ARE YOU THERE, GOD? IT'S ME, ERNEST.

Dear God,
Why do you hate me? I know I don’t believe in you, and all that, but don’t you love all your children no matter what? Doesn’t it say that somewhere in the bible? Sure I taketh your name in vain 7-8 times an hour and tell lots of Catholic priest jokes, but who doesn’t? I’ve been a Vikings fan my whole life, and they’ve never won the Super Bowl. I’ve been waiting 33 years for them to even get back there. Oh lord, why do you torture me so? Two of the last three NFC championship games they made it to have been heartbreaking overtime losses to inferior teams. Clearly you had to intervene to make that happen. Why do you pick on me and my beloved Vikes? Don’t you have to be somewhere making Paris Hilton more famous, or creating earthquakes and tornadoes to destroy churches (you sick bastard)? What could you possibly care about pushing footballs wide right, or making them pop out of players hands over, and over, and over, and over again? I truly don’t understand you, God, but I’m trying.
Is it me? Are you punishing me specifically? Because that’s what it feels like. Will you let the Vikes win if I stop rooting for them? Is that what it’s going to take? Because I’ll do it Lord. I’d renounce my love for the Purple and Gold, like Abraham sacrificing his son, if it means that my Minnesota brethren could experience a championship. I would do anything you want to make that happen. I’ll get one of those silly bowl cuts and wear a brown robe and never speak again if that’s what you want. I’ll wear a shitty polyester suit and a name tag and go door to door if that is thy will. If you want me to hand out flowers at the airport and have 40 children on a ranch, I will. Oh God, I will! Just give me a sign. Any sign and thy will be done! But if you do give me a sign, could you make it before training camp? The defensive front four will be back next year, and if you could see fit to get us some secondary prospects…….I’m just sayin’.

You bless,
-Ernest

P.S. I totally get the irony of naming a team of arrogant, undisciplined cheap shot artists the “Saints.” Very funny. I predict that the next storm you send to destroy New Orleans will be called Hurricane Colts. What? Too soon?