My eyes are bloodshot. My hair is disheveled. My stomach hurts. I’m a zombie. I’m beyond my normal bouts of rage after a Dolphins’ loss. I’m beyond just the normal throwing the toaster at my television. I’m beyond flinging empty Heineken bottles at my dog.
This loss makes me want to do something else entirely. This loss makes me want to dropkick a bunny. It makes me want to dip a little kid’s lollipop into a pile of dog shit. It makes me want to sneak up behind a really little old lady at the supermarket and scream “THE GUY FROM QUIET RIOT DIED!!! CAN YOU FUCKING BELIEVE IT!!!???” right in her ear at the top of my lungs.
This is a different sort of ire I’m feeling right now. It’s bitter. It’s pungent. It’s atypical and it’s unwelcome. It’s like when some heavy-breathing sweaty, oily fat guy crashes your New Year's party, stops up your toilet and then leaves after eating all the kielbasas without an apology or a thank you. Who the fuck invited that guy? And why does my entire home suddenly smell like a public park men's room?
A 3-to-nothing loss. Is there anything worse? I mean, really? Is there anything worse? Think about it? What’s worse? A pineapple enema? Your scrotum used as a punching bag? Trying to fart at work and realizing too late that it was more than a fart? No. Nothing. Nothing is worse.
Seems fitting that after all the anticipation and excitement the return of Ricky Williams brought us that, in the end, he’d play about a minute’s worth of football before having to leave the game after someone stepped on his shoulder. Someone stepped on his shoulder! Who else does that happen to but to the Dolphins???
Seems fitting that once Jesse Chatman finally started to get it rolling as if Cam taped a dangling Twinkie on his helmet, he has to leave the game with a neck injury, leaving us with a leprechaun at running back.
Look, I can pour over all the meaningless stats and reasons why we lost this game. I can blame Cam, I can blame the geniuses who run Heinz field, I can hope Derrick Hagan gets mauled by a liger. But it’s painfully obvious why we lost and it needs no breakdown or analysis. God hates us. He hates you and he hates the Miami Dolphins. That’s it. So go find a priest and lunge a knee into his groin until he vomits.
Because our sucktitude has reached Biblical proportions.