georgia Cornerback and the Vikings third round pick, Asher Allen, a bit better …

Greetings fellow Georgian! Let us slap five finger together in a celebratory gesture!

Greetings fellow Georgian! Let us slap five finger together in a celebratory gesture!

Name: The God given name bestowed upon my infant like body was Asher Wellington Able Allen, the IV, good sir.

Age: In the year of our Lord, my loins have been fine aged to the ripe youthful calendar year of twenty and one.

College and college position: Forsooth! I had the wondrous fortunes of performing my fiendish acts of footballian devilry on the hallowed grounds of Athens, Georgia, a modern day Roman Empire of physical fortitude, mental prowess, and delectable lady treats in the finest of cotton weaved pantaloons.

Thoughts on the Minnesota Vikings: Rub a dub, those villainous Vikings are quite the lolly gag, are they not, fair sir? Parading and waffling in their purple attire, FOR SHAME! The fairest of Vikings could not waggle a lollipop at the fiercest of Bulldogs from the village of Georgia. Yet, astounded I am, as my mangy blood will now course through the veins of said purple wardrobe. Perhaps I shall bring some huff and puff to this newly acquired allegiance and inspire ram rod type behavior!

Feelings of getting drafted: Odin’s beard, it was a momentous occasion! The ink black days and nights that crept up my spine in the darkest of midnights melted away like butter on a biscuit pilfered from a preferred local bakery in the peak of the summer solstice. Hello dear world! Asher Wellington Able Allen, the IV, has burst forth from his adolescent cocoon of ignorance and immaturity to tackle, quite figuratively and literally I may add, the NFL brethren that have wetted their delicate digits before me! Embrace life, for this is the golden age of prospect and honey fingers!

First thing you’ll buy with your check: Bordello or brothel, what shall I purchase? I do fancy that I shall procure the most prized chariot seen this side of the river of Mississippi. It shall be fit for a choir of golden locked virgin angels, or rather one Asher Wellington Able Allen, the IV! Guffaw! Perhaps I will line the insides with gold leaf, and the finest silken pillows and Middle Eastern drapery that capital can acquire. When patrons of this fine Vikings city gander in scorn at my modus transportation, they shall be overcome with jealous blood rage at their misfortune for not having the foresight to pluck destiny from life’s plush finger tips, and I shall remain haughty.

Always been a Georgia boy?: Truth be a pickle and a pickle is green, fine sir, yes! I have indeed been a southern lad in my life entirety. Yet for us meat sacks to ever grow and learn, we must expand our horizons beyond the edge of the flat Earth and face the fears of what have left us cold at night, and still at dusk. We must set forth, tackle the unknown with vigor and buoyancy! To leave beyond all you have ever known is to learn an item that you have never learnt, and when combined with the book that is your young life, my friend, well … you are left with quite a long tale indeed!

A lofty interception, fellow Georgian! Guffaw!

A lofty interception, fellow Georgian! Guffaw!

Came out of college early: Quite true, young dandelion, I did, I did! While still an infantile seedling in the game of life, I felt the suffocating urge to test my unyielding talents against the best of the best, tooth and nail, tree fig to apple pie. I had become noticeably scholarly yet realized that my mental growth was limited by my familiarity. Books, while lofty tools of tutelage for teetering toddler minds, are limited in their brow beating experience, that can only be absorbed by failing, and picking ones self up again, to fight another day. This, this is my tutor in the Football League of National importance.

Played through a broken hand: Alas, my appendage met an unruly match in the form of an ungainly misunderstanding at an under aged gathering in Athens. I had chatted most briefly with a knowledgeable student I had just met, when in exiting I offered him to “cole me down on the panny sty”, which he had mistakenly heard as “cole me on the panny sty”. Needless to say, after this devastating communicado, we were forced to come to fisticuffs, regardless of my profuse apologies and obvious dismay at the mere consideration that I would ever wish such a thing upon another courteous soul. After our fist diplomacy, we recouped with a pint of fine brown ale, but nay, the damage to my feeler had been settled, and as they say, the horse must ride on.

Part of a tough SEC defense: Glory days, they were indeed! The toughest of the tough, the bravest of the brave, the Conference of East by South knows how to raise their lads to become life taking rage men, hunting human beings across the carefully manicured green fields to prevent fictional scoring in an oh-so-real diversion. The brutish behavior is partially taught under the beating sun, but more often than naught, it is in the dust that we breathe, the water that gives us life, and the air that surrounds us. The bestiality bursts from our guts, and intermittently our loins, once we step foot in our armor upon the field of shadows, and further reimages us as the last line of defense in an immoral world.

Played with Stafford, now with Lions: Ah, yes, Matthew Staffordian Danglefoot, my old flask bellianed teammate and confidant! It shall be a battle for the wits of kings to square off with him for years to come. It translates roughly into a Shakespearean tale, friend becomes foe, allies become enemies, lovers become murderers … ahah, ghastly thought that! Yet when a Lion faces a Vikings, and the battle axe of lore cuts deep into the marrow of the feline, the cat’s blood will boil over onto the crimson nectar of decades past that have also tasted the pointed edge of the axe blade and realize that their destiny is DOOM! Arrange your fate, Staffordian, for the Vikings are preparing the pillage!

Parting words: Hail, fair fans of the Norse! Do not be afraid of my chiseled features or swaggering gait! Soon, all fans will appreciate the poise I carry myself with, as I will soon carry the team in a most similar manner. By then, all frail opponents shall know the name, Asher Wellington Able Allen, the IV!

(With a special nod to the move “Role Models” and Joe Lo Truglio aka Kuzzik!)

PJD

About PJD

I once saw Paul Edinger kick a 56-yard field goal for the Minnesota Vikings against the Green Bay Packers to win a game in the Metrodome. It was exhilarating.

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