After Last Sunday, I’m A Sad Fellow

by Kris Olson
Columnist

O, my beloved Minnesota Vikings. How do you torment me? Let me count the ways … and then fumble them.

I have a confession to make, dear Vikings: I am in love with you. … Smitten, really. … Oh? How did you guess? Did you catch me watching your games? I was trying to be subtle.

What’s that? Do I usually turn purple when I blush? Oh, my. …

My lovers from the North Country, we have been together through thick and thick. I stood by your side after Gary Anderson’s missed field goal in 1998. I was there for the 41-0 loss in the 2001 NFC championship. The Herschel Walker trade, the Roger Staubach Hail Mary, the list goes on. I would have supported you through the four Super Bowl losses had I actually existed at the time.

And once again, my precious Purple People Eaters, I was your lover long enough to helplessly witness the tragedy of last Sunday’s overtime loss to the New Orleans Saints.

Oh, the turnovers! Oh, the humanity!

My, how poetic it is that the quarterback who led us to this pinnacle is the one to help pull us off. We were already in field goal range, Brett. … Why force it? Why, Brett? You knew that we never had to force anything. Our love was so natural. We go together like Ben and Jerry, Funk and Wagnall, Chris Brown and Rihanna. … This season shall forever be a soft summer vapor, drifting lazily through my hair, only to be picked off with ten seconds remaining in the fourth quarter.

Minnesota, I yearn for your progressive politics, your “Minnesota Nice,” your 10,000 lakes, your 10,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 mosquitoes. Your native sons F. Scott Fitzgerald, Minnehaha, Paul Wellstone, Prince – they were all smiling on you tonight.

Yes, Minnesota, … smiling … and then puking when a certain Saints kicker split the uprights in sudden-death overtime.

Why do you tease me, dear Vikings? What must I do for you to stop toying with my emotions? The planets were aligned this year, but the stars were crossed. I had dreamed of one day making love to you under the fiberglass roof of our sacred Hubert H. Humphrey Metrodome.

Please don’t lie to me. Are you in love with another fan? I will not waste my time if that is the case. I will cancel my NFL Sunday Ticket subscription if I embarrass you so. Perhaps it is right that you never win a Super Bowl – I’m afraid I couldn’t handle it.

My one and only Minnesota Vikings, feel not sad. I will love thee despite your faults. Indeed, I will love thee because of them. Gary Anderson’s missed field goals. Adrian Peterson’s fumbles. Daunte Culpepper’s complete retardation.

Goodnight, dear Vikings. We’ll always have Minneapolis.

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