The season where Kluwe wore "4" is dead and gone.
Will the new year ring in well or will our podcast be interrupted by an untoward announcement from the Mayans?
Alas poor Woody Hayes, I knew him well.
Friends, Vikings, football fans, lend me your ears! I come to bury notions, not to praise them. Sure, maybe you never heard of the ancient college football mariner who broke yard markers and punched players, but in his finer hours he was a Saturday pregame historian who taught us how Hannibal and his troops crossing the Alps on pachyderms could still be used to defeat the loathesome partisans of "that other state".
Do not be blinded by the siren song that tells you five yards and a cloud of dust died with the Lone Ranger. He still rides the plains disguised, but no longer with a ranger's badge, yet beside some faithful Native American companion, cloaked as a tight end.
Fear not AP. I hear tell the Redskins took care of him. Don't work too hard in practice.
Would I lie to you, honey?
As in those stirring days of yesteryear, pretend you are an enemy cornerback alert to the dangers of Adrian Peterson making it to the outside, but alas, your vision of the streaker is obliterated by yon tight end, who came out of nowhere and outweighs you by sixty pounds, easy. Or, suppose you are that opposing linebacker, defending against twin tight ends whose grip upon the heavens is nearer to God than your own, and it's raining pigskins.
In days of yore, ye foe could gather grouped seven, nay eight in the box and thwart our heralded hero with enough athletic equipment alone to choke a school bus or even an APC, let alone Toby Gerhart, but now, attempt that maneuver and feel the wrath of the slant pass to one of the tight ends, the one left unguarded, and measure result of the head-on collision test with the free safety. Can they actually show this carnage on television? Where is the FCC when you so need them most?
The haunting ghost of running with the football still walks upon the misty moors. There is an eerie laugh. If you listen closely while they shoot off fireworks or play Skol Viking in the waning hours of the Metrodome, you can hear him humming Across the Field instead. Is he lost, you might ask? No. History never dies, it just goes into residuals.
We are young. Helmet to helmet we stand. Each of us knowing: football's a battlefield.
I know not what fate others may take, but as for me, give me As the Purple Turns or give me a kick off out of the end zone by Blair Walsh. It's just way too tiring chasing Devon Hester.
Yes, Mr. Discount Double-check. Throw that long ball now. There's a new sheriff in town. They call him Mr. Smith. Hint: He's not Jimmy Stewart.