Sir Purple vs. The Cowardly Lion

Imagine that football teams are glorious knights in shining armor. Each week they suit up for battle and one fiefdom pins its hopes on their champion to bring them an honorable victory over another fiefdom's champion.

To begin the season Sir Purple faced a number of very noble opponents and suffered some very close, but mostly honorable losses, while managing the same number of hard fought victories.

Then, in week six, as Sir Purple rode into Ye Olde Metrodome marching under the cheers of his adoring fans he faced a new kind of opponent. The NFL handlers dragged out a poor bedraggled lion, slinking and whimpering about, missing most of its teeth, it backed itself into a corner for a safety.

Unimpressed Sir Purple charged, lowering his lance and aiming for the kill. As he bared down on the lion to his surprise it reared up and let out a semi convincing roar. This so startled sir purple that he fumbled his lance--falling to the turf. The lion could not press it's advantage, however, and instead just put some distance between them.

What followed was an embarrassing display of ineptitude by both Sir Purple and the lion as they stumbled after one another, occasionally landing a blow, but most wounds were self inflicted.

As time wound down Ye Olde Official had mercy on Sir Purple tripping the Lion with his flag in a near perfect location for Sir Purple to pull out his Longwell sword and finish the job. The lion twitched as a pool of dark red ink grew underneath him staining the green grass crimson in the afternoon light.

The stadium was silent as the mob was forced to confront the horrors of what they had witnessed. A once proud creature brought low by circumstance, and Matt Millen, dragged into the killing fields for some sport had been allowed to feel like a mighty lion once again because their champion was not up to the job.

Sir Purple waved his banner in victory but the crowd refused to cheer as one by one they shuffled out of the stadium with their heads hanging low. A tear could be seen running down the cheek of more than one swarthy Vikings fan. The sweet taste of victory turned to ashes in his mouth.