Wind & Wuthering
The 2007 ticket punched by the G'ants was a debacle. The Patriots lost historically ... and for all time. The bad boy cheating scum, and that includes the tainted for all time smirk-man-poster-boy Brady, were served their just deserts. The book registered titanic loses. New York money vs. the odds on favorite before the season even began ... punishment for the fool. It was a bookie blood bath. Once again, Destinies Darlings ... the Vikings ... met the familiar foe of the tainted 87 season, in the 30-year sterile confines of the uninspired Metrodome only to leave that ticket un-punched for yet another season. That G'ants ride was meant for a Viking heart that flows well beyond blue. It could have been the cash cow of the Millennium ... 2nd only to the Cubs-BloodSoxs ... that never happened. Not in the NFL ... not ever ... that's what I used to think.
For the spawn of 61' ... the money to lose we have. The long anticipated Super Bowl championships ... we have not. Bight the dust ... it's a no brainer. Absolutely no one will have their coin riding the purple ... the stigma of carrying four Super Bowl Championships for so long is one that is too great to overcome ... something even the layman, including the uninitiated are clear to understand. No true Beserker would trade the ultimate for the jaded chance at a greenback. The well is truly deep indeed. Today, there is no greater underdog. Today ... there is no greater story. There it is ... prime for the taking. The open air stadium now weighs in the balance.
The mighty north winds have blown. Erosion, and the wuthering of memories of our longing past, still haunt us with every breath that we take. There was always true-wiley-genius on both sides of that ball ... that evolved from the eyes of stone-faced wisdom ... of trusting veteran leadership to lead with a quicken wit. Yesteryears dramas were well beyond just the stigmatism of today's coin-cheapened swagger. These longing and vivid choreographed struggles were ballets of motion, speed, footwork, leverage, power and agility, which transpired into comedies. Our weekly foe, looking through their ear-hole, played the helpless jester ... and we watched it all unfold before our eyes. We witnessed what was beyond belief ... with jaws agape. These Nordic Titan's were beyond different. They were hardworking ball-hawking headhunters that carried the pride and dignity of their mates with every match ... a trait I still carry on this day ... for me, there was, and is, no other team.
These same visions are now in place and they lie before us ... but they can only be acquired by choice ... and this choice has absolutely nothing to do with cheating, but rather ... honor, pride, sacrifice and heart ... with the goal of soul enrichment ... bonded by an unbreakable and enduring union.
Old-Stone-Face Eyes always revealed your inner soul. Today they would indicate nothing but shame and disdain for the noise that is within your ears. Do you hold your manhood cheap? I am sickened by the whining ... contracts, blow hard agents that whisper sweet lies into the ears of children, guaranteed money, salary cap, players union, gutted and emasculated veteran hero's of our youth, poison pills, mortgaged futures, lost draft picks, holdouts, missed practice time, stadiums ... all in the trail of the almighty dollar. There is a much greater purpose ... "it escapes me in this world on none". Let me tell you ... I dawdled over my first raise for all of about 15 minutes ... money does not motivate a damn thing. What your chasing does not exist. On the day of your death you won't carry a cent with you ... there won't be the memory of a single raise, or the worry over life's acquisitions. U-hauls don't follow caskets. The only carry-on, limited only by the size of ones heart, will contain the knowledge of your life's struggle, the wisdom gained by enduring it all, and the true passion acquired by enduring it all. The lucky ones, the ones without tainted souls, get to carry-on with their mates, like the rumored talking busts in Canton. It is never too late ... it is now time to stand like men.
There is only one stadium issue ... bring back the spirits that are carried upon Nordic Winds. They exist. The Norman Gods ... the Beserkers ... command that all struggle are to be stirred within the cauldron of the elements ... be it on the winds, the breakers, through thunder and lightning, driving rains, hail, ice, and snow. I shall be with you wind-jamming on that torrent for all time ...
The Viking Ghost