Do you think your team is going to the Super Bowl? Ha. Your team sucks. Why put yourself through the aggravation every year? The Hater Nation is here to bring you back to reality with the award-winning series, The Super Bowl Buzz Kill.
Why your team won’t win the Super Bowl: Denver Broncos.
Those who know me as the founder of Divealanche.com (R.I.P.) probably wonder why a Canadian impresario is here to talk aboot why the Denver Broncos won't win the Super Bowl. The fact is, fewer teams have more ties to Canada than the Donks, hose heads.
For starters, owner Pat Bowlen is a former Canuck, as are hundreds of creatures whose pelts have posthumously expatriated in the form of Mr. Bowlen's coats. I'm the last to believe in such a thing as justice, but if anyone finds a remaining smidgen somewhere in the universe, please reincarnate Mr. Bowlen as a captive mink.
Then there's the Quebec Nordiques, mentioned here at THN earlier (cough, cough... ahem). Back in the nineties, the city of Denver couldn't win anything that didn't involve strapping belts around a bull's privates. So, like the father who buys a hooker for his teenaged son in hopes that dressing up in his mother's teddies is just a passing phase, Denver kidnapped the Cheatin' Diques to straighten out the city's sporting image. The scheme saved the Broncos. Anyone who can't see the link between the Dives' first Stanley Cup and the Broncos' first Super Bowl didn't see John Elway in his seat at McNichols Arena, squirming with embarrassment as this gallivanting band of bellyfloppers brought Denver the bacon that he hadn't. Indeed, without the Dives, the old colon-wrecker would've retired ringless.
Too bad the Nordique voodoo only works twice. The Dives were last seen being scraped off the ice with the Wings' celebratory octopi. The Donks? It's been a decade since their second Bowl, and while Donkfan wants more, he's not going to get it. True, Denver finally has a quarterback who's neither Griese nor greasy, but the team around Jay Cutler still resembles one of those macaroni collages your kid makes in preschool. And though your kid gets a gold star, someone in Dove Valley deserves a gold parachute. Hold that thought.
The injury bag has bit the Donks hard. No, that's not a typo... injury bag. Last March a crazed McDonald's bag broke into wide receiver Brandon Marshall's house, picked him up, and tossed him fist-first through his TV set. Sacrebleu! Saruman from Lord Of The Rings must've been working the drive-thru. Whatever was in that bag, I think Brandon should pass a big bowl of it to this Canadian impresario so I can get (expletive) up enough for that (expletive) to make sense.
The injury bag morphed into a suspension bag after Marshall attacked his ex-girlfriend, drove looped, and generally behaved like a shitbag, which is what he's left Cutler & Co holding. Though Eddie Royal has shown promise, Cutler's not going to have much to throw at those first three games, one of them against almighty Hat.
The only thing more suspect than Marshall's baggage is the Denver defense. If this unit was any easier to penetrate it would be sitting in a Vail hot tub, slurping White Russians and blathering about the night it played tambourine with The Eagles. On the other side, the O-line is being revamped (translation: it's a mess). But what does an O-line really have to do, anyway?
Who's to blame? That thought you were holding, bring it here now. Mike Shanahan is a weak assessor of talent and character. Look at the cast of clowns that's rolled through Denver in Elway's wake... Griese, Greasy, Maurice Clarett, Cleveland Browns, Javon "Ten Splitter" Walker, and Travis Henry, a man whose apparent life mission is to prove that the makers of Reefer Madness may have been on to something.
No getting around it. Shanahan needs to find a handball league.
Note: a special thanks to my countryman Conrad Bain for posting this, eh.
(The odds of your team winning the Super Bowl, based on 1-to-5 Goodells. One being worst, five being best.)