Super Bowl Homeboy

Last week, Super Bowl Homeboy teased the concept of a Teen Wolf takeover of the Minnesota Vikings. The truth, however, is that Minnesota needs an infusion far beyond the grasp of inexperienced, sexually and biologically confused wolves of the teenage variety.

What Minnesota needs are full-blown Werewolves. And we need them NOW.

SBHB proposes a massive influx in ownership funding of the werewolf variety. This break down should proceed as follows:

1) Mandate that the checks and balances of the Vikings’ Triangle of Authority allow any branch of Purple government power to veto non-werewolf quarterback selections. It was firmly established in Sunday’s victory over Carolina, both on the field and in post-game interviews, that Gus Frerotte is a USDA-certified werewolf. While it did take nearly a quarter-and-a-half of Chilly’s boneheaded gunslinging plan to breakdown before we moved to the traditional werewolf-style offense, 35:00 was more than enough to howl at victory. Werewolves’ shapeshifting powers, insatiable desire to taste the human flesh, and curiously convenient inability to differentiate between the full moon and the Metrodome roof make them prime candidates to lead this otherwise Mormon value-led electric speed train to Tampa.

2) Forget about the fact that our NBA franchise has never sniffed the Finals, is largely the laughing stock of the Western Conference, would at least consider drafting a stiff, awkward Eastern European standing on 10-inch stilts purely on the basis of whether he were socially available for McHale family pizza parties, and are “The Rockers” of the NBA, only if Marty Janetty had held Shawn Michaels back for like, five more years.

What does this mean for the franchise? Free agent signings and more bungled drafts aren’t going to do the trick. We need a makeover on this entire organization. So call the doctor from Face/Off, surgically remove our reputation from our body and apply the destructive sex appeal of the modern day werewolf. Then sit back to watch the Firework show.

The one problem presented here, of course, is that the Minnesota TimberWerewolves’ brain trust is led by a vampire. There are a lot of questions that need to be asked of Minnesota sports teams right now. But the most important of those is the following: werewolf or vampire?

Werewolves destroy and conquer. Vampires infiltrate like a cancer. Werewolves win. Vampires leech the blood straight from the hearts of their one-time admirers before flapping back to the castle from whence they came, only to silently tremble in the lonely, bitter dark of their own misfortune.

Kevin McHale is a vampire.

He may have at one time in the 1980s attained werewolf status, but age has certainly revealed Van McHale’s true colors. He must be swiftly replaced with a werewolf, before his effects tarnish the makeover of this franchise. Remember, vampires never die. But unlike werewolves, they are vulnerable to religious artifacts such as the cross and holy water. And the likelihood that Jesus already resides in Minnesota should help.

3) I started to think last night that the Twins are an awful lot like Hitchcock’s Cary Grant movies. When Hitchcock reinvented Grant and found a way to bring out that charmingly clumsy duality in him, the appeal of the movie became that you couldn’t tell until the final scene whether Grant was good or evil. Of course that’s obvious to old people or nerds like me who watch these movies. But it wasn’t always so. Before, Cary Grant was primarily straight-shooting (or bi-shooting if you know what I mean), screwball comedian actor who was occasionally impressive but short of memorable. Likewise, Ron Gardenhire has begun to direct a picture in which I can’t tell whether this group of misfits he has plucked out of the second-tier of MLB obscurity is the villain in addition to the hero. It may also be that this entire parallel doesn’t hold up at all, and the 2006 Twins were more like Hitchcock movies in that regardless of whether they won the pennant or not, they were still going to the playoffs – the equivalent of a successful movie. Conversely, this season, in which our hopes have been raised artificially high at this juncture, is more like an M. Night Shyamalan movie. Hitchcock movies were good no matter how the final scene turned out. Shyamalan movies have promise and then generally turn out to be a potent bust at the final twist. Only time will tell.

Back to the important question though. Are the Twins werewolves or vampires? Jason Kubel did his best werewolf impression last night. Delmonster is already a card-carrying member of the monster community, but as a giant lizard, he is far from attaining werewolf status. Nick Blackbeard’s Delight, on the hill tonight, is of course a pirate, which defeats vampire as we all know. He has the sideburns to be a werewolf. The question is whether he has a vampire’s heart and A.J. Pierzynski smells like garlic. I bet you never thought you’d read that sentence…

Gus Frerotte vs. Kerry Collins constitutes a relevant Sunday afternoon in which the competition has nothing to do with picking up a couple of cases of Bud Diesel. This is like Nixon rising from the ashes in ‘68, but to face the exhumed body of Adlai Stevenson. But I think that gives too much credit to whichever one of these jokesters would be Nixon. This is like John Travolta competing for an Oscar against Andy Garcia, except Andy Garcia might have briefly been a good actor.

This is like…nothing the world has ever seen.

I am as amazed as you are. So is the sponsor of Sunday’s Titans-Vikings game…

Focusing in on experience, Frerotte recounts the tradition of the Viking franchise in making his case for best serving Minnesota:

In response to a hard-hitting Tarvaris Jackson ad obtained earlier this week by SBHB, Gus Frerotte for Quarterback has released its first commercial of the season:

As most Vikings fans know, Brad Childress is a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. According to the Mormon Times, Childress and Darrell Bevell are joined by Naufahu Tahi and Garrett Mills as the four members of the Vikings staff/player personnel to rock the secret underwear.

I have always had an unusual fascination, and yes, affinity for the Mormon faith. During my formative years in the Big Apple, one of my closest friends was a follower of the teachings and preaching of Joseph Smith. Though he and his parent’s attempts at persuading me to join the flock proved futile, certain aspects of Mormon culture were truly admirable and left an indelible mark on me. The integrity of the unity of family. Their shared sense of faith. Their happiness in the vast wasteland that we once called home.

When I learned this week that Chilly had decided to go with Gus Frerotte as the starting quarterback this Sunday, I can’t say I wasn’t incredulous. Chilly is no Jack Mormon. Chilly’s faith is unyielding and uncompromising. Notice how Andy Reid, a fellow Mormon, has stuck by his man, Donovan McNabb, though Philadelphia fans have called for his head more than Santa Claus’. What? So maybe Mr. Jackson isn’t no McNabb, but he sure has more moves than head-banger Gus Frerotte.

I now wonder what Chilly might have done after members of the Mormon Faith were effectively banished from Nauvoo, Illinois in 1846. Would he have left the faith and not joined Brigham Young on his odyssey to the Great Salt Lake? Perhaps even more frighteningly, would he have strayed and become an atheist? Members of the Minnesota press, who religiously (no pun intended) peruse this blog, please inquire as to the whereabouts of Chilly’s lost faith.

-JM

SuperBowlHomeboy has obtained the first TV advertisement of the quarterback race.