It’s not every day that one of us gets a call to greatness; it’s even less often that we actually answer.
At 9:15am on Sunday morning, I was roaming the aisles of a grocery store about a mile from my ziggurat, in search of a few missing items for my hosting of Week 2.
After last week’s debacle in Kansas City, the Chargers would be playing in the afternoon slot, allowing for a the ideal morning Red Zone viewing experience. An omelette was planned, lineups needed finalizing and my couch anxiously awaited the impending groove I planned to leave in it. Suddenly…
[PHONE FILES OPEN]
Low Commander: N’yello?
???: IT IS TIME TO FULFILL YOUR BLOOD OATH AND LAY WASTE TO THE SCOURGE OF THE HERETIC! ARE YOU READY?!
Low Commander: …Dad?
???: THIS IS NOT YOUR MORTAL PATRIARCH! I AM ETERNAL! I AM POWER EMBODIED! ON THIS DAY, I HAVE SELECTED YOU TO BEAR WITNESS TO THE SUPER SOLDIERS GLORIOUS VICTORY! YOUR VOICE IS TO BECOME AN EXTENSION OF MINE, AS YOU LEAD THE FAITHFUL CHARGED ONES IN A MATTER MOST PLEASING! YOU WILL STOMP! YOU WILL STOMP AGAIN! THEN YOU WILL CLAP! AND YOU WILL SCCCRREEEEAAAMMMM ON THIRD DOWN! OOOOHHHHHH YEAAAAHHHHHH! [Distorted guitar solo plays in background]
Low Commander: [Yawns] Well, I guess I–
???: YOUR DEDICATION TO THE CAUSE PLEASES ME GREATLY! NOW, HURRY TO MINE TEMPLE AND PREPARE THE MASSES FOR BATTLE!!! Also, could you pick up something to grill? And maybe like some chips and guac or something?
I couldn’t believe it. I had been chosen by the Almighty Bolt! And not just for any game, but for the home opener! White Hot Sunday! Verily, after my many years of service, sacrifice and sheltering my translucent skin from the sun, they couldn’t of found a better vessel for the occasion.
After quickly returning home and planning with my roommate, we began our pilgrimage South. A short while later down The 15, I came into sight of…
Qualcomm Stadium. The Q. Old Jack Murph. The concrete monument to the Lightning God had seen better days. But it was home. For now.
After paying dreaded Spanos Tax of $25 (TWENTY FIVE DOLLARS TO RENT A PARKING SPOT FOR 5 HOURS?! YOU ARE A MONSTER OF THE HIGHEST CALIBER, DEAN!) we began our decent into the Maze of Tail Gate. Luckily, it didn’t take long for us to find the other members of our group. I had met the High Priest of this Chapter before, drinking the fine ales of Aztec in past celebration, but the rest of his congregation were new to me. After introductions and the ceremonial letting of lightning blood, we began our pregame ritual of homage to BEERYGH, Keeper of Hops, Lord of Yeast, Baron of Barley, Maker of Malt and Cousin of the mighty and remorseless BLEERGH.
“BEERS FOR THE BEER GOD!” I’d cry.
“BEERS FOR THE BEER GOD!” They’d respond.
After feasting upon the glorious treats prepared by the grill, and sufficient lubrication from the fearsome BEERYGH’s offerings, the High Priest presented me with two passes to enter the temple. The much improved Meth Cats of Jacksonville had come forth to challenge our mighty Super Soldiers, and I was more than ready to lead the Charged Ones, as was my birthright. I greatly thanked the High Priest for his beyond extravagant donation, and upon reaching the gates learned that we must part ways. Bidding farewell, we headed down many steps to find ourselves on the front lines.
I was quite in awe of our location, as I had never been this close to the carnage before. Then suddenly, the ceremony began. 5 brave souls began to descend from the heavens on brilliant red, white and blue wings.
The ancient tablet displaying the events informed me that these were no ordinary beings, but Frogmen! Surely a creation of the Almighty Bolt, in his search for the ultimate field captain.
Without much hesitation, the Super Soldiers marched from the bowels of the temple and took their place upon the field of battle. What followed, was a glorious bloodbath! Our King of Faces Most Lasered proceeded quickly downfield and let young Initiate Gordon deliver the dried pig carcass into the Meth Cats home, to much roaring applause for the faithful Charged Ones! Oh what joy was this after the dark times of yesteryear.
It was not long before halfed time had been reached that my desire to pray to BEERYGH had been rekindled. Quickly retreating up the many steps, I found myself waiting among others for the chance to pay tribute, step as it was. $13 of BOLT BUCKS was demanded for the elixir and strength to go on. Normally, such a fine brew would be a pittance of $5 within the Halls of CostedCo, but not within these walls. Most of all, it honored perhaps one of the greatest Super Soldier of all, known only by his initials: LT. The only other option available was swill known for being UP FOR WHATEVER, and this outcome potentially included a resurgence by the Meth Cats, among many other foul atrocities. BEERYGH does not look kindly upon those that follow this path, and it was an easy decision for us.
We returned to the front lines just in time for kickoff. With a great boom, Lord Lambo of Kicks sent the mighty dead pig skyward, and the Meth Cats were far too afraid to advance.
At that moment, a great beacon of light descended upon the battleground, and I knew that the righteous will of BOLTMAN had blessed this holiest of fields.
The slaughter continued. Before long, the Super Soldiers had amassed 35 points, without allowing their opposition to have but a single score of their own! Through what must of been some semblance of pity, they eventually allowed them two scoring drives, but the damage was done and victory was assured! With a final score of 38-14, the last cannon was fired, and the Meth Cats were defeated!
As they retreated back to their ruined base, a few of the their warriors passed by. Seemingly knowing one of the Charged Ones around me, the savvy veteran known as Marcedes Lewis stopped but for a moment. Before heading onward, he shook my outstretched hand.
“Good luck next week against the Elite CamoFozz of Bourblemore!” I cried.
He gave me a puzzled expression before heading back to tend to the fallen. Perhaps he did not know what awaited him the following Sunday.
Alas, my time at the Temple of Q had ended. Scorched by the sun, voices failing and vastly dehydrated, we returned to our chariot for the return trip to our dwelling. Oh what grand fortune this was, to witness such an unexpected victory. Surely I had pleased the great BOLTMAN with my patronage, and look forward to perhaps serving him again later this year. But for now, I must rest.
HAIL BOLTMAN! HAIL BEERYGH! AND HAIL THE SUPER SOLDIERS! May death come swiftly to their enemies.