I pulled into 'Napolis, was feelin' blind, dumb and deaf.
Just passed the place, where I will watch the Chefs.
"Hey mister, can you tell me, if I'll soon see hometown refs?"
He just grinned and shook my hand "Colts" was all he said.
I have arrived, having driven through the night from D.C. for no particularly good reason in a maelstrom of frozen dangers that should only be navigated by caribou-drawn sled. Because I had to see it.
Soon we will emerge from the shadows. Soon we will bookend twenty years of playoff disappointment with another win from a revitalized 49er QB castoff.
I have brought with me a secret good luck charm so powerful that Eric Berry may enter Lucas Oil riding six white horses and then punch them all in the face.
Up there it's their time! Down here it's our time! Was it over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor? Rage against the dying of the light! When someone asks you if you're a god, you...say...YES!
I may have lost my train of thought. Oh right-o. We will beat the Dolts. I can feel it. I can see it in my brainhead.
Or... I'm just horribly delusional from sleep deprivation and about 38 near-death experiences.
Either way I will drink enough Three Floyds to bend the score to my will. If you're playing "Where's the Chief?", the trio of Okoye/McCluster/Berry will be representing in section 116.
And now a nap. But later...the anointing! But definitely a nap.