A date with destiny
I want nothing good to happen to that team. Ever.
--writer/director Barry Levinson, on the Indianapolis Colts
Do you know what it's like to hate,
when it's way down deep inside?
--"Promise," Violent Femmes
Remember that bastard/bitch who broke your heart in high school or college, and how happy you were to find out at your class reunion that they'd grown up fat and unemployed?
That's how we in Baltimore feel about the Indianapolis Colts. Year after year we watch them play splendid seasons, led by the ever-lovable, sitcom-bound Peyton Manning, only to falter in the playoffs. Even when they lost to our archrival Pittsburgh Steelers last year, we rejoiced, for it meant the Colts yet labored under the manifestation of divine justice known as the Mayflower Curse.*
Today the sword of karmic retribution will be wielded by none other than our own Baltimore Ravens. The Ravens are the hunky, successful Mr. Right we grew up to marry, bringing home a Super Bowl championship only five years after they swept us off our feet. But it still hurts to be ditched, even by a loser.
Today the league's best offense fights the #1 defense. It's like one of those theoretical superhero matchups.**
It's the most important game in the history of Ever.
And now, because it'll feel good, I give a nod to Alfred Hitchcock and profuse thanks to an anonymous PhotoShopper, in presenting (WARNING--graphic graphic):
THE BIRDS, PART IIstarring Peyton Manning in the role immortalized by Tippi Hedrin.
Bring on the Purple Pain.
*My own term, named after the van lines they used to cut out of town before dawn on March 28, 1984.
**Spiderman vs. Superboy seems most appropriate.
Labels: football
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