You Played Yourself 9: The Slap

Here we go, the biggest night of your career, third time’s a charm, hopefully, the big prize dodged you twice already,

Past few years been a rough ride, box-office bombs and shit ‘bout your personal life, least of which the entanglement with the wife,

2022 was supposed to be a return to form, a redemption of sorts for you to reclaim the throne,

Then things got underway, at first played out as expected, ‘til the court jester took centre stage, what followed no one saw coming,

Cracked a joke that involved the missus, initially had you laughing but damn, she was steaming,

Off you strode up onto the stage, the smile long gone, smacked that fool in the chops before casually walking off,

Then cursed him out loud, twice, ‘Keep my wife’s name out your fuckin’ mouth’, nice,

Got him lost for words while everyone present turned to stone, not long after they declared you the winner, got you all emotional, the tears they did roll,

So you’re going home a winner, but it’s a lot more complicated, Brother,

You made a damn fool of yourself, they’re talking ‘bout it all over, in tones that hardly serve to flatter,

No award’s gonna undo the damage, way to throw your brand away,

Career now on life support, never know if or when they’ll pull the chord,

You played yourself.

Felt the need to defend your wife’s honour, well that part is understandable,

Not sure if his verbal missiles were directly even aimed at her, could’ve only been about the film that he’d mentioned,

Nevertheless you could’ve and should’ve handled it better, what got into ya?

You were laughing just seconds ago, come on, Bro, why flip the switch to aggro?

Did she tell you to sort him out right there and then? Her non-reaction’s kinda telling,

Could’ve stopped you from making the front pages but sat there just keeping her quiet,

Could’ve handled it like a grown adult would, taken him aside then chew him for being so rude,

Tell him he’s out of pocket for that bullshit, that the missus wasn’t having it,

Way to provide your critics with extra ammunition, the ones saying she has your balls in a death grip,

Owns your heart and soul like a female mantis, day by day manipulating,

They’re saying, also, that you were just trying to act all hard and macho,

Still competing with the slain rapper that she still diggin’, gotta bury the notion that you’re soft like napkins, that you, too, can somehow be masculine,

Not gonna touch them August jokes, that’s for another post, but they’re still out there, Friend, branding you the second letter of the Greek alphabet,

And of course the C and S words rhyming with buck and shrimp, only gets worse from here, better get a grip,

They might take that prize from you, that ‘nice cool guy’ rep in a shambles,

Probably won’t be invited next year or to the one right after, ‘cuz you got caught up in your feelings like a sucker,

Throwing hands to combat temporary emotions, such behavior’s unbecoming of a responsible adult,

Count your lucky stars he ain’t pressing charges, could’ve had five-o on your ass after that career revival,

As for your fellow winners and attendees way to ruin their night,

Stole their thunder and made it all ‘bout you, if you’re punished, well, it kinda serves you right,

Time will tell if this’ll blow over, hopefully it won’t be a career-killer,

In any case, congrats on the win, Sir, third time turned out to be a charm,

Just a damn shame that in the end you’d done less good and plenty of harm,

You played yourself.

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