by Alex Poletti
Photo by Jonathan Bachman/Getty Images
After expressing his disappointment about the number his lack of targets during last week’s wild card matchup against the New Orleans Saints, Minnesota Vikings wide receiver Stefon Diggs missed his second straight practice this week. While he is officially listed as out with an illness, Diggs told The Second String that he has been taking time off to finish his collection of edgy poems.
“These guys don’t respect me out there,” Diggs confesses. “Kirk [Cousins] doesn’t throw to me, [head coach] Mike [Zimmer] tells him not to throw to me and [Adam] Theilen has no sympathy. When they read my 42 poems on the matter, I think they’ll finally get how it feels.”
Once feared as a top receiving talent in the league, Diggs has developed one of the game’s largest egos. After seeing his targets get cut from 149 to 94, the Maryland alum was a little. Despite his limited number of targets and catches, Diggs actually finished the 2019-2020 season with his highest receiving yardage total of his career.
The feelings were reinvigorated on Sunday, when he was not targeted in the entirety of the first half. After expressing his frustration to coaches and fellow players alike on the sideline, he finished the game with two receptions on three targets. Still, this wasn’t enough to keep the emotions at bay.
“When I get frustrated, I try to channel it into my work,” Diggs explains. “I was so mad about being excluded from the offense that I couldn’t go to practice. The angst really fueled my poetry, and I just couldn’t put the pen down.”
Most of his poems seem to center on dissing a teammate or coach. According to Diggs, most of the work gets done after games when he feels particularly left out. Grappling with themes of isolation, self worth and his $72 million contract, his most recent piece, a slam poem about his quarterback entitled “Smirking Kirk,” is one of his favorites.
“Smirking Kirk, too besmirched to work,” Diggs starts, donning the traditional slam poetry beret for the performance. “My quirk is that I go berserk like a Turk. Don’t lurk, Kirk, you’re not Dirk.”
The poem lasted for 45 minutes, at which point both reporters for The Second String had quit their jobs and attempted to join Buddhist monasteries to escape whatever society had allowed this.
