Not that there's anything wrong with that...Pop quiz, hotshot: What do you get when a soulless, blundering boob and an arrogant, prickish douchebag get together to see if they can manage to catch lightning in a bottle a second consecutive time?

Answer: The lightning strikes the hull of the Drekar longship, which proceeds to burst into flames and sink to the bottom of the Nordsjøen. Or, in other words, big fun!

I don't know about you, but as far as I'm concerned, it couldn't happen to a more deserving gaggle of assholes. As excruciatingly tedious as the interminable King Brett Saga has been over the last few years, lately I get the feeling that it's not gonna be too long before this thing blows up into something unbelievably amusing. At this point, you can almost hear the steam whistle atop the oncoming locomotive increasing in volume and pitch.

It's not gonna be pretty.

It's gonna be glorious.

Let's bring ourselves up to date, shall we?

Evidently, Brad Childress and Brett Favre hate each other's guts. Which should come as no surprise, as both men are exceedingly hateable. Although it does make one wonder why Chilly is so often seen… uh… polishing Brett's purple helmet.

Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra: La mejor salsa del mundo es la hambre.

Indeed. Desperate men swallow hard. Even last year, as the Vikings were catching the aforementioned lightning, there were numerous instances of blatant, and pointedly public, insubordination on Brett's part.

There were no fewer than three occasions when Chilly tried (and failed) to bench take Brett out of games, including once in December while the Vikings were leading the Panthers 7-6 and still trying to lock up a playoff bye. The Vikings ended up losing that game, and Brett wasted no time hipping any and every reporter within earshot to the nature of the dispute. (And who won.)

Soon after, the St. Paul Pioneer Press reported that it wasn't exactly the first time. And just how did they know that? Why, Brett (or one of his minions) crowed about it, of course.

Chilly tried to explain it away, of course, claiming that he was just thinking out loud because opposing defenders were playing too rough with his golden goose (which would become a constant refrain from Chilly over the next 8 months or so.)

See, Chilly wasn't really gonna bench take Brett out, but if he did, it would only have been for Brett's own good. It would have had nothing to do with Brett's (naturally) widely-publicized habit of calling his own plays in the huddle and flipping Chilly off on the way to the line of scrimmage.

But Chilly is a desperate man. He had already long since sacrificed his soul (not to mention his testicles) at the Altar of Brett, so it came as no surprise that he continued to put up with Brett's bullshit all offseason. He took himself a trip down to Palace de Brett (where he was instructed to enter through the door marked "Supplicants" ) A gambit that has recently been reported to not exactly yield the desired result. Evidently, Brett had been leaning toward coming back… right up until Chilly knocked on his door, that is. (And again, how would anybody know about that?)

Undaunted, and more desperate than ever, Chilly later played his trump card. He excused two hillbillies (and a third white guy, just for good measure) from camp practices so that they could… ahem… go down there… and sit with Brett on the tailgate of his old pickup truck and shake sticks at coon hounds for a spell, compare jorts, and make an appeal that golly gee shucks, Brett just couldn't ignore.

When asked by reporters in attendance at Vikings camp where the aforementioned hillbillies and extra white guy were, Chilly did what any reasonable person would do. He lied. (And he ordered two assistant coaches to lie about it as well.)

He lied, and he cried.

Not that crying and waxing pussified over opponents being mean to Brett is anything new up there at the douche end of the Mississippi. Hell, that's pretty much become a full blown tradition these days. Those tears gushed longer and harder than Macondo, and to date, there doesn't seem to have been any effort whatsoever to cap it.

If Chilly weren't such a simpering fool, I'd be tempted to give him credit for "working the officials" weeks ahead of time. You know, put a bug in their ear and wait for 'em to make it rain flags Sept. 9 in the Dome. Hell, it might even work. After all, now that the officials have done their good deed and carried out the league's dirty work in greasing the skids for the Saints' Championship (high five!) you just know they're dying to get back to screwing the Saints over at every opportunity. Or something.

But Chilly's not nearly that crafty. No, it was just typical 2010 Vikings bitching and moaning and coulda-woulda-shoulda. Clearly they're still not over it. At all. One wonders if they ever will be. "Remember me shots" indeed. Say, remember when it used to be the Vikings who were in the Saints' heads?

Of course, Brett arrives just in time for his 15 minutes of preseason work, and before Patrick Willis can even finish digging his cleats into Brett's chest, somehow Jason Cole gets wind of the fact that Brett still pretty much thinks Chilly's an idiot. And so do a bunch of other guys. (Gee, wonder how Cole might have gotten that info?)

Some people seem to think it's coming from Sage Rosenfels. You know, seeing as how he's been getting fucked over since the day he signed because what Brett wants, Brett gets. Yeah, I could definitely see that. moosedenied was able to reach Tarvaris Jackson for his thoughts on the matter as well:

Tarvaris Jackson: Guh?

Indeed, Tarvaris. Indeed.

Not that there's any kind of schizm or anything. Naaaaah. After all, people were talking all that noise last year too, and they caught that lightning in a bottle anyway. Clearly this is a trend. I mean, catching lightning in a bottle is kinda like riding a bike, right? As long as King Brett is in the house, everything's fine. Right? After all…

Christopher Gates: Let's face it. . .the Minnesota Vikings were the best team in the National Football League in 2009.  I know it, you know it, anybody that watched the NFL last year knows it, and deep down the rest of the NFL probably knows it, too.  They proved, beyond the shadow of any reasonable doubt, that the only team in the NFL capable of stopping the Minnesota Vikings is the Minnesota Vikings.

Oh yeah, no doubt about it. If only there were some sort of AP Championship for NFL teams who were clearly superior to the actual champion, the Vikings would be gunning for a bonafide Two-Pete right about now. But, alas:

Christopher Gates: And don't think for one second that it isn't going to infuriate every person on that sideline on 9 September when they stand there and watch the New Orleans Saints raise a championship banner that everyone on that team knows damn well should be going up in their house instead.


This is not Detroit, man. This is the Super Bowl.

I mean, it's not like we Saints fans can't relate to douchebag quarterbacks and dumbass head coaches. Been there, done that. Hell, it wasn't even all that long ago when our own dumbass head coach was unable to get his douchebag quarterback to go back into a game and throw a hail mary, because the quarterback didn't want to fuck up his stats. (Actually, it's been almost a decade ago now. High five!)

But to hell with relating. Not to these assholes.

What's worse for Chilly is that, despite what the media would have you believe, it's not even all about King Brett.

Adrian Peterson went AWOL from minicamp back in June to bask in a Brettesque celebration of himself in his Texas hometown. It was an unauthorized absence from a mandatory offseason function, and Chilly was publicly unhappy about it. No fine though. Just a good stern talking to, with the resolution being to "agree to disagree" on the matter.

Sidney Rice evidently suffered significant personal misfortune during the NFC Championship Game as well, no doubt as a result of additional low-down dirty rotten cheap-shot shenanigans on the part of the Saints' ungentlemanly defense.

Apparently Sidney was bound and determined to one-up teammates Ray Edwards and Visanthe Shiancoe in terms of implausible dumbassery. See, while Ray and Visanthe claimed to have been completely unaware of the Saints' heinous assault on King Brett until days or weeks later (and VOWING VENGEANCE!!! at… uh… some later date) Sidney was evidently unaware of the extent of his own personal victimization until, well, a couple days ago.

He woke up Monday morning and was all "OW! MY HIP! SAAAAAAAINTS!!!!!! DAMN YOU!!!" Or something.

And so he went ahead and had surgery, and he'll miss a whole bunch of games. Which, in and of itself wouldn't be all that interesting. The interesting part is that people — Minnesota people — have been speculating that maybe Rice, in a contract year, figures he's better off on the 2011 open market if he just goes ahead and skips out on 2010 with a valid medical excuse, rather than going down with the flaming Drekar longship.

And then there's Percy Harvin and his migraines. Look, I wish Harvin no specific harm. To the contrary, I'm quite familiar with the seriousness of this particular medical condition. My mom's been suffering from debilitating migraines for 40 years, and to this day, the closest anyone's come to "fixing it" was that one time some 15 years ago when I gave her some pot. Unfortunately, Harvin and my mom are pretty much in the same boat. Pot, fabulous as it is, isn't exactly a feasible long-term remedy. Not in the good ole USA, anyway. So, yeah, that blows. For lots of people.

Meantime, the upshot is that Harvin is basically day-to-day for the rest of his life. You just never know what you're gonna get on any given gameday. Kinda like Reggie Bush. Worse yet, once again we have Minnesota people wondering whether or not these migraines are a little too "convenient." I don't believe that for a second, but the important thing is that they do. A decent subset of them, anyway.

Oh, and they just signed Javon Walker, who also hates Brett's guts ever since Brett (surprise!) very publicly waxed righteous and threw Walker under the bus back in 2005 over a contract holdout. Because Brett would never jerk his employers around for a little more money and/or a little more boot-licking respeck™.

Again, if Chilly weren't such a boob, I'd be tempted to give him credit for bringing Walker in to strengthen the ranks of Team Non-Brett-Sycophant. But not only is Chilly a boob, he's the fuckin' captain of Team Brett-Sycophant. And if that weren't enough, Walker's a chump anyway.

The bottom line is that things are totally fucked up there. They can insist that it's not until they're blue in the face, but it is. And that warms me right down to my cockles.

The only thing that could make it better at this point is if King Brett were to wake up Monday morning, realize that he's kinda-sorta lost his two main offensive weapons (Peterson doesn't count, because there's no personal glory in handing the ball off) and he's working for a guy who he doesn't respect (and who hates his guts) and says to himself "You know what? Fuck this."

And retires. Again. For the 43rd time. With less than two weeks to opening night. You just couldn't script a more appropriate ending to this circus of douchebaggery.

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