If you drop $125 on this, you are a Mor-on.

I love throwback jerseys. Over the years, I've had Largent, Krieg, Kennedy and Easley old school jerseys (unfortunately my fat ass grew out of the Largent, Kennedy and Krieg jerseys), and I'd love to get more (a Cortez #99 jersey would be sweet).

Also, back in '87, my 12-year-old noggin sported the "Boz" cut. I had that The Land of Boz poster on my wall, and I had a Bosworth #44 Seahawks jersey. I even bought the dude's book. I was hard core, y'all.

However, the day you see me wearing the Bosworth throwback they are pushing online right now is also the day you know I've had a full frontal lobotomy.

If you are a Seahawks fan, why would you buy this? This guy was one of the biggest busts in NFL history, particularly in relation to the amount of hype that surrounded his arrival in the NFL. He played in a grand total of 24 NFL games, and accumulated only four more career sacks than you or I have. Yes, it's worth noting that he had a promising rookie season in '87, but you can say the same about Rick Mirer in '93. I don't see anyone clamoring to shell out $125 for HIS jersey, do you?

I mean, this guy shouldn't represent a positive memory for Seahawks fans. I associate him with failure and disappointment in my mind (and with getting pancaked by Bo Jackson on MNF). He's Owen Gill. He's Dan McGwire. He's Kelly Stouffer and Lamar King... and so on.

I'm guessing there must be demand for Boz jerseys among ignorant douchebag buffoons that I don't know about? What do y'all think?

The Dead Zone

I admit it: I just wanted an excuse to show a pic of Christopher Walken holding a big-ass gun.

For reals, there's NOTHING going on right now. I'm deep in my traditional post-Super Bowl funk, and it'll take the start of free agency to hoist me out of this mental rut.

There's no good movies out that I haven't already seen, and I couldn't give less of a fuck about basketball these days. I guess I prefer the NBA to college ball, but I can't be bothered to watch anything but sportscenter highlights until the playoffs. There was a point in the past where I got excited about March Madness, but as I age college basketball just seems to slip further and further into irrelevance.

The Olympics? They're about as compelling as a staring contest between tree sloths. Baseball? Doesn't start for six gorram weeks.

Come back soon, NFL. We need you to distract us from stupid reality. More and more, you seem like the only sport that actually matters.

Know Hope

Five and a half years ago, I went to the Seahawks-Saints regular season opener in New Orleans. The Hawks won, and I had a blast, but I wasn't impressed with the Saints or their fans.

The stadium was perhaps 2/3rds full, and the crowd barely seemed to notice the game going on down below between taking swigs of beer... The team was talented but undisciplined, and there was nothing to indicate they'd contend anytime soon.

A year later, Katrina.

Not only did it look even more hopeless for the Saints on the field... It also looked like they'd flee New Orleans at the first opportunity. In NFL history, there has probably never been a more hopeless moment for an entire fanbase.

Five years later, they are World Champions. Forty years of (mostly) futility have been erased, and they will raise that Lombardi Trophy skyward on a loop until the end of time. Drew Brees, Sean Payton and Darren Sharper will be talking heads on America's Game, and the 2010 season will kickoff in the raucous din of the Superdome.

If the Saints can be Champions, ANY TEAM can be Champions. If we've entered a brave new world of head coaches taking bold risks, I'm glad we have a coach whose nickname is "Big Balls Pete." If the Saints can beat three hall-of-fame-bound QBs to win a world title, the Seahawks can claw out of this valley of suck.

Enjoy this offseason, Twelves. It is the beginning. Someday, we'll say we were there when the first parts of a World Championship team were constructed.

Congrats, Saints. As of now, we're on your six. :)

Tweeting XLIV

If you want to follow my tweets during the Super Bowl, here's the link... Hope to see you over there!

Defending Your Life

I've never fit neatly into groups. The high school clique system eldued me, and I have even had a hard time relating to most other football fans. My wife, back when we were dating, even noticed it... "You're weird. You don't drink while you watch football, and you don't really get interested in the cheerleaders. You make it all nerdy and intellectual." Guilty as charged.

I'm a college professor, and... big shock... I don't really fit in with the other folks there either. This got shoved in my face yesterday when I happened to mention the Super Bowl in the computer lab. This other professor started in on how football was a meaningless spectacle, and how she couldn't fathom how people get so emotionally invested in it... blah blah blah.

As you readers obviously know, it means something to me. If you are here, it means something to you too. When I think about where I come closest to fitting in, it's with my fellow Twelves. I'm not an idiot. I know that it's just a game. I know that I don't have any control over the results. I know it's irrational as fuck.

I know this, and I don't care. WE give it meaning. Plenty of people don't care about football, but they care about something else (I hope). If I waved my hand in dismissal and deemed those passions meaningless, I'd be... hmm... how does one put this? A huge fucking dickbasket.

But that's what this supposedly enlightened, open-minded academic said about the NFL, about the Super Bowl, about our thing. I laid into her verbally and exposed her hypocrisy, finally getting her to admit that she simply hated the sport. She was reduced to making the kind of anecdotal arguments to explain larger social trends that we'd NEVER accept in a student's research paper.

I think in part she was surprised that someone who was another flaming lib-rul academic was interested in such a barbaric, non-PBS pursuit... I was certainly surprised by her smug arrogance, and it's obvious we parted both thinking far less of the other.

But I'm out there, hoisting the standard of our passion, fellow Twelves. She can go all Squidward this Sunday. We'll be enjoying our Bread and Circuses, and with gusto.

By the way, I'll say Saints 34, Colts 31.