roar

My name is Black Hockey Jesus and I love the Detroit Lions.

Stop laughing. Loving the Detroit Lions is hard enough without you laughing at me. The fact that the Lions are unloveable is a testament to the strength of my love. It's easy to love the Patriots or those lame ass Cowboys. To love the Lions is Herculean. My love knows no bounds. It has no conditions. I don't need a Super Bowl, Lions. Roar on. What's that? You want to squander 10 seasons with Barry Fucking Sanders? Go right ahead, Lions. Because I am behind you. I may have left Michigan, but my heart is blue.

I know that the season I leave you will be the season you conquer the NFL, my beloved Lions. And I would fucking knash my teeth and beat my own back with a crazy spiky whip like that religious nut in The Da Vinci Code if I wore the colors of another while you raised your paws in victory.

But perhaps the greatest love would be to set you free. Maybe I should go buy a stupid Broncos jersey and let my Fate laugh at me. Or perhaps I could dupe the Gods? Could I wrap a tiny Lion in the folds of my Heart and root for another, only to rip off my shirt on Superbowl Sunday to reveal my Blue & Silver painted flesh? I suspect the Football Gods are smarter than that, Lions. Or maybe not.

Besides, I couldn never act like I liked the stupid Broncos. I AM A LION! My poor grandfather will never rest in peace until our Sunday That Must One Day Come. I still hear him fondly, every Sunday, screaming "FUCKING LIONS!" or "STUPID FUCKING LIONS!" or "I CAN'T BELIEVE THESE STUPID FUCKING LIONS!". One day I will throw a bowl of salsa at the wall and dance around my living room and scream with my arms raised in a V: "GRAMPA VERN! TODAY IS OUR DAY! GO TO SLEEP OLD MAN! REST! ROARRRR!".

But probably not in 09. Fucking Lions.