I have already declared the death of the dab, as have many others. The declaration was more of an acknowledgement that it had already been dead, and in fact had been dead for some time, and so needed no more acknowledgement. I promised myself I wouldn't write about said dab anymore, and I even let myself believe it. But this is too egregious to let go: Roger Goodell has killed the dab right into a whole new level of death. Not even Satan can locate the dab anymore. There is a death beyond death, and Roger Goodell sent it there.
In a hermetically-sealed interview with NBC's Good Morning America, which was no doubt scripted to a T by Overlord Goodell, newscaster Robin Roberts tries to coerce Goodell to dab by using a little bit of reverse psychology, saying, "I won't make you dab or anything."
What ensues is a frenetic, spasmodic series of gestures that appears to be Roberts' attempt to stab herself in the head with the inside of her elbow. Goodell, seemingly bewitched by an involuntary, sympathetic, and conformist human response, leans in to do what can only be described as a version of Heads Up, Seven-Up being played inside a cubist painting. I won't specify which, but Goodell's movement bears the discomfiting resemblance to a certain geometric fascist war salute.
And so this is it. A man who makes his money off a blood sport that devours young people, taking what was once an Atlanta club scene dance move and ending it forever. This is how it ends. Goodnight.