Catholic and Enjoying It!
They can’t say they weren’t warned. I sent out to the slavering mob of Packers fans the following pre-game warning yesterday:
Huge wind storm here in Seattle. I can only assume it is the Holy Spirit conferring his blessing on the world-conquering Seattle Seahawks. All nature is verily ordered, ranked and ranged to bestow upon our mighty team her glories, benisons, and benedictions. Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow! You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout Till you have drench’d our steeples, drown’d the cocks! You sulphurous and thought-executing fires, Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts!
And yet, like a veritable Cassandra, all my cautions went unheeded and a mob of cheeseheads freely chose to be the authors of their own humiliation in a stark illustration of the futility of mocking a true prophet.
Behold! A reading from the Book of Face, recording in real time the crushing of the hopes and dreams of those who dare mock the globe-bestriding colossi who are the now-Super-Bowl-bound Seattle Seahawks:
Here’s a bucket, Mark, for your tears. Let me know if you need another one.
I think the lesson we can all draw from this tragic, yet side-splittingly hilarious episode is the importance of humility: humility such as a true Seattleite like myself. Faced with a team of world-historical greatness like the Seahawks, puny insignificant people like the wretched fools above should not think above their station, nor gloat over their betters. We in Seattle try very hard to practice noblesse oblige–to stoop down and render kindnesses to the feeble. So we naturally played out the line and let the fish run for three quarters. It was only meet and right to do so, just as the hunter salutes his prey before administering the coup de grace. It is not sporting to shoot the hart seconds after the hunt begins. We are not without feeling, you know. So we allowed the Packers three final quarters in which they could taste hope before dashing the cup from their parched lips. For, of course, the time comes when one must get down to business and end the futile hope with a swift snap to the neck, so that the sacrificial victim does not suffer unduly.
Sean, Tim, Torq, Damien, sundry other losers: The key thing to take away are these crucial twin lessons:
1. You tried your level best and failed. Moral: Don’t try.
2. Our team trod down your wretched pack of failures like mire underfoot, because we are immeasurably superior. It is not pride to say this, but humility. For humility is simply the clear-eyed vision of one’s proper place in the world. The proper place of the Seattle Seahawks is with our golden cleats on the necks of your grossly inferior team. It speech false as dicer’s oaths to deny this plain truth.
In conclusion, let me just say that with malice toward none, with charity for all, let us finish the great work we are in: to bind up the nation’s wounds, to care for him who has borne the battle, and for his loser fans, and their loser children, to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting victory for our Seahawks over all failures and losers.
And so, on to the Super Bowl! A place we are now very familiar with since WE WON THE SUPER BOWL LAST YEAR AND WILL AGAIN BE TRIUMPHANT!
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