It kills me to say it, but the NFL has gone from Stones 1972 to

Nicki Minaj now

Women are going crazy over the “50 Shades of Grey” movie trailer. Oh, sure, women get all turned on when a billionaire tries kinky stuff, but if a Radio Shack clerk tried that, he’d get punched in the nose.

Random rambling randoms

Do you want proof that Hollywood stars are isolated idiots? Then how about certified non-smart actors, Penelope Cruz and Javier Bardem’s letter in defense of Hamas?

How is it possible for celebrities like George Clooney and Taylor Swift and Jennifer Lawrence to be such great celebrities, and then you have Justin Bieber and Kristen Stewart who are such world-class tool-bags?

On the happier side, I have a new go-to must-make salad:

Grilled halved hearts of romaine with grilled lemon and honey mustard salad dressing with sprinkles of blue cheese and bacon.

In a small bowl mix honey mustard with the juice of one grilled lemon. That’s it. Drizzle olive oil and season hearts of romaine with salt and pepper, grill for a couple of minutes until you get some grill marks.

Dust the grilled halved hearts of romaine with blue cheese – or feta cheese – sprinkle some bacon crumbles and drizzle the honey mustard grilled lemon dressing.

How glad am I to not play Fantasy Football this season? So glad. Why? Because it, Fantasy Football, sucks. Why? Because the NFL mostly sucks. 

How did they take a position so awesome and exciting as running back and, except for a handful of players,  make it an after-thought? 

Thanks to that annoying Peyton Manning chess game of fling and dink, they turned the running back from Eric Clapton to a saxophone side-man who only honks a few times on every other song while shaking a tambourine.

Now with even more concussions happening and much tighter safety rules and only getting the ball out on the flats unprotected, injuries are up and the running back position has shrunk in significance. 

And if you don’t have one of the five top whip-smart QB’s, Manning, Brady, Luck, Rodgers and Brees, who can run the rink and dink, and then a lucky running back who comes from nowhere to have a burst-out year, you have no chance in FF.

Not to mention all the world class, should-be-in-prison assholes in the NFL now, Nadamkusong Suh, Ben Roethlisburger, Ray Rice, Richie Incognito, Riley Cooper. 

Not to sound like an old guy, but . . . when I was watching those awesome players like Gail Sayers, Walter Payton, Marcus Allen, Joe Montana, John Brockington and Jerry Rice, I somehow knew the NFL could not get better than this. But I had no idea it would fall so far: 

Running back gains four yards, gets tackled by a linebacker and they both get up and dance. Then the running back takes himself out of the game to suck on oxygen while we cut to more commercials. 

It kills me to say it, and I still love my Chicago Bears, but between the endless commercials and the new pussy-tackle-rules and the new protect-the-super-star-QB rules and counter-the-counter-counter line of scrimmage play-calling strategies, to put it in musical terms, the NFL has gone from the Rolling Stones circa 1972 to fricking Nicki Manaj.

Yes, it is that bad.