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The game wasn't over until Russell Wilson decided it was

Russell Wilson is the chosen one.

Jesus was a carpenter, Russell Wilson built dreams.

Ever the giving and saintly, Russell gave the Packers multiple interceptions that put his team down 16-0 by halftime. Why? Because as with all charity, it's not what you give when you have excess, but what you give when you have nothing. He was like a pocket Oprah Winfrey. A muscle-bound Bill Gates. Mother Teresa if she could bench an 18-wheeler. He gave and gave and gave, and what did the Packers do? Scored only six points as to taunt the Margaret A. Cargill of the NFL.

It's like the Packers were doing a monologue over the bodies of the Seahawks. And everyone knows that you never monologue! So Russell went to the sidelines, watched some film, ate his Wheaties, kissed the pure white dove that descended from the heavens as the clouds parted and perched on his right shoulder, looked at his hand as the code in the matrix was revealed to him and then descended on the Green Bay Packers like a plague of rats.

Going to the half with a 0.0 passer rating -- otherwise known as the Jake Delhomme, the Jay Cutler, the Geno Smith -- all hope looked lost. (Well, if you're a non-believer). But Russell Wilson is no Geno Smith. He's built from the hopes and dreams of every short kid who marked his height by the kitchen every single week to see if he was growing. Russell couldn't lose because he's every kid who had to watch with tears in his eyes as your mom tells your friends that you can't play because you have to study. He's what Jason Street should have been.

Russell Wilson is the physical embodiment of every speech that coach Eric Taylor has ever given.

I assume what happened during halftime was a Rocky-style montage where Russell was trying to throw a football through a tire hanging outside in his backyard. He then gets frustrated and thinks that maybe this sport isn't for him. But then, suddenly, he sees Pete Carroll doing push-ups shirtless in a random parking lot in the distance and a deeper life lesson is revealed to him. He knows what he must do.

There was 3:52 left on the game clock in the fourth quarter when Russell Wilson picked up the phone because destiny was calling. When he marched the Seahawks down to the 1-yard line on that drive, fate had ordained that he would run it in. But of course, it would be unfair to the Packers to say that they shouldn't have fallen for the fake to Marshawn Lynch. Lynch had been tossing aside grown men who play for Green Bay like so many questions from reporters. Every single Lynch run was a groin grab to the ideal of humanity being merciful. I almost expected to see an old lady faint after begging for Lynch to think of the children.

If you looked closely at the shoulders of Brandon Bostick during the onside kick, you would have seen the small angel and devil bickering over what he should have done. His job was to block, but Bostick was not going to let his assignment stand in the way of what was to be. Bostick is not to be blamed, for he knew not what he had done. When the Seahawks recovered the ball, Lynch was on hand to disregard the existence of a few defenders on the way to a touchdown. He then shook the hands of several people on the sidelines because crushing the hopes and dreams of children in Wisconsin is just another day at the office.

Pete Carroll decided to go for two just to show Mike McCarthy that life is for the bold. That was a groin grab of a play call and it worked. It worked because Wilson is the exalted one. When the play broke down and hordes of defensive linemen stood at his doorsteps, Wilson knew that only he could deliver the one ring. He was the only one who could stop General Zod. The prayer of a pass, across his body and across the field, to Luke Willson was the Luke Skywalker missile that destroyed the Death Star.

That pass alone could restore the faith in humanity that Lynch is so hellbent on destroying. I felt tears stream down from my eyes when that pass went into the air. I saw the birth of a baby calf, I saw flowers bloom in the middle of winter, I witnessed the icy heart of Bill Belichick melt for a millisecond as a smile strained itself unto his face. It was a beautiful thing.

The thing is that Russell Wilson foresaw all of this on Thursday. It was then that Russell said: "It's gonna come down to the fourth quarter. It may go to overtime. I'm expecting something great to happen, some amazing play to win the game, or amazing drive, or a back-and-forth two-minute drill. You know, I look forward to those moments."

So when it went to overtime, and the Oracle formally known as Russell Wilson recounted what he said to his offensive coordinator.

"I told Darrell Bevell I was going to get the look I wanted, make the check we'd practiced and hit Jermaine [Kearse] for the winning touchdown." First, he threw a gorgeous pass on third down to Doug Baldwin, who had fumbled the ball earlier in the game. Russell the Redeemer.

And then it happened:

This was nothing but another instance of angels taking sides in sports. This was angels in the end zone. That wasn't Jermaine Kearse who caught that pass, it was the spirit of hope. Air Bud would have been proud of that catch. A chorus of angels called the play when it happened. We need to have this play painted and auctioned off to a James Bond villain. Watching Russell Wilson throw this touchdown to Kearse was like seeing Rhett Butler tell Scarlett O'Hara that "frankly my dear, I don't give a damn." But to every single Packers fan who thought life was fair.

It was glorious!

Then Russell Wilson shed tears.

Those were the tears of a man who will know what a hundred million dollars looks like very soon. He broke down like a man who thought all the Rice Krispies were gone, only to discover that there was an unopened box behind the couch. He channeled the spirit of Knowshon Moreno to crown a return to the Super Bowl. I wouldn't be surprised if his tears hit the ground and turned that ground into a luscious meadow full of vibrant wildlife. Even his tears study film. There's just nothing this man can't do.