Good morning.
In less than three hours, two teams will meet in Soldier Field for the greatest gridiron battle in the history of mankind: The Chicago Bears, and the Green Bay
fucking Packers.
Not since 1941, not since this great and glorious nation was attacked by cowards and deceivers, have these teams met in the field of battle during the time known as the postseason. And today this conflict shall determine which of these teams shall march onward to Jerry Jones' ghastly monument to himself and then claim victory over the entire National Football League.
You may be nervous, Chicago Football Bears. You may even be feeling trepidation. Unease. Concern. But the most important thing that you must remember, that you must carry with you as you take the field today is
thou shalt not fear.
Fear is for the
weak. For the unworthy. And while your coaching staff can still go eat
all the dicks in the world, you have proven to this league that
you are worthy. You have taken your lumps along the way and there was a game against Washington that shall never be spoken of again, but you have learned from your mistakes. You are better than you were when you took your first baby steps on September the Twelfth, in the Year of Our Lord Two Thousand and Ten. You are faster. Stronger. Smarter.
Remember not the garbage defeat at the end of this season, but rather the victory when you hung twenty points on these filthy Packers. When you, Jay Cutler, completed 59 percent of your passes and quietly picked apart that defense. When you, Devin Hester, said "Fuck you, that's my name," and ran a punt 63 yards for a touchdown. When you
won. Because that's what you are: You are
winners.
It is not difficult. It is not complicated. Do not throw the ball at Charles Woodson. Block motherfucking Clay Matthews III, even if you have to get a shotgun or kick him in the dick. Do not abandon the run. (No, seriously, do not abandon the fucking run, Martz. I know you like to do a few half-hearted draw plays with Forte and then dance like a retarded monkey on acid and giggle, "I TOLD YOU THE RUN DOESN'T WORK -- NOW THROW, THROW AS FAR AS THE DAY IS LONG!" If you do that, I will hunt you down and make you choke on a cock.) And for the love of God, do not let Rashied Davis onto the field, as he has thoroughly exhausted whatever capital he has from his deal with Satan.
Indeed, the arm and the intelligence of General A.C. Rodgers may intimidate you, but you possess something that he lacks:
Balls. Big, brass, bad-ass Bear Balls. And you will need every ounce of testicular fortitude you have to conquer him. Be in his face. Remember that no bastard ever won a football game by letting the opposing quarterback go hog wild on the defense. He won it by
running a train on that quarterback and saying "Bitch, make me a sandwich." This is why you will
not lose this war.
And when you win the day, January the 23rd will no longer be known as merely Football Day in America, but as the day the Chicago Bears declared in one voice: "We will not go quietly into the night! We will not vanish without a fight! We're going to live on! We're going to survive!"
Today, we celebrate
going to the motherfucking Super Bowl.
Bear Down.
