With two consecutive slow starts in the 2009 season questions have been raised about how Coach Brad Childress has been preparing his team. While the Vikings have walked away with two road wins to being the year, they have done so mainly on the back of two strong performances in both game’s second halves. Did the team decide to play the entire season by offering a handicap to their opponents? Are they Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde incarnate? Or do they just need to get their collective shit together? Well, through the miracles of modern technology that also brought you Erin Andrews Through a Peephole, Purple Jesus Diaries was able to play the role of “fly on the wall” during Coach Childress’ halftime speech in Detroit. The results were been seen by fans, but the speech itself was something to behold …
The locker room door opens up and the players start to file in. There is a downtrodden mood hanging over the air as the Vikings find themselves down to the feeble Lions, 7-10 at half. The rush defense had been getting pounded harder than a Japanese Real Doll and the offense has been looking weaker than Paul Allen at a Jonas Brothers concert. Motivation was needed, and as the players sat down in front of their lockers looking to each other for answers, Coach Childress walked in to deliver his halftime speech:
“Congratulations, girls, you’re on your way to providing the Lions with their first win in almost two years. Does that make you feel pretty good? You have a rookie quarterback out there and you’re making him look like the Johnny Unitas and Bart Starr had a fucking bastard child and put him in a Lions uniform. Their defense looks like the fucking Steel Curtain. Purple Jesus, are you intimidated by them?? Griffin, are you afraid that Calvin Johnson is the real Megatron? It’s a fucking cartoon and a movie! He’s not going to turn into a robot! What the fuck is wrong with you ladies??
“You know what? Fine. You’re asking for this then. You don’t want to play how we practiced this entire week then I’ve got no other choice …”
The players watch in horror as Coach Childress reaches towards his belted waist and …
…Pulls out a shaving razor.
“I’ll do it. I’ll shave my fucking beard off right now.”
The players have flash backs to the three previous years of Coach Childress with his mustache. Several images come to mind.
These are things that no player wants to see again, and have been thankful that their coach has forgone the ‘stache for the beard this year. Perhaps that has been why they won their first game.
“You know this beard is why we won our first game. You think I could have coached you as well with that mustache? Well, maybe this beard has lost its influence then. Maybe you assholes need a little intimidating. Do you not want to see the Pedo-stache anymore? Then play some fucking football. You think I want to leave this armpit city with a one and one record? Good dammit, no! I’m in a contract year here, you pricks! If we lose I’m one step closer to being out the door. Oh, sure, if I’m gone then there’s no more threat of this mustache coming to haunt you in your dreams, greet your children at the door while it frames a yellow toothed smile, or surprise you as it collects water droplets in the mist of the team showers. But you think that if I’m fired this mustache will simply disappear into the trash bin?
“Don’t bet on it, you fuck faces.
“If I get fired I’ll have even more time to trim and perfect this mustache. I’ve grown this beard out simply as a cover in order to expand the glory of my ‘stache. If I’m gone, the mustache reappears, and it’ll be found in places you never thought possible, in shapes and colors you never could have conceived. Will I appear over your headboard at home with a Fu-Manchu? Perhaps. Will I be seen peeping at you and your family at the park from the woods on your day off? You bet your ass I will. Will you see this mustache appear as I slowly turn my head around from the seat in front of you to stare at you with wide, unblinking eyes while you and your wife watch the newest horror film at a local AMC theater? If you don’t think I’m telling you the truth then just. Fucking. Try. Me.
“Now get out there and get us a win, or I promise you … I promise … The hurt you feel from a loss to the Lions won’t even rival the hurt you’ll feel from these rough mustache bristles tickling your asshole as I tongue you out. I’m not joking. Get out there and fucking play good god damn football.
The team jumps to attention, rejuvenated and ready to play. The rest, as they say, is history. Or forced sexual relations. I forget which.