From Turf to Pastures: The Saga of Joe Burrow’s Horse Ranch (Because Apparently QBs Need Ponies Now)
[Sound of the coffee mug being slammed down] Is this thing on? Who cares. It’s… stupid o’clock in the morning.
Houses That Make Me Want to Cry (or Become a Quarterback)
Okay, so Joe Burrow. Mr. “I throw balls good.” Got himself a little place in Cincinnati. And when I say little, I mean it’s probably visible from space. Joe Burrow’s house Cincinnati is less ‘house’ and more ‘small country’. 7,300 square feet? That’s not a house, that’s… I don’t even know. A stadium? A small moon? $7.5 million. MILLION! I sold a house today with a leaky faucet and felt accomplished. Guess I’ll just go live in a cardboard box now.
Horsing Around (Literally, Because Why Not?)
And get this – it’s not just a house. It’s a whole Joe Burrow horse farm. Because apparently, when you’re an NFL star, you wake up and think, “You know what I need? Horses. Lots of ’em.” Meanwhile, I killed my cactus. A cactus! How do you even do that? I’m not gonna give out Joe Burrow’s house address, but if you see a place that looks like it could host the Kentucky Derby and the Super Bowl at the same time, you’re probably in the right neighborhood.
Living Large (While I’m Just… Existing)
You know, I’ve been to some nice places. Showed a house in gated community Leawood KS last month. Thought it was fancy. Ha! Bet Burrow’s got gold-plated hay bales or something. Do horses eat hay? Or is that just in movies? I’m too poor to know about horse diets.
Why Am I Not a Horse Girl?
Maybe I should’ve been a football player. Or a horse… trainer? Rider? What do you call people who hang out with horses professionally? Is that a real job? Can I whisper to houses and make them worth millions? [Long pause, sound of forehead hitting desk] You know what? Forget houses. Forget Joe Burrow and his fancy Joe Burrow horse ranch. I’m gonna… I’m gonna start a new career. Professional napper. That’s a thing, right? It should be. I’d be great at it. If anyone needs me, I’ll be here. Drowning in listing photos and dreaming of a world where I can afford more than instant noodles. Maybe I’ll buy a horse. A tiny one. For my tiny apartment. That’ll show ’em. I need sleep. Or coffee. Or a fairy godmother who specializes in real estate miracles. Is that a thing? It should be. I’d settle for a fairy god-realtor at this point. [Unintelligible mumbling fades into soft snoring]