Sports

AFC Championship – Colts vs. Patriots: Can’t They Both Lose?

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By J-Dub

Now, don’t get me wrong; I’m not saying I want somebody to blow up Gillette Stadium on Sunday, but I’d rather watch four hours of some pontificating asshole on Fox News get all wound up the way they do when a terrorist attack has just happened. You know what I mean; for years we couldn’t say enough horrible shit about the French, then after a few dead cartoonists the American media is blowing more Frenchmen then Brigitte Bardot in her prime.

Seriously, I don’t know how much fucking more I can take about the Colts and the Patriots.  I live in Indiana, which means I get such a steady supply of that Colts team shoved up my ass that water-line stain ring in my toilet is starting to look like Andrew Luck’s neck beard. Then there’s the Patriots, who really just have become a northeastern version of the goddamn Dallas Cowboys, except Robert Kraft does a far better job of controlling his alcoholism, and Tom Brady has actually won something at some point.

There is no team in the NFL I hate more than the Dallas Cowboys, and thanks to Gene Steratore and that stupid “process of the catch” rule,  my January is now free of those Texas drama queens.  But like I said, the Patriots are as much of a soap-opera.  From the quasi-dignified buffoonery of Robert Kraft, the angry “Bob Newhart” deadpan stylings of Bill Belichick, and the never-ending line of second-chance miscreants this team keeps importing, you would swear the NFL Network dedicated 6 or 7 hours a day to the exploits in Foxboro.

But even that doesn’t make the Patriots nearly as fucking annoying as the Colts.  Sure, Andrew Luck is the future of the NFL, and if you live in Indiana, the Pat McAfee show can be piss-your-pants funny, but the whole organization is run like the NFL’s version of North Korea. This is a team that was skulked out of Baltimore in the middle of the night 30 years ago, has been run by a series of looney drunks ever since then, and controls it’s press passes in such a way that the Indianapolis media might as well be Colts State Television. To see Colts coverage in Indiana, you would have heard very little of the performance-enhancing drug suspensions of Robert Mathis and LaRon Landry, you may not know Reggie Wayne is actually on Social Security, and you might still think Peyton Manning is the quarterback of this team. After all, the easiest way to identify a Colts fan is from his Denver Broncos’ Peyton Manning jersey.

Speaking of Manning, there’s a guy who is top of the list for who I blame for the fact I have to endure another Sunday filled with the two teams in the AFC I’m the most sick of.  The motherfucker had to wait until last night to show us he is officially finished. Anybody who was being honest saw this coming, but the guy can’t throw the fucking ball anymore.

As long as I’m handing out servings of “Fuck You,” I’d like to give one scoop to Joe Flacco. To be fair, I’ve never blamed him for being “over-rated,” the guy can’t control what the media or his stupid-ass coach says about him. And while that streak of not throwing interceptions in the post-season was impressive, that second one that killed the Ravens on Sunday might be one fo the worst throws I’ve ever seen him make, and it sure as shit was the most ill-timed.

But if Flacco gets one scoop, then Jon Harbaugh and the Raven defense deserve an entire fucking buffet. Yeah, know this blog is largely populated with Patriots’ fans, so I know somebody has already hit the “Harbaugh Wailing Ball of Vagina” angle for the “illegal subsititutions,” but that doesn’t even come close to explaining how the Ravens defense blew a 14-point lead…TWICE. Jon, I’ll listen to anything you say right after you explain that shit to me. Until then, change your tampon and go back to putting your brother in headlocks until he wets his khakis.

As for me, I’m going to have to suck it up and deal with the fact I’m probably looking at another Super Bowl with the goddamn Patriots.  Sure, this one won’t have Eli Manning, but the world is full of David Tyree’s and Mario Manningham’s

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