Jack Burton's rules for survival in the NFL and Life in general as interpreted by Fropwns.
Rule #1: Look life in the eye and when it punches you in the face or the balls or the...female stuff. You get up and grin. And ask that son of a b***h for another.
"You just listen to the old Pork Chop Express here now and take his advice on a dark and stormy night when the lightning's crashin' and the thunder's rollin' and the rain's coming down in sheets thick as lead. Just remember what old Jack Burton does when the earth quakes, and the poison arrows fall from the sky, and the pillars of Heaven shake. Yeah, Jack Burton just looks that big old storm right square in the eye and he says, 'Give me your best shot, pal. I can take it.'"
Face it, this year we were not supposed to be this good. But, turns out, we are. So, you roll with it and see how far you can go with it. Right now, despite our injuries (Yes, we are a goddamn M.A.S.H. unit. I know.), we have taken EVERYONE'S BEST punch just like we rolled up to the club and made out with their girlfriend or like we pushed someone's grandmother into oncoming traffic or we took the last Frozen II Prince's Castle from some frazzled mother during Black Friday. We took those shot's and we are still here.
Yes, the losses hurt.
Our losses (Disclaimer. I am about to rip the f**king bandage off these wounds. Do not sniffle. Do not cry. I want you salty as f**k. Because the point is to refocus you on what we can and will do. Not what we have done.):
Seattle: 24-27 OT
Ravens: 17-20
Falcons: 22-29
We lost the above by a combined score of 13 points. Yeah, we needed each one of these wins. Yeah, they all hurt and it sucked. But this last one--where we as a team were banged up, emotionally tapped, and playing an opponent that is going to be watching the playoffs from home and thus, viewed this game, as a chance to stick it to the league--was especially disappointing because we looked so lost. So, sure, go ahead and cry about it. Go ahead and tell me how it was a great run but its over now and woe is me, we might have to face the Cowboys in the playoffs. BLAH, BLAH, BLAH.
f**k them. I said it. We ain't through, yet.
Rule #2: The check is in the mail.
"When some wild-eyed, eight-foot-tall maniac grabs your neck, taps the back of your favorite head up against the barroom wall, and he looks you crooked in the eye and he asks you if ya paid your dues, you just stare that big sucker right back in the eye, and you remember what ol' Jack Burton always says at a time like that: "Have ya paid your dues, Jack?" 'Yessir, the check is in the mail.'"
It is easy to do the safe thing in life. It is far harder to do the risky thing. Could be all sorts of reasons for why we as people take a safer route but, in my mind, they all revolve around one thing: fear of losing or failing or getting hurt because you did either. Fear of failure has gotten in my way plenty over the years. Until finally, I had enough. I see it everywhere, people, who have had enough. 49ers fans have had enough of this s**t. Tired of sucking balls. Tired of horrible coaching. Tired of seeing retired greats leave to go elsewhere and eke out the rest of their careers. Tired of watching injury after terrible injury cut down our heroes. Tired of getting close and not sealing the deal.
I am also tired of seeing fans quit on themselves and the team and embrace some b******t realist point of view as a defense mechanism to prevent them from getting hurt if we do lose and don't win a Super Bowl. I want you guys to grab that fear and rip it straight out of your f**king chest and repeat after me:
The division must pay--we get two chances to extract something from their asses in the next two weeks.
The conference must pay--we now have a chance to dance. So, let's f**king dance. I want to dance like a motherf**ker.
The league must pay--we take care of the above, we are going to the Super Bowl and beat that ass.
AND IF WE FAIL. We fail. It will hurt but at least, for f**k's sake, we at least lived. Life is about living and damnit, ladies and gentlemen, we have lived this year and the f**king check is in the mail. I sent that s**t first class priority to the world.
Rule #3: What the hell!
"What the hell!"
What is the worst thing that could happen to you? Eh? We lose. f**k me that blows. But, at least, we were there and we went out swinging. I goddamn can assure you of one thing, we ain't going to go down easy. I mean, we are going to f**k up some stuff on the way out. I am prepared, however, to let myself get hurt because I believe that one way or another this year we are going to get to the Super Bowl and win--too much crazy s**t has happened for it not to happen.
But, what if I am wrong? Won't you be embarrassed? No. I'll be hurt. I'll be defeated. And I won't want to watch the Super Bowl, but, I will. I'll get up and knock the dust off and start again. Try again. Believe again. And love this franchise that I have followed since I was a boy, again.
Friends, my daughter is three. And when the niners play, she yells "Go Niners!" When anybody plays, she yells "Go Niners!" Yeah, yeah, I know. We're working on it. The point is. She is absolutely fearless in her devotion. The devotion of a child always is, which is exactly as it should be.
Mine should be, too. Yours should be, too. And when you doubt, when you favorite head is up against that wall, or you find yourself pulling for your favorite NFL team, whose hopes of home field advantage, let alone success in the playoffs, seems fleeting because of mounting injuries, you just listen to the Pork Chop Express and fight through the storm and say out loud:
"What the hell!"
I am Fropwns
