I Piss Excellence

In the annals of football lore, there have been few teams that have embodied the very spirit of the game, who transcended the sport itself, iconic franchises that can be instantly recalled because of their imprint on the historic landscape of, not only the game, but of competition itself. The 1985 Bears, the 1927 Yankees, the UCLA Bruins and Michael Jordan’s Bulls…these teams rose above and beyond peer, and today, an illustrious team joins these all-time greats…

Join me in saluting Purple Drank, winner of the 2008 TBL 1 league, champion of the sun, master of karate, and friendship for everyone.

PURPLE DRANK!

See…there’s victory, and then there’s VICTORY! And, after yesterday’s brutal mollywhopping of Hef, and I mean BRUTAL, Purple Drank basked in the glory that is VICTORY! The whole is greater than the sum of it’s parts, and I’d be remiss if not to mention the assemblage of greatness that conspired in a unified front to defeat the Mazeltov menace, but for as great as the pawn were in this bloody game of chess, it was their leader who valiantly led through Indianapolis Colts-esque adversity and was responsible for most, nay, ALL of this glory.

My fantasy team was like a scorpion, ready to strike, and the tail with the needle thingee that has poison in it was Jay Cutler. A streaky player with the most enviable ‘bama bangs in the business, Cutler drove the final stake into the heart of the demon, an 82 point effort when it was needed most. John Elway 2.0? Fuck that, John Elway was the Beta testing of Jay Cutler.

Oh, Larry Fitz, how your garbage time TD not only propelled me into a triple-digit victory, but also probably pissed Hef off, and Marques Colston! How could I forget? Your one fucking good game all fucking year comes at the very end? Under such extraordinary circumstances? And to think, I cursed the very ground you walked on (which was ultimately in vain because he lives in New Orleans and NO is a fucking shithole). Kevin Walter? A poor man’s Wes Welker. Jeremy Shockey? Still an asshole…and an unproductive asshole at that.

But an air force does not an army make. For every pinpoint aerial attack well executed, there has to be the grunts, the Matt Forte’s, the Jerious Norwood’s (only a true visionary like myself could have had the testicular fortitude to depend on him), and the Steven Jackson’s. Oh, and the Kevin Smith’s…and I should’ve probably dropped Felix Jones like 8 weeks ago, but I’m sure even Kublai Khan had some dead weight aboard…again, me = visionary.

Oh, I had Baltimore’s D too and Rob Bironas. Whatever, who cares about them?

See, this wasn’t about a collection of stars, this was about fostering a TEAM. My players would take a bullet for each other, and while they weren’t the brightest stars in the universe, they were the gritty, determined stars who went out and rocked and rolled, who wanted to kick ass and chew bubblegum, but were all out of bubblegum. My team didn’t care about endorsements or blowouts, or padding their stats. The only thing they cared about was winning.

And win they did.

What did their perseverance against seemingly unbeatable odds get them? A spot in the finals against Horrible Hef and his merry band of America-hatin’ Communists, and my team was not about to let their country down. Did Patrick Swayze let down American in Red Dawn? Fuck no. Did Arnold let down America in Predator? Fuck no. My team was Arnold and Hef’s was an army of drug soldiers who kidnapped my daughter who was played by a 9-year old Alyssa Milano and my team totally chopped off Hef’s team’s arm with a lawnmower blade after hiding in a gardening shack that was riddled with at least 1,000 bullets but remained unharmed, it was awesome.

So where will this greatness take us? Probably to stardom and heaven and a pile of money, but that’s just my educated guess, but for now, we’re savoring the delicious victory with a cheese plate and a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue Label. And tonight, when you’re watching Matt Forte pad my stats even more, just think, somewhere, Hef is crying himself to sleep, and that’s all that really matters.