Hey Brett! Save Your Last Pass for Syndey.

You can pass…

Every pass with the high school guys, who get you high.

Let ‘em mold you right.

You can deny…

Every denial to the men right up until after ESPY’s night.

But don’t forget the Super Bowl.

And in who’s arms the trophy’s gonna be.

So Brett, save your last pass for Sydney.

Oh I know.

That the off seasons’s fine and Packer’s whine.

Go and say you’re done.

Laugh and sing

But while a kid at heart you can’t give up another run.

But don’t forget who’s taking the Bowl

And in who’s arms that trophy’s gonna be.

So Brett –

Save your last pass for Sydney.

Brett? !!!!

Don’t you know we need you so?!
Can’t you feel we’re in a clutch?

AP will never  let the ball go

He hurt you so much.

You can pass.

Go and carry on until T-camp’s is done

And it’s time to go.

When they ask

If you’re staying home

Can they close the door

You must tell them no.

Cuz’ don’t forget who’s takin  Super Bowl  

And in who’s arms the trophy’s gonna be.

So Brett  -  Save the last pass for Sydney.

Save the last pass for Sydney.

'Twas the Night Before Training Camp.

‘Twas the night before Training Camp, when all through the North

Not a Vike’s fan was sleeping; at least not at my house.

The pennants were hung by the bleachers with care,

In hopes that Saint’s loss would soon disappear.

The rookies were nestled all snug in their beds

While visions of Super Bowl’s danced in their heads.

And Allen with a new cut (and yes, I’d tap that),

Had just settled down before the 1^st season snap.

When out on the field there rose such a clatter.

AP sprang from his bed to see what was the matter.

Away toward the window he ran in a flash

Tore open dorm blinds and threw out a laugh.

When, what to his wondering eyes did appear,

But a lush corporate jet with secret cargo in the rear.

“It’s just a sore ankle, one more season. No regret!”

And he knew in a moment it must be St. Brett.

More rabid than Cheeseheads his critics they came,

And he whistled, and shouted and called them by name:

“Down Romo! Down Cutler! Down Stafford and Rodgers!”

Down Cassell! Down Brady! Down Manning and Sanchez!

To the top of the North. To the top of you all!

My name’s Brett and I’m gonna play! I’m gonna play! Gonna play ya’ll!”

 

And then, in an instant he took the field.

The counting,

The cadence,

 of each little play.

 He snaps up the ball and he then turns around

And straight down the left side

St. Brett throws a bomb.

He speaks not a word, but cuts straight right

A 90-degree angle,

And drills the receiver with the pass of an angel.

Then, laying his finger alongside the laces,

He gives a nod and in the end zone he paces…

                                    “Happy Season to all, on toward Dallas SKOL Vikes!”

The Vikings Fan Creed.

I

I believe in Brett the Favre Almighty.

Winner of North and of Central.

And in Sydney Rice, his only receiver.

4 was cherished by the fans of Green Bay,
Born of the frozen tundra.
He suffered under Ted Thompson,
Was retired, traded and buried.

 

The third time he unretired and ascended into Minnesota,
Where he is seated at the right hand of Wilf, the owner Almighty.
He has come again to crush the Rodgers and the Romo. 

I believe in the Harvin Sprint, the Allen Mullet, the destruction of the Saints, the forgiveness of AP's fumbles, the resurrection of the Purple and Vikes everlasting.

Forever and ever - our men.

An Open Letter to Brett as Training Camp Approachs.

Hey!

What up Jam Master B?

Yeah. Maybe I shouldn’t call you that.

Anyway Brett – it’s been awhile.

And I know you’re relaxing, playing around after school with the high school boys. 

I get it Brett. I've been doing the same thing.

 But we’ve got some things to talk about

 It’s a sunny Friday morning here in Kansas City.

Yeah, that’s what I mean, we have to talk. You see I’m not in Minneapolis anymore, and that’s why you need to be.

It goes a little something like this -

Remember after you lost the Championship Game that one time last January. Yeah, well then I started this blog and was like going to model my life and my redemption and all this crap after you? I was going to really give another shot this year – you know the aging vet out to prove one last time – that if you just gave me the right shot I’d prove I’ve still got it.

Yeah. That.

Well I kind of did that.

Yup. Took a look around found my dream job – applied – interviewed got the gig and packed my crap and headed to a minor league town for my shot back to the majors.

I followed your lead B-Man – I lived the dream.

 Yeah. And here’s the thing…

If you don’t come back. I look like a horse’s ass.

And as my grandfather always said, “You know Sarah there are more asses than there are horses.”

Not the point.

The point is – Brett, rule number one in being a hero:

You can’t lead people up the mountain.

Get them believing in your shit.

You can’t get the movement started.

The blood rushing.

And then say you’re not in it anymore.

You just can’t do it.

So on this sunny Friday  morning, I’m in a new town, and still basking in the awesomeness of a week that was so amazing I couldn’t have made it up in the movie about my life if I tried to because people would say I was full of shit – and I’m ready to tackle this Brett! 

One more season.

One more time – the big leagues…

So what’d say Brett? You and me?

For the love of God and Purple and Gold and everything else, one more season.

Not for the Super Bowl. But for the story.

The world needs us Brett – let’s get out there and show ‘em it’s still ok to hope.

I beg you Brett, toss me a bone.

Pun intended,

Sarah

Oh and p.s. We really have to get working on the commercials about these letters – iconic I’m telling you.

Love, Sarah