Forget all the talking heads on ESPN. The noises which they make nearly always have negligible effect on the outcome of football games. Refuse to lose any sleep over them. The sounds which you can make yourself are those which can help decide this important matter.
Now is the time for all good fans to come to the aid of their Vikings.
Cowboys? Pray to Willie Nelson for our salvation. Yes, they are coming, just like snakes on a plane. Mother-******s, don’t let your children grow up to be Cowboys.
Simply run down to the Dome. When our defense gives you the cue, yell until you wake up Lazarus. Give us your tired, your poor, your huddled masses, yearning to win the Lombardi. Let us shake it high, so that some now-weeping Packer fan can see it.
Keep the faith. The noise worked for Joshua. Your sacred assignment is to put noise to work for the Purple in biblical proportions.
Ask not what your Vikings can do for you; ask what you can do for your Vikings.
It’s time to get on your game face. Get angry. Think of J. R. Ewing. If you are too young for that, then think of Natalie Smith. (No, not like that! You are supposed to be getting angry here! Think of Romo’s mindless face and what you’d really like to do to it.) Ah, that’s the ticket!
Buy your own Viking horn if you can. It’s time to add the sound track to the playoffs.
Don’t fret about whether the players will be ready. That task is theirs to work on.
Do your own job. Rock Mall of America Field forever.
Sure, our house is that antique, inflated dump with giant troughs in the men’s room. Call Onterrio, and find out where you can get that 14-inch Whizzinator. (I hear they even make them for women.) Strut proudly into the restrooms, and show those haughty Dallas fans what real fear is all about.
After all, those oil-and-cattle-rich Texans actually sent a boatload of money up to Minnesota to help re-elect Tim Pawlenty in a close campaign. Why do you think that was? What business does Texas have in running the state of Minnesota? Teach them now that payback really is hell.
Who’s afraid of the big, bad Cowboys?
Sure, I know that Jessie James was from Missouri, but he brought his horseback gang up to Minnesota way back in 1876. The people of Northfield decided to show him exactly what Minnesota Nasty is all about. Do no less for these invaders descending upon you from further on down the line. Become the twelfth man: Vote no on the matter of keeping Dallas in the playoffs.
Let’s not be conservative in our cheering. Scare the hell out of San Antonio as well. Make them remember the Thunderdome: Two teams enter, the Cowboys leave, but in a big pine box.
Yes, my friends, for years and years, so many Viking fans have played the “woe-is-me” card. Many relish how much they have suffered. They wear it like a thorny crown. Well, as Paul Simon once said as well, breakdowns come and breakdowns go. What are you going to do about it? That’s what I want to know. Show them that Minnesota is mad as hell, and is not going to take it any more. Two thousand—one—zero--party over, out of time. Make the Dome start to party like you’re out to avenge a crime.
Your longing for victory itself is older than Bob Dylan. It is an ancient folk movement.
This team is your team. This team is my team, from the Boundary Waters to the pipestone field stream. Do not let those Vikings go gently into that dark night out in southern California. Let your voices be heard loud and clear.
In Thunderdome, the rules are either them or us! Just go Fargo on them. Do exactly what General Patton would want you to do. Put their playoff hopes into the chipper. Let the new history books record that Vikings fans yelled so loudly that the Cowboys all fled away to Mexico, to infinity, and beyond.
I know what you may be thinking: Those wealthy Cowboys’ fans are buying up all those pricy seats from the scalpers. What chance do I have?
Sure, their fans will come frolicking into the Twin Cities with their stars and their ranch attire. These same people took away the North Stars. They’ll be bragging about Miles Austin. Send them back home, regretting that they failed to bring along Steve Austin instead. If they talk to you about Tony Romo, pretend as if you have never heard of the guy. Ask them if he’s that guy whose ribs you once ate at MOA. Send them all home feeling like Colt McCoy after the BCS. Go in to our house both a little bit louder and a little bit prouder.
Inspire your friends and neighbors if you can’t make it personally. Have our season-ticket holders make it clear that it is our house, where no obtrusive scoreboard muffles the sound effects.
Do you believe in miracles?
Is there a home field advantage? That, my fellow fans, is up to you. Are you ready for some football?