Champions? Pssh...

We're back in action, so soon after a posting because I couldn't help but think "Jesus, what the Hell are we doing?"  How are we barreling towards Year Five and we've almost reached the hundredth post of the Studly Pastures.  Which, by the way, keep your kids at home that night because we're going to have ourselves a disgusting/leave your inhibitions at the door, type of party that night.  Just sayin'.

I'd hang my head in shame if I knew how to properly describe that through text to faceless entities.

I mean what kind of churn out is that?  A post every 60 days?*

*That statistic was based off of the fact that I don't do statistics.  This isn't the Wall Street Journal where we track those brain-hurtin' types of things.  I consider my day successful if I can fry my egg properly at breakfast.  This is more like Fox News where the louder I scream the harder I get.

I'm still sitting here surprised that I got 'hundredth' right on the first go-around.  Just kidding, I speak pretty all day.

Kids, we live in a world where I was finally proven wrong.  I used to think that Vegas controlled Sports.  I capitalized Sports because I am including everything that may be considered a sport, so sit this one out: cheerleaders, interpretive dancers, chess enthusiasts, ribbon dancers, power walkers, competitive eaters, fat people that think it's the same as being a sumo wrestler, and hot yoga only because it violates the Geneva Convention.

I learned today that Sports is controlled by Big Television.  The final NFL teams that are matched up in the conference championship games that will determine who goes to the Super Bowl are: San Francisco vs. Seattle and New England vs. Denver.

Are you absolutely kidding me?  I like to sleep in to avoid this kind of daytime television drama.  RATINGS, BABY!!!?!!!!

These are the story-lines that were 'destined' from the start, right?

"Two division rivals face each other a third time in a do or die situation to make it to the Super Bowl!" -  every journalist on the West Coast right now.  I might have gotten the exclamation points wrong because there's probably more.

And don't even get me started with the AFC...Brady vs. Manning?  Brady vs. Manning?!  And it's the good Manning?!  Oh lord, why must you tempt me with such frivolities?  I'd like to consider the rivalry between Brady and Manning a lot like the relationship of Clint Eastwood and the Vietnamese boy in "Gran Torino."

Manning dies and leaves everything meaningful to Brady who just shits all over it by letting a dog sit in the front seat who also just shits all over it.  END SCENE.

Of course this game is the bane of my existence but the general public is a bunch of fodder-sucking, brainless shells that are told to go absolutely ape-shit over this match-up.  And so they shall, and many a vomit-stifling shall be had that day by yours truly.

Best case scenario for me?  Denver defeats New England and we're treated to another post-game interview with Manning with that red mark on his forehead because it's too big for his helmet...and another post-game interview of Brady blaming himself but secretly hating everybody on his team but the secret isn't so secret once you see his face because he's a terrible actor.

And then Seattle defeats Denver in whatever Roman Numeral Super Bowl this year is because Peyton deserves to be the new Dan Marino.  Congratulations, you have records that are impressive now but this is a progressive game...who's to say that anything you've done will be meaningful/remembered give or take thirty years?  You have a title, I'll give you that Manning, but people talk about Marino now as if he was the martyr of good but never great.

I bestow that crown on you, Peyton Manning, current holder of all that is holy except for anything that really counts and I challenge you to prove me wrong!

And usually when I do that on this blog I am caught with my pants down and stammering over my own words.  Peyton is, after all, my arch-nemesis.  I guess I'm just the same as the rest of you and we'll see what Big Television demands...