Monday, January 14, 2008

Holy Hell...


Seriously? Like, seriously? What in the holy hell are you fuckers trying to do to me? Are you aware that my heart can't take this kind of shit? Fuck me running, what in the holy hell happened early yesterday morning? If you ask me, I couldn't give you one iota of clear thinking as that scene unfolded in Indytown. All I know is something changed within the heart and soul of our footballing squad. We're apparently all growns up now. And it couldn't have happened at a better time.

This thing was an absolute whirlwind. My phone was literally exploding forth with messages with every single snap of the football. From the first quarter doomsday prophecies, to the second quarter realizations that we were playing the zebras as well, to the third quarter injury survival mode, to the fourth quarter cardiac arrest. This thing had it all. It was truly a team effort, not only on the field, but within the faithful watching, constantly talking each other off of the ledge.

There were even premonitions, beginning with a hopeful wish for a pick six, that was nearly realized as Cromartie tried to fulfill that destiny. These guys were certainly not going to be denied, and it took every bit of balls they had to pull it off. The diffference? This was the first time that this team has actually shown the testicular fortitude to beat a superior opponent. Take all the analysis, take all the prognostications, take all the expert opinion, and tell that team, that team you saw yesterday, that they can't win. Sweet fucking Jesus, Billy Volek led the 'game winning' touchdown drive. Fuck, seriously? I still can't fucking believe that happened. No fucking way that happened...I guess I won't give up that fantasy that involves me, Megan Fox, the entire cheerleading squad, a bottle of Jack Daniels and a 55 gallon drum of lube. Anything is fucking possible and I won't let you talk me out of that...

Welcome back fellas. Holy hell. Here's a suggestion. How 'bout we just continue this ride, roll on into bastardtown and fuck up some shit. How 'bout we just go on into their house, make some fucking snow angels, and beat the piss out of those assholes everyone and their fucking drunken stepmother would like to see bitch slapped on the national stage. Why the fuck not? I've got another week in me, and hell, I'll be heavily sedated anyway on the good kind of prescription shit, so fuck it. What the hell do we have to lose?

3 comments:

Blogust said...

I loved how we out-and-out won that game. No flukes and no bad calls. It was clear the best team won.

Maximum Colossus said...

There were plenty of bad calls. They all just happened to be against us. You could make a case that we would have run away with that game if the officials hadn't made with the home cookin'. Holding on the TD. Phantom P.I. Official talking other official into pulling his flag on another P.I. All pretty big calls.

Blogust said...

What I mean to say is that no flukes and no bad calls determined the outcome of the game. Solid win.