The 4's Prayer.

Our Favre, who art from Green Bay.
Gunslinger be thy name.

When linemen come they will be done.
On turf they'll fall via Allen.

Give us this game the Seahawks dead.
And deliver your best passes,
As we block those who try to pass against us.
And lead us strong into Dallas to redeem for us Brees Bowl.


Amen.

An Open Letter to the Favre Haters, From the Real Minnesota

Oh Hi There!

It’s me Sarah.

Yup. Kinda like that other Sarah, yeah I say my “oooooooo’s” long too. Yeah.

Well, there then.

I know some of you want to say that Favre, he’s well kind of a show-off. And I know he’s a little flashy for us folks up here, but like my friend Jon says, "Ya know he’s team guy. A real team guy."

Anyway I know some of you say we’re carrying on, and it’s all just over blown. And ain’t folks got better things to worry ‘bout up there in Minnsohtah.

But here’s the thing.

My “ooooh’s” may be long and my fingernails short, but unlike that other Sarah you’re used to – I can name the magazines I read, was never in a pageant and wouldn’t be caught dead on a snowmobile.

Not the point.

The point is Favre haters – knock it off.

We get it.

Hate the legend.

Turn him into a villain.

You think he lived long enough that he should have left a hero. But he decided to play long enough and now you have to turn him into a villain.

Can we move on now?

Ok fine, let Favre become one more cynical story you and your hipster friends can chortle over while discussing whether or not Obama has lived up to his promise, and in the meantime – me, and the rest of Middle America, could really use a good old fashioned comeback story right about now.

Think about it.

Everything damn thing about every damn day for most every damn one of us is filled with frustrations, resentments and the underlying hope that if the whole country, the whole economy and the whole world weren’t in the toilet we’d probably be doing something totally different than we're doing right this second.

Just last week that kind of life drove one poor bastard to drop his fat ass off a damn plane side toasting the cabin with a regal salute while he got arrested down below.

And a bunch of us cheered. And a bunch of us wished we had the balls to do what he did.

Face it: the mass of men and women are leading lives of quiet desperation.

And who gave his boss - the doubters, the Packers, their f'n fans -- the biggest one finger salute of all time and space?

That's right.

It was Brett Flipping Favre people.

And for that huge portion of everyday people, or at least to me – that makes Favre Seabiscuit - our run down old horse (silver stallion in this case...I digress)...the old horse that everyone is tired of except that one stupid owner and one stupid team who both think that old horse can still run.

And think about it.

I mean really think about it.

If you’re going to set the stage for a truly inspirational American story – you know, the stuff legends are made of, you can’t find your Seabiscuit in a flashy town or a flashy team (looking at you Lebron…not the point).

Point is – if you’re going to put the ultimate comeback character on the field, you’ve got to do it in America’s “This Close to Being Cool Like NYC or LA” Town.

For crying out loud haters – the team plays on MALL OF AMERICA field.  They’ve already branded the damn team now let us just have the dream!

Think of it this way Favre haters – Minnesota’s going to be remembered for something -

It’s your choice.

And it’s time to show your horns.

Love and Warm Wishes,

Sarah

The Tuesday After Training Camp

Sometimes, reworking a classic is better than trying over again...so without further ado...

'Twas the Tuesday post Training Camp when not too far up North

This little Vikes fan was working, or so I tell myself

My pennants were hung in my cube with care,

In hopes that stupid Saint’s loss would soon disappear.

My veterans were hanging on a wish and a prayer,

In hopes that Sage as QB would soon disappear. 

The migranes were vanished all gone from his head

And Percy’s great promise seem rose from the dead.

While Longwell with Allen (and yes, I’d tap that),

Had boarded a plane before the 1^st season’s snap.

When out on the Twitter there rose such a clatter.

This little Vikes fan sprang from a meeting to see what was the matter.

Away toward the interwebs I typed in a flash

Tore open the live stream and threw out a laugh.

When, what to my stalking eyes did appear?

But another lush Cessna with secret cargo in the rear!

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

And I knew in a moment it was my 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 now to the 9^th our focus must go.

That rematch,

The penance,

 The burn of that last play.

Except this time:

He’ll snap up the ball and then turn around

And straight down the left side

St. Brett will drop a bomb.

He’ll speak not a word, but cut straight to the right

A 90-degree angle,

To drill Sydney Rice with the pass of an angel.

Then, laying his finger alongside the laces,

He’ll give a nod as toward the end zone he paces…

“One more season you cynics. On toward Dallas. Skol Vikes!”

The Stage is Set. Show Your Horns.

Welcome to The Maul of America.

A glimpse at the world, middle-age and life through the eyes of a slightly neurotic, overly pushy and yet somehow relateable Vikings fan.

When we last caught up with our heroine she was busily attempting to guilt Brett Favre http://themaulofamerica.blogspot.com/2010_08_01_archive.html back into playing for the Vikings, while remaining largely silent on her own will she/won’t she decision scenarios.

Will the momentum keep going?

Or will she fade into the chapters of “almost had it all’s”?

Will she finally look up one day and see that guy she’s been looking for for so long?

Or will she fully morph into the perma single but lovin it lifestyle that’s kept her going?

Will the world domination with @andrewzilch http://andrewzilch.com/blog/will-the-vikings-suck-this-year/ change the way entertainment works in this country?

Or will greatness continue to live only in her mind.

The scene is set ladies and gentlemen:

Two wanna-be heroes, both alike in dignity, In fair Minnesota, where we lay our scene.  From ancient grudge break to new mutiny.

Once Central blood makes civil hands unclean. From forth the horrid Lions, of these two foes a pair of star-cross’d matrys present their strife;  
Whose mistime’d piteous overthrows do with their depth bury their receivers’ strife. The fearful passage of their leader named Favre, and the continuance of their neurotic and selfish nags.  Which, but their defensive end, nought could remove.  

4’s now trending topics’ Twitter's our stage; The which if you with patient ears attend,right here http://twitter.com/manningtheship shall you witness, a message we strive to send:

Or  as the great Billy Shakespeare once said, “All the world’s a stage. And all the men and women merely players.” So fasten your seat belts. With any luck at all, it's going to be a bumpy ride!

An Open Letter to Brett Favre.

Dear Brett:

Think of this letter as my own personal "This is it", just for you. 

So here goes,  I’m sick of your shit.

I get it. I admire it. On some level I attempt to emulate it.

But I’m sick of it.

Let me walk you through the program:

Either you’re a legend.

Or you’re not.

Bottom line Brett, the books ain’t going to give a Mississippi Mud Hound’s nut sack about anything else if you leave now. 

The Lambeau Legend? The comeback kid? The only grandfather to QB in the NFL? 

Done. 

And you’ll go to pasture as the whiny douchebag even the Packers could figure was all washed up.

And Brett, if I were a betting woman, and let's be honest, I think it’s pretty clear I obviously am, I digress...

If I were a betting woman, I'd easily lay down a solid hundy on your silver fox ass giving me a shout-out as you take the field in New Orleans.

Cuz you see Brett – we made a deal.

I’m going to keep chasing the dream in the off-season. And then you take over come Fall. 

And together you and me prove once and for all the whole world loves a comeback. It's what makes us human.

Why the hell else would I have ended up in Missouri again? 

Not the point.

The point Brett?

The point is Brett I call bullshit on this whole will he/won't he game.

.

I don’t think you can walk away like that. 

And you know why?

Because it’s not about a Super Bowl. It’s not about money. It’s about the story.

And you my friend – are a man innately fueled by story.

 

Don't kid yourself.

The fact you’re still a little pissed at Green Bay for booting you without letting you close the story on your terms and in your town doesn’t hurt.

Between you, me and the fence post you’re sitting on sweet cheeks– the season is upon us.

And you got an ending to write. 

It's time. 

Show your horns.

Love, Sarah

Oh and P.S. I gotta tell you. I don't think we're talking commercial anymore Brett. I'm pretty sure we're moving awfully close to movie territory. Have your people call me. Oh and don't force me to pimp out a dedication version of Kenny Chesney's new "Boys of Fall" hit -- I'm not above that Brett. Not in the least.