it's official -- i'm brandon banks's no. 1 fan

And I know absolutely nothing about footgame! Which means my No. 1 fan status is even more meaningful. Or something. But whatever, let's review: As all three of The Anti DC's regular readers know, last week I pointed out Mr. Brandon Banks as the next big little thing on our local footgame team. And on Sunday, I believe I was proven correct and now everyone is boarding the Banks train. However, not everyone is as creepily obsessed as me. Here are just some things I said about him in the last two days:

• Brandon Banks is so fast, he can run up an avalanche.

• Brandon Banks is so fast, he can run across the Potomac without getting his feet wet.

• Brandon Banks is so fast, he'd stop time if he ran counterclockwise around the earth.

The rest of the stuff I said about him was mostly brainstorming ideas for Brandon Banks fan fiction. I mean, really, he's a great inspiration, and to think! His name is just about two weeks old in my mind. Clearly, anyone who moves metaphorically that fast, as well as literally, has no choice but to have the workings of a legend. I bet:

• Brandon Banks could find the missing children in the woods before the police can even gather a search team.

• Brandon Banks could rescue a toddler from the burning house before he even started playing with matches.

• Brandon Banks could stop the armed bank robbers before they got their Nixon masks on.
  

Of course, after thinking up these ideas and more, I realized any prose I wrote would be pretty boring. See, Brandon Banks is so fast, he stops the plot from thickening. His running skills would stop the action from even happening. There'd be no nail-biting moments. More likely, Brandon Banks would be able to stop by and trim your nails before you even got the chance.

And so I'm not sure fan-fiction, as ridiculously awesome of an idea it is, would be such a good plan. Instead, I guess I'll just hope I don't blink the next time he takes to the footgame pitch and gets the swine epidermis in his magic hands. Although I know he'll make it to the end area to score some points (or get close enough to allow the rest of the squad to do so), I'd like to be able to follow the blur of burgundy that got him there.

And please, Mr. Banks, no need to worry about a restraining order. As uncannily obsessed with you that I am, certainly you can outrun me.