Two Halves Make a Whole...

The insanity that has been this season continues and yes, as stated previously, the pressure here mounts. Perhaps someone may actually read this drivel and more importantly form an opinion of the content over here. That being the case there is the distinct possibility that there may be someone other than my dad who struggles with the difficult decision of whether or not to waste another minute and forty eight seconds of their work day because the two idiots over here may or may not have any idea of what they are talking about. Well, I am here to yes. To all of it.

And yes, I had nearly forgotten that when left unattended for more than 24 hours this place turns into a poor hurricane like victim at the mercy of my cohort here who must indulge the fantasy urges to stoke the fires of the oh so cool version of dungeons and dragons for adults; the miraculous fantasyland football life. Fantastic. Oh, wait, you were talking about a suicide pool. My bad, I thought I was going to have to hear another tale of some poor fantasy sap that was about to go all swan dive Acapulco style off the Bridge to Coronado screaming, “Daunte Culpepper ruined my life” right up until the moment of impact. Nice work wisely choosing the Bolts for the suicide...sorry, I mean survival (I am assuming this to be the p.c. term now, ya know, that whole sensitivity thing) pool. Congrats, you’re alive for another week, which is more than Terri Schivo could say.

I like first half predictions. I do. Now, I hope all of that comes true. But what is the real point of this game this weekend? Really, I know its must win and all that, playoffs, yeah, they’re important. I like the playoffs. I want to see what they look like again, but this is about more than just the playoffs. This is about revenge. Revenge I say. I am not the biggest Jet fan around. Less the football team than the band. Nope, I want to extract me some revenge plain and simple. Not only did the Green Gang knock my hopes and dreams out of the playoffs last year, they ruined what would have been the best birthday present ever (Oh, for the love of the white pants in Cabo) and I want me some God damned revenge.

I want to see their 51 year old one legged couch surfing quarterback that's more inept than a short bus full of kids in helmets trying to put out a forest fire by drooling on it, wearing Bolts jerseys with our guys in them all day, and not those damned powder blue ones. We lose every time we wear those damned cool things. I want that guy to be on his way to Sharp Memorial by the time the barbeque gets warm. I want to send Herm Edwards home crying in Pennington’s one armed embrace. I want them dead. Whoa, wait, no, I don’t want them dead, really. But if their plane had a malfunction on the way home, like the air jets stopped working and it got really hot in there and the oxygen masks kept dropping and sirens kept wailing, and everyone got scared in their shorts, that’d be pretty cool. Oh, and so would beating the hell out of them. I truly wanted to get another shot at that team that ruined my birthday last January. Sadly, we don’t get the chance, but that doesn’t mean we can’t take it out on the old lady that’s sleeping in her messy diaper in the third row version of them. That’s all I am saying...

Thanks again to the Deadspin.com guys for thinking that we don’t suck. Hopefully we don’t suck so much that they will come back and visit again.