With the postseason now officially underway, everyone is understandably talking and writing about the playoffs; the teams, the players, the match-ups, and who they think has the best chance of hoisting the Lombardi Trophy in February.
Many of these conversations/articles will be insightful, chock full o' knowledge about the 12 teams gearing up for glorious combat for our amusement. They will make you a better informed football fan, and, possibly, a better human being for reading them.
If you like the sound of that, I suggest you find one and read it.
Instead, we present to you, Battle Red Faithful, a vitriolic, sarcastic, snark-laden prayer for all the haters out there about 11 of the 12 teams playing this post-season.
It may not be coherent; in fact, if I manage to write this without typing every other letter backwards, I'll consider it a grand success. It may not be thoughtful, but this is the playoffs. This is no time for rational thinking. Instead, let us swim, nay, marinate in hate for our fellow playoff teams until our fingers become pruny.
So with no more ado, let us take the jump and make our first offering to the god of Texans' playoff success: Wade.
Enjoy. And if you happen to be a fan of one of the teams listed here, well...haters gonna hate, I guess.
Dearest Almighty Wade,
Please accept this humble offering of a light snack in the form of 1,910 fajitas from Ninfa's on Navigation and hear our pleas for this postseason.
- May the Patriots have a quick exit from the playoffs because Tom Brady played like Curtis Painter. May it later be learned that he intentionally tanked the game so he would not miss out on what would be his calling: Touring with the Worcester, Mass. Transvestite Burlesque Revue playing the role of Farrah Fawcett in their homage to Charlie's Angels.
- May Aaron Rodgers accidentally expose himself whenever he does that stupid touchdown dance of his. May the crowd at Lambeau Field laugh heartily at his shortcomings when this occurs, forcing Rodgers to retire out of sheer embarrassment and be forced to sell meteor insurance for a living.
- May Alex Smith remember suddenly that he is, in fact, Alex Smith and get called for three intentional grounding penalties in their game, like he has through most of his career.
- May Joe Flacco finally figure out how to play like a Pro Bowl quarterback for 58 minutes of their game. May those last two minutes see him revert back to his usual Joe Flaccid skill set and cost the Ravens a heartbreaking loss. May this make Ray Lewis glad he took pointers from his buddies on that night in Atlanta back in 2000; that he may make use of them again...I mean, later.
- May the mere presence of Ndamukong Suh cause Drew Brees' birthmark to leap off of his head and seek shelter at the Superdome. May Drew Brees be running right behind it.
- May Skyline "chili" be served at a Texans tailgate party alongside real, honest-to-Wade Texas chili. May the Texas chili bitch-slap the hell out of the Skyline "chili" until the last whistle blows, when it will finally boot said "chili" back north where it belongs.
- May the Broncos play under a clear blue sky during the game against the Stealers. May, whenever Tim Tebow goes back to pass, a lightning bolt strike the ground one foot away from him before he throws the ball as a warning to just stop. Because the deity of your choice hates ugly, and Tebow's quarterbacking is uglier than Cortland Finnegan on a three-week meth bender.
- May memories of the Beastquake seep into the minds of the New Orleans Saints' defense five minutes before the game begins. May Maurice Morris set a new playoff record for rushing as a result.
- Almighty Wade, what can I say about the San Francisco 49ers that hasn't already been said about the Dallas Cowboys? Both have boneheaded quarterbacks, both have problems with living in the past, and an entire generation of children will likely graduate high school without having seen either of these teams in the Super Bowl. Wade, may both of these teams see yet another generation of children mature to adulthood without these teams getting a whiff at the Super Bowl.
- Since referees rent their brains by the hour, may the refs calling the Texans game go to a more upscale place for their brain-rental needs than their usual stop: Abby Normal's Discount Brain Bin-O-Rama. May they call penalties against teams other than the Texans, for once. Or may BFD, Tim, TDC, and MDC kidnap and replace the referees for that game, with MDC announcing the penalties over the loudspeaker.
- May the Stealers' offensive line have more holes than Ben Roethlisberger's alibi. May Troy Polamalu's hair and Dunta Robinson's dreadlocks find, in one another, true love. May this force both players out of their respective games and into the nearest salon to untangle the nest of hot, squealing like pigs, anticipating the follicular lust that would shortly ensue. May that thing on Bud Adams' head grow despondent and jealous and throw itself onto a straight razor.
- May Brian Cushing sack Andy Dalton so many times that Dalton's hair turn white with fear, thus rendering the quarterback useless and providing him with a soul.
- May Eli Manning be suddenly struck with the worst case of gas in the history of civilization. May his farting be so constant and apparent that it eventually replaces his snap count against Atlanta and ultimately produces a blue cloud that hovers somewhere over the Hudson River.
- May Bill Belichick force-choke his defensive coordinator on national television after learning he has been using Frank Bush's playbook all season. May said defensive coordinator spontaneously combust after using plays from the section "Bad Playz, Do Nott Youz."
- May Colt McCoy get ahold of a James Harrison voodoo doll. May he make said doll perform "I'm A Little Teapot" in front of the crowd at Mile High Stadium (or is it Invesco Field? I can't remember) during the game; may this be followed by him repeatedly punching himself in the groin and squeaking out, "Thank you, Buttercup, would you like another?" after each punch.
- Lastly, I would like to hate on Detroit, but how can you hate on something that the universe has been hating on for decades now? Between Matt Millen, Dan Orlovsky, the only 0-16 season in NFL history, Eminem, and that mayor who got kicked out of office for sexting his secretary (I think), they've been hated on enough. Oh, I know. May Calvin Johnson decide this offseason that he wants to play for the Texans next year.
In Wade's name we pray, touchdown.
Got some offerings to Wade Almighty? Add them to the comments below!
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