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Welcoming The Weekend With The Moment I Learned There Is No God

The 1998-1999 season was one I will never forget. Randal Cunningham, Chris Carter, a newly drafted Randy Moss… and Gary Anderson.

US Bank Stadium by Quintin3265 is licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0

Welcoming The Weekend With The Moment I Learned There Is No God


Estimated Reading Time: 2 Minutes

You made it! It’s finally the end of another work week. Sure, the weekend has lost a bit of its luster lately, but no work is still no work, even if it is just sitting at home doing nothing. I mean, unless you have kids or a family or responsibilities and if so, that’s a “you” problem.

I know I usually use this space to drop some sort of fun or nonsensical video but this week I decided to lean into the pain. This kick sums up my Vikings fandom and overall outlook on life quite nicely.

The ‘Perfect’ Season

The 1998-1999 season was one I will never forget. Randal Cunningham, Chris Carter and a newly drafted Randy Moss. This team was unstoppable. They broke all the records including the single season scoring one that the almost undefeated Patriots eventually topped. They basically ran my favorite play whenever they wanted. A young, wide-eyed little idiot would yell at the TV ‘run the touchdown play!’ and so it would be. Nothing could stop them.

Nothing until Gary fucking Anderson that is. This single-bar face mask wearing prick brought me right back down to a face to face visit with crushing reality. This was the moment when the curtain was lifted on the team I had chosen to root for. It was the HD version of an aging actor. The first time you saw what time had truly done to them. All the years of hard drinking and partying mixed with one too many plastic surgeries. All right there in beautiful depressing clarity.

This moment did set me up to deal with what was to come. Nothing sports related ever stung like this. It was the perfect baptism of defeatism that would guide me through my life to this day. So I guess I should be thanking Mr. Anderson. I mean, I wont cuz fuck that guy, but still.

Also this lmfaoooooooooo!

Josh grew up in the midwest and upon graduating from the University of Iowa he wanted to see the world. After 4 years in Jacksonville he decided he was cultured enough and moved on to Birmingham England (known to the locals as the Detroit of the UK) and then west to San Francisco before settling in NYC. He pays his bills working in finance making sure the 1% remains on top. When he is not selling his soul and unable to look himself in the mirror, he spends his time writing mean things about sports while his dog, Sweet Dee, silently judges from her spot on the couch. He is very biased and never wrong. He would also like to thank Rotowire for never changing their NBA League Pass and MLB.TV passwords from that year when he was an NBA Beat Writer for the Nuggets for some reason.

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