Welp, round 13 sure was a sumbitch.

I suppose this is the point in the plot where Our Hero is way down on the scorecard, has just gone face down in the middle of the ring for the 7th time, his left eye is swollen shut, Paulie's got the towel in his hand and is winding up to throw, the referee's at 8, and Mickey's shouting at him from the corner to just stay down. "Ya can't win, Rock!" And then something horribly, horribly fortuitous happens. The bell rings to end the round. Our Hero peels himself up off the mat, staggers over to the corner, and now he's got 60 seconds to regroup and convince himself that he's still got a chance in hell. "Cut me, Mick."  Oh shit. This can't possibly end well.

Let's assume for a second that we can choose our own adventure here. What do you do?

On one hand, you've gotta admit that Mickey's got himself one hell of a point. All indications are that this thing is over. Done. Finished. You're getting your ass kicked out there something fierce. You're probably severely concussed and aren't thinking straight. You're so fatigued, you can barely hold your damn gloves up at this point. In short, you're pretty well screwed. Go back out there, you're gonna be the one who ends up in a hole in the ground and Apollo's gonna be the one who ends up repeatedly boning Adrian.

And now you're asking Mickey to take a razor blade to your fuckin' eyelid??? Really???

But on the other hand, that asshole's face is all busted up too. He's huffing and puffing as hard as you are. Duke seems none too pleased over there, and appears to be pleading with Apollo to just stay the hell away from you and run out the clock or else he's gonna get knocked the fuck out. And you're thinking "Dammit, all I've gotta do is just land just one or two left hooks right to this dude's jaw…"

"And besides, it's my movie! I wrote the fuckin' script, for crying out loud! Surely I didn't write this thing to end with my own self losing… um… did I? Naaah. What kind of idiot would do something like that?"

Seems after that abomination last Thursday night in Atlanta, an awful lot of Saints fans are choosing to side with Mickey. And hey, it's hard to blame 'em. But not this guy.

Cut me, Mick. Cut me.

I wish I had it in me to pronounce the 2012 season dead and buried. Why? Because, if by some chance you haven't yet noticed, I'm wrong a hell of a lot more than I'm right. And this season in particular, I've been wrong on just about everything. I mean, it boggles the mind how thoroughly and consistently wrong I've been. It would be downright embarrassing, if I were the type to be embarrassed by my own Saints-themed internet jackassery.

Hell, if superstition weren't for fools, I'd be tempted to go ahead and pull the plug, on the premise that it's the surest way to bring this thing back to life.

But I've just never understood the appeal of being "realistic" and calling it over before it's actually over. I don't understand the rationale of actually hoping that they don't make the playoffs, because "if they do, they'll just get their asses kicked in the wildcard round anyway." Fuck that. That's like punching yourself in the balls now in the hope that it won't hurt as much when some other guy punches you in the balls later.

A better draft position is a nice consolation prize and all, but there will be plenty of time to be grateful for that once all the games have been played and April is the next thing to look forward to.

Until then, at the risk of tortured pop culture reference overload… Over? Did you say over?!? Nothing is over until we decide it is! Was it over when British Petroleum bombed the Gulf Coast?

Hell no!

Look, I understand that for the most part this team has been a barely-legible facsimile of itself all season, and that's not likely to change over the next month. Sean Payton ain't walking though that door until February. Even Drew has had his head up his ass lately. And if you can't trust Drew, who the hell can you trust? I get it.

But, goddammit, there just has to be a reason why the Football Gods and the other NFC wildcard hopefuls simply refuse to put the Saints down for good. Earlier in the season, the fuckin' cosmos itself conspired to pull the Saints out of their 0-4 hole. Two weeks ago, everybody lost. Last week, (almost) everybody lost again.

This week? Either Minnesota or Chicago has to lose. Washington gets Baltimore. Dallas has to travel to 7-5 Cincinnati. St. Louis has to travel to Buffalo. Seattle gets Arizona at home, and Ryan Lindley is just godawful. But dammit, Pete Carroll's deal with the devil has to expire at some point, doesn't it? I mean, seriously, Russell Wilson? Really?

Hey, maybe the Football Gods are just prolonging our torture. Just for the hell of it, because it's fun. Or something.

Or maybe it's just that, in order to produce one of them there epic miracle endings, it requires the protagonist to fall flat on his face right in the middle of the ring in the 13th round. Where's the drama if the ref only gets to 3? Or if Rocky never goes down at all? If he just kicks ass from start to finish? If Mickey's in the corner shouting "You got this, Rock!" Where's the fun in that?

All the Saints have to do is land one solid hook to the jaw. Just one haymaker, and against all odds, this thing is right back on.

Tampa miraculously loses at home to Philly. Seattle miraculously loses at home to Arizona. Cue the Bill Conti music. "Getting strong noooooow!"

I mean, that's just how these epic dramas work, right? RIGHT??? All hope must be lost, otherwise you wouldn't tear up at the triumphant ending. (And you know you tear up, asshole. Don't even try.)

I just don't see the point in walking out now and risk missing the best fuckin' part just for the sake of… what… being miserable for the next month? We only get 16-20 Saints games a year, for crying out loud. To hell with letting a single one of them go to waste.

Long shot though it might be, I'm just not near ready for this to be over yet. And you shouldn't be either.

So, yeah. Cut me, Mick. Cut me. J'ai obtenu cette.

And if all else fails, well, there's a sequel scheduled for release next fall. And I'm pretty sure it's gonna be badass.

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