Rock around now with us as we turn back the clock to 1946 for this atomic blast:

 

Anybody here... seen the Cleveland Rams?

Can you tell me where they've gone?

Seems the good, they just die young.

I just looked around and they're gone.

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Why We Watch, (period)...

For those seeking relief who have not yet done so, please do as I did and go see the movie Moneyball. 

Don't let anything David Letterman has said stop you. 

It's mercifully not about football, nor do you have to understand math to appreciate it.  

(If you are a Minnesotan, don't fool yourself into thinking the movie is all about how former Twin William Lamar Beane the Third's life dreams are shattered by the Minnesota Twins.  That's probably not the kind of message movie for which  Brad Pitt would enlist himself.)  

(As for those of you familiar with my own personal insanity, the point of my touting this movie is not the giant, iconic, scarlet image of Chief Wahoo appearing near the beginning of the flick either, but then I surely doubly digress. if not worse.)  

After the break, the rest of this blurb is about why we watch the Minnesota Vikings, a question I am quite certain many of you must be asking yourselves, your friends, and your neighbors to the point of numbness.

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Having coached kid’s soccer myself, it’s certainly easy for people like me to wonder why a sport Americans call “football” in fact makes so such fun of punters and kickers, the only people who normally apply their feet to the ball.  It’s one of those crazy, ironic, American things, (as George Carlson once noted) like our constant driving on the parkway and parking in the driveway.  But, wait, it almost makes sense historically.

Sports camp, training camp, kitsch-camp, Walter Camp…, it’s still rock and roll to me.

“Oh for crying out Bud Grant,” you may well be saying to yourself, “what does Walter Camp have to do with the Minnesota Vikings and the 21st century NFL?”

Unknown to many among us, Walter Camp, a guy born before the Civil War (or the War of Northern Aggression for those so-inclined) and living in Connecticut, is the father of American football.

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"Those words that you're liable to read in the bible, it ain't necessarily so..."  -Sportin' Life

(Porgy and Bess, Ira Gerswhin)

 

Here's an article from the left coast (L.A. Times) related to a Minnesota stadium: http://www.latimes.com/sports/la-sp-nfl-report-20110811,0,4035461.story

Well, there's the whole truth and nothing but the truth and then there's "not exactly"...

Reporter Brian asked Owner Wilf in Mankato:  "Zygi, should Vikings fans be nervous that LA has more momentum now than Minnesota...?" 

Zygmunt Wilf replied: "No.  We have momentum here in Arden Hills."

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Drum roll please!  The 90th man is now on board, taking the Viking ship to the legal NFL roster limit of the moment. 

The very last Viking (so far), signed up at the start of training camp, is free agent Scott Kooistra, offensive tackle, a seven-year NFL vet, formerly of the Ravens, Browns, and Bengals, 6-6, 335, age 30, who played for N C State and was born in Madison, WI. 

Now, all of you fine people who have been looking for help at tackle know who was left on the top of the available part of the barrel, come closing time.

Welcome Scott. 

Fans will like you better than Ryan Cook, who had a persistent, bad habit of jumping offside. 

Everyone starts somewhere.  Beat people out, and good luck staying aboard.

Yes, simply because no news about a new stadium may appear in your local Minnesota paper and your shorts are now twisted in granny knots yearning for wideouts does not mean that those objects in your rearview mirror are not much larger than they appear.  

A word to the wise is sufficient (meaning: please watch your step and your elected officials like a hawk). 

Sure, there are opponents to everything, but as Don Henley once sang, "the wolf is always at your door."  

FYI, here "fair and balanced and without any cell phone tapping" is exactly what other people are reading this week on a Planet Hollywood, far, far away:

http://www.latimes.com/sports/la-sp-farmer-nfl-la-20110726,0,3017968.story

Time waits for no man.  Don't wait until the emperor to reveals the fully operational Death Star and sets the crosshairs of it on you, because there's plenty of room at the Hotel California...

Presuming a 2011 NFL season actually exists, the Vikings are in good stead to take advantage of new rule changes in the NFL which will allow 46 active players suited up and eliminate the previously included emergency quarterback provisions.

If the Vikings acquire Marc Bulger or similar experienced quarterback to the roster, Joe Webb could be active and serve in a dual role as a receiver or quarterback, thus filling two roles from one active slot.  It's virtually like having 47 active players.  

There will no lnger be an inactive third quarterback who can come into the game in the event of injuries.

"Ten million years from now, when the sun burns out and the earth is just a frozen snowball hurling through space, nobody's going to care whether or not I got this guy out."  - Tug McGraw

 

 Oh really?  Welcome to the other side of Zen.  As George Washington's Frenchie allies said during the revolution, "au contraire."   It's time to blow some Yankee Doodle at the enemy.

Getting this guy (or gal) out.  That's what you should be doing, Minnesota voter.   Put them on your list.  "But far beyond forever, you'll be mine."   Political waffle games?  We know a little game too, one called Now I've Got You, You SOB. (reference-Berne, Eric, Ph. D.)

"...by opposing end them?...'tis a cosummation devoutly to be wished" (-el Bardo).  As my guru the great Yogi once said, "It ain't over 'til it's over."

Yes, today's episode does involve drinking Irish whisky, folks.  Adjusting your mind to your circumstances is the best thing that you can have going for you.  This rant is about the proper reaction to illegitimate screwing by your unduly elected officials. 

Speaking of the good outcomes from mindless screwing, maybe like Tim McGraw, you ought to be thinking of George Washington, or, say, Thomas Jefferson...

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In the words that the immortal Crash Davis spoke to Nuke LaLoosh, don't think. . .it can only hurt the ball club. - Chris

Y'all gather around.  Come over to the Dark Side, Celie.   I am your father, Luke, and I'm here to teach you what being screwed over is really all about.

No, you won't be seeing this stuff on the Oprah Winfrey Network (..."I'm mad as hell, and I'm not going to take it any more"...).   You're about to travel through another dimension, the six stages of grief.   (...I'm so funny, I ought to be on the stage, and I hear that there's one leaving with the Vikings on it in about fifteen minutes...)   Since our opponents are right about one thing (namely that  you really don't get a vote on the issues), there's about to be a lynching, and the chosen winner whom the pols (not you) will pick to hang the blame on won't be named Stedman. 

(You deserve a break today, so now. the break before the next salvo of the Enlightenment...)

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You know, I've been looking for a reason to put something by Elgar on the front page. . .and, lo and behold, here we go! - Chris

Oh, the alienation of it.  Are you ready for some football?  Hello???  Hello???  (I guess no one's home.)  Oh wait, here's the announcement:  Your regularly scheduled sport has been interrupted for a word from all those people who won't take yes for an answer.

Miller Beer bites the dust in Minnesota.  Can your Viking stadium and Minnesota Vikings be far behind?  Will there be a 2011 NFL season?    Hello???

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Dear Santa,

Please do not deliver the following gifts to the Vikings:

(Cue guy in red suit to jump chimney now -- quit rapping on Mary Poppins)

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The good news is that if we keep Favre throwing picks like this, we're still in solid contention for the top draft pick, although Carolina the Panthers are going to be tough to catch, getting beat by an average of two touchdowns per game. 

Childress should tell the press he's thinking of making Favre collect splinters in his shorts and make Bevell yell in Favre's face a whole lot.   Have Frasier implement the flat line defense (where everybody stands upright on the line of scrimmage and picks their nose while watching the clock tick)    Practice that kickoff play where the ball goes ten yards and everyone turns and tries to beat the opponents into the end zone. 

We can do this.

As the Beatles once said, it won't be long.  Yes, what other time could they possibly hold the game in which the famed ol' gunslinger makes his last stand?

It's a movie classic, just like the old joke about another aging gunslinger, one named Eternal Marshall.   He's going to be hanged on his birthday, so his girlfriend, Hope Truelove, comes to see him in jail to ask about his final wishes.  The night before he is to die, she returns, bringing with her a birthday cake for his final meal, which contains her true love's favorite ingredient, an iron file.  On the morning for which the execution has been scheduled, the headline of the town paper reads: "Hope Springs Eternal."  

But in the classic movie, Gary Cooper plays Marshal Will Kane, a man forced to face a man who hates him and is said to be arriving on the next train with a gang of outlaws.  Kane decides to confront his foe, despite the fact he had promised his Quaker bride Amy (actor Grace Kelly) that he'd retire to a peaceful life somewhere as a storekeeper.  The villain, Frank Miller (played by Ian McDonald) has been pardoned on a technicality and has avoided hanging.  The marshal, who previously had arrested Miller, discovers the whole town has abandoned him, and he must go out alone, at high noon, to meet his destiny (...well, along with Frank and all his thugs, of course). 

If you never watch this movie, you'll miss performances by Lloyd Bridges, Lon Chaney Jr., Katy Jurado, Harry Morgan, and Lee Van Cleef, but then that's your problem, and certainly not  the only one.   (Clearly, if you don't want to see Grace Kelly, there is something very wrong with you.)

And now, the great leap forward....

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 "Who's that yonder dressed in black?  Must be the hypocrites a-turning back"  - Go Tell it on the Mountain 

In this week's episode, I offer a map of what happened, what is happening, and what will happen with respect to the Vikings.  This is not some novel by James Baldwin about Harlem, and  I'm not preaching to the choir about lack of attendence at church.   The purpose of my mangled mixed musical, mariner and mooing metaphors is to get us from point A to point B, where point A is defined as the whirlpool into which the the good ship Viking has currently careened, and point B is the Superbowl in Dallas come February 6, 2011, where we wish our berserks to come ashore frothing.

We need a new song and some focus to help us seemingly defy the odds, so  I looked over Jordan, and what did I see?

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Yes, the fickle finger of fate is still alive and well, and involves an ex-Viking attempting a block.

Chances of some team, somewhere, wanting to trade for Sage Rosenfels received somewhat of a boost tonight when Bryon Leftwich went down with a possible MCL injury after colliding with his teammate and former Viking Mewelde Moore: 

This bad news for Leftwich means another seat for a backup QB probably opens in the NFL.   We'll know more after the MRI.

And the angel said unto them, Fear not...     Luke 2:10

Yes, the Viking brass know what has been going on with Rice, and they've been cooking up a recipe to zest up the stew while the wild visions of beat reporters twirled all around them.

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They say every blessing is a curse, and vice versa.   The problem with having a great NFL roster is that before the season even starts, some people with enough talent to play in the NFL will be put on the waiver wire by the head coach after they hear those dreaded words; "The Coach wants to see you in his office.  Bring your playbook."  It's no great fun to be on either end of the ensuing conversation, but it is commonly presumed to be more fun to be the one who leaves the Thunderdome still drawing a nice paycheck, at least for now.  That would be the coach.

Pretend you have a great football mind and are empowered by Zygmunt Wilf to use it.  To see what this might be like in 2010, read on.  

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Yes, this is actually rather relevant to the future of NFL professional football in Minnesota, but then I digress.

"America asks that you take immediate heed of what we say on this leaflet.

We are in possession of the most destructive explosive ever devised by man. A single one of our newly-developed atomic bombs is actually the equivalent in explosive power to what 2000 of our giant B-29's can carry on a single mission. This awful fact is one for you to ponder and we solemnly assure you that it is grimly accurate.

We have just begun to use this weapon against your homeland. If you still have any doubt, make inquiry as to what happened to Hiroshima when just one atomic bomb fell on that city."

Yes, these words were literally falling from the skies and hitting people on the heads in Japan near the end of World War Two.   The bomb that had leveled Hiroshima was not just part of some propaganda minister's imagination.

But if you were watching CNN today, you possibly heard the legend repeated on television that the NFL uses Los Angeles as a boogie man to scare little towns into building big stadiums.

That should not comfort you one iota.  Ed Roski is a real guy with a lot of real money.   He was not invented by Roger Goodell.  His idea about building a stadium and stealing two NFL franchises from unsuspecting cities is his own, not some radio script that Goodell had sent to him via Pony Express, even if other people out west here are trying to steal the bacon from him and do the deed themselves.  Ed will pull the trigger.   All he has to do is corner Zygi Wilf, and the good folks who claim to be working for you in St. Paul are doing more than doing his bidding.  He doesn't even have to pay them to do it for him.  You're handling that aspect of the project.  Don't expect a thank you card. 

The atomic bomb is not a cartoon,  It is not science fiction.  Neither is this Mr. Ed.

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Some of you may not remember John Matthew Gerak.   He was the last Viking to wear #66.

I remember John because he played in the Steel Valley Conference in high school for the rival Struthers Wildcats.  (Yes, goofy Elgar is a Steel Valley alumnus.)

This bit of trivia is relevant on the basis that John was a guard and the last Viking to wear #66.

That was in 1996, the year before Alan Faneca played right guard for LSU, and two years before he joined the Pittsburgh Steelers.  (There are plenty of Steeler fans in the Steel Valley in Ohio.)

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The whole truth and nothing but the truth is that before the Minnesota Vikings arrive in New Orleans to defeat the Saints this fall, approximately three cornerbacks, five defensive linemen, two linebackers, two safeties, seven offensive linemen, three running backs, one fullback, two tight ends, five wide receivers, and a partridge in a pear tree, who all will consider themselves Minnesota Vikings when bunks are assigned in Mankato, will be informed by the coaching staff that it just didn't last. 

Darwin was right about reality TV: If you put enough competitors into the environment and shake well, those who fit advance to the next round, and it's much easier than intelligent design, unless, of course, you are one of those who goes extinct.  

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We must all hang together or assuredly we shall all hang separately.  –Ben Franklin, 1776

So what does signing the Decelaration of Independence have to do with football?

Unlike last spring, Brett Lorenzo Favre had not signed a contract to be a Minnesota Viking.   Permit me to explain why he now owes the Vikings a decision by April 20, 2010, as to whether he intends to honor the rest of his existing contract.

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Well, okay, I lied.  Maybe this Saints idea of breaking the rules intentionally is rubbing off on me. 

Actually, Bobby as been fined 20 grand by the NFL for two hits on Favre.

http://blogs.nfl.com/2010/01/29/league-fines-saints-mccray-20k-for-hits-on-favre/

"Skol Colts, run up the score!   Get twenty touchdowns more!"

Watch the news of the future in HD!

Son of Archie goes postal, devastates the Big Easy worse than Katrina disaster.

Drew Bress Hospitalized by Late Hit -- Ref Just Shrugs,     "We must have missed that one.    How come he has no throwing arm now?"

Drew Brees body never recovered after mysterious transfer to Mayo Clinic. --  Film at eleven.

Colts taunt Saints after game, shake Lombardi in the Saints faces!  "Thanks for the great defensive strategy ideas!   We hope they find those missing pieces of Drew Brees soon."

Sometimes we have to decide if the glass is half empty or half full.    And when the final evidence is that the margin of victory included the results of a coin toss, and two close plays in OT that you could not really overturn because even high-def TV really can't tell the difference in whether one was a good catch or another a first down, then you have to remember that not much is left to be done to make this VIkings team a champion.

There are always mistakes in any football game, and when you have a game that could have had another winner if one of several of the many plays in the game had gone differently, then how you view the contents of this glass says much more about the observer than the number of molecules of H2O.

No matter how if feels right now, it was a game and a season that come to the end, not the planet Earth.

For now everyone will continue to wonder if Favre is really retired or not.   The world is actually not a whole lot different than before today.  

Congratulations to the New Orleans Saints and good luck to them in the Super Bowl, because sometimes a less than measurable quantity of luck is all that it takes. 

T’was four weeks after Christmas, despite rumored rifts,

Brett Favre and the Vikings still kept opening gifts.

Their helmets were hung about their lockers with care.

Another game was coming, and that’s what they’d wear!

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Our house!

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.

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Today is January 6, 2010.  Whose 127th birthday is it?   (No, not that of Brett or Bullwinkle.)    

Presented for your consideration another fractured fairy tale, wherein one more Minnesota messiah learns to be still in Frostbite Falls.

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In the year Twenty-Ten, what the heck will happen then?  Cowboys, and Packers, and Cards, oh my!!!

Coach Brad Childress has sent the players off for a week to frolic in Prague, or wherever else they may want to go.   We may know now from our personal time travel that the Russian Commies are actually doomed, but what else does the future hold for us, specifically in terms of that as-yet-nameless opponent for high noon on January 17th?

The shock player vacation granted by Childress (of course) allows the coaching staff more time to study the Cowboys, the Cardinals, and the Packers, looking for the best ways to drive a stake in their evil hearts on that date when one lucky contender wins their trip to the Thunderdome.  (Two teams enter; one team leaves.)

So, as long as Phat Pat and his friends have time to lick their wounds (or whatever else they choose to lick at this time), let's all do as Mamma Cass would have wanted and dream a little dream.  We could while away the hours with our wives or girlfriends (or both, depending on personal preferences), but let's please not wait for Godot to lead us into temptation!   Let us indulge in some fantasy football of a different color.   Follow the yellow brick road of our own musings, and see if we somehow end up in Oz.

Sure, we'll annoy Sartre, who felt that the existentialist knows but does not hope, but quite bluntly, whom shall we hope wins in the NFC wildcard playoff round?

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The truth is the game is rigged:   Some team always wins the Super Bowl, movies about Black Sunday not withstanding.  Someone will get the glory, whether they know it or not yet.   So, do you feel luck, punk?   Well do you?

Prepare yourself.   It's your quest and your saga.  The fun begins now.

Yes, after last night's exciting episode, many would rather jump into their time machines and return to 1985, just go watch some movie and see some younger and better-looking Mel Gibson and Tina Turner at time when no one knew what the heck Al Qaeda was.   Michael J. Fox wasn't shaking from Parkinson's back then.   If only we had Doc Brown's keys to the Delorean.   Maybe we wouldn't be shaking now either.   But we can't find them, and many are rattled.  Let's forget 1985.   Tommy Kramer and Greg Coleman finished 7-9.   Whom would you rather have Buster Rhymes or Percy Harvin?  There's no turning back.

Will Brett Favre prevail?   Will AD learn sometimes it is really better not to take on three guys and just pick up the first down?   (Remember, God created time so everything would not happen all at once.)  In the future, will the footballs all be frozen?  Will the restaurants all be Taco Bells?  Yes folks, for the want of an extra point, we could all be living in some alternate reality where life is happy all the time with extra virgins on hand for everyone.  But no, here come the playoffs, ready or not.

We now enter the part of our drama where it comes down to this: two men enter, one man leaves.   The apocalyptic world is a dangerous place.  (Most of us still don't know what Al Qaeda is or even where Osama is hanging out.)  It all comes down to whatever this playoff thing will be.   Que sera sera.

This is what football is all about.   It is life-like.   Eventually, everyone's winning streak of waking up in the morning comes to the end.   This is not a drill.  We reach overtime and it's come down to sudden death.   The campaign promises of immortality and perfection are just hype.  We reach the playoffs, where two teams enter, one team leaves.  That's something that can grab your attention, because that is the kind of situations we find all over the real world, like them or not.

So here they are, your Minnesota Vikings.   Are they going to die without so much as a new stadium to use as their mausoleum?   Will they triumph after the next commercial break?   They've got Brett, who has shown that at 40 he still can stage a come back, even when it's freezing.   They've got AD, who may not be the Incredible Hulk, but is certainly scary enough to keep people bunched up at the line of scimmage and out of pass coverage.   Will the walking wounded recover in time?  Will two former Buffalo Bills, Phat Phat and Toine (who lost to the Titans in the Music City Miracle disaster film a decade ago) ever see another Super Bowl?  Stay tuned.

Yes, it's like a horror flick.   Why do we go in that room, knowing the guy with the saw or the hockey mask is waiting in there?

It's the only game in town.

It's not like the Saints have ascended to heaven.   The Giants look a tad puny for a group with such a big moniker.  The Colts know it is not about perfection; it's about a war of attrition.   What you did yesterday means nothing.  You are only as good as your next post-game interview.   Remember all the 19-0 ready-made Patriots shirts all being donated to charity two years ago? 

Put on your jerseys, your hats, and strap on your Viking horn ringtones.   The players are going to have to say something in that locker room when it is all over, and it might as well be something good.  Bring your A game.   No sense in having those other idiots hog the microphone while swilling champaign, lying through their teeth that they knew it would happen for them all along.  

So what will everyone say in the final post-game show?   Will anything be learned from it?

Just this: two teams enter, one team leaves.   Are you ready for some football?  We who are about to die salute you.

HIGH TECHNOLOGY

In a Best Buy store in Stockton, California this Friday morning, a young man is playing Madden beside his companion on a jumbo hi-def screen.   In this world of high contrast plasma, his red clad Niners faced the ultimate evil, the Minnesota Vikings.  (Who is it that asks the question where he got that idea?)   In cyberspace, the soaring avatar spirit of Nate Clements leaps and intercepts the spiraling football of Favre.   Madden has spoken.   The oracle sees all.  Is the truth thus so?   Who is it that asks this?  There is no you.  There is no me.   Who is it that doubts Madden?  Damn you, Favre.  Another December dud.  Let's all go meditate, but not with Jets fans.

THE HOME FIELD ADVANTAGE

Garbage in; garbage out.

Zen is screwed up.  In Zen, there is no you or me, and the only way to attain enlightment is to wake up and realize that there is really no one to wake up.  Well, it's much easier to talk a good game than it is to play one.  When predicting, just predict.  Yes, folks, Zen is so simple.  Life is exactly as it is.  But in that sleep of just-so stories what dreams may come?   Aye, there's the rub.

Fortunately, the Vikings are not playing the Niners this week.   Singletary looked really hot under the collar.   Inside sources tell me we are playing at night in Carolina.  (Stupid Madden.)

WHEN THE VIKINGS HAVE THE BALL

Probability and statistics and quantum mechanics do things and brains make up stories about what happened, no matter what.  The butler did it.   So Billy Preston had a story ain't got no moral -- let the bad guy win every once in a while.   Preston is a good cornerback.   Favre will have to watch out for him.

Hey!   Stop that!  What about Carolina, Elgar?  

Oh, nothing could be finer.  I did some exhausting research, as if that makes any difference.  I hate it when those quanta take all the paths at once.   My mother said never talk with food in your mouth.  When you eat, just eat.

WHEN THE PANTHERS HAVE THE BALL

I asked my dogs about Adrian Peterson and Percy Harvin.   I consulted an incompetent neurologist about migraines.   I asked Steve Smith if he were in a bad mood or not.  My old friends left Minnesota for the Carolinas. (You can leave Minnesota too.   Some airlines have astral planes now because the Boeing 787 Dreamliner is late.)

WHETHER CONDITIONS

If Jared Allen jumps off sides in the woods and the instant replay camera does not show it, did he really make a noise?  It depends on whether something was called on the field, which the officials have all huddled and spoke, if the mike was working.

CONCLUSION

Therefore, the Minnesota Vikings will defeat the Carolina Panthers on Sunday Night, 31-17, at least in the universe that true believers occupy.   Others will suffer damnation and watch a werewolf start at quarterback for the Panthers in a parallel brane.  (Heavenly shades of night are falling: it's twilight time.)  That's how the multiverse works, folks.   I kid you not.

No wonder Zen masters taunt each other.  What you see is what you get.  Don't let anything Judd Zulgad says confuse you otherwise.  

Yes, on December 17, 2009 AD, the last day before the month of Muharram of 1431 anno Hegirae, the Minnesota Sports Facilities Commission announced their pipe dream for a new stadium.  (Happy new year!   Can world peace now be far behind?)

Yes, read on, my children, to the spine-tingling battle and a the tale of two stadia: one with a governor who may have actually talked with Zygi Wilf (Shazam!), and the other one with custom environmental exemptions already signed by the Guvernator and backed by Ed Roski, the Daddy Warbucks of LA.

Which stadium to you think has the bright future, people?  (Hint: "The sun will come out, tomorrow, bet your bottom dollar....")

(Oh, the Vikings?   Do the words "I'll be back" or "Hasta la vista, baby" ring any bells for you?)

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