Why your team won’t win the Super Bowl: Tijuana's Hat.
What a lousy task, writing these things.
Every year, the elder primates here at THN volunteer to be Romoed. No, I don't mean we get (expletive) in the (expletive). I mean that we toss our hot dogs (read: Buzz Kills) down hallways (read: you) for nothing more than scattered claps from the gallery as we climb soaking from the fetid pond, all the while knowing that the sports pukes who lurk this place will shamelessly Mencia our best bits.
If we're talking thankless jobs, though, then let's glide down one mother-effing smooth segue into the subject of Norville Turner.
Last season old Pizza Neck took Tijuana's Hat to within one game of the NFL's Promised Land, a feat for which Hat fans should be as pleased as a tentfull of Boy Scouts who've been presented Ashley Tillsdale's nose in a tightly-rolled fifi. Fat chance. Even now, after all he's done for them, speak the word "Norv" to a Hat fan and you'll get the sort of tilted smirk of guilty bewilderment that Mathew McConaughey sports while posing with his bouncing baby Gerbeard.
But San Diego residents are weird. These are people who kayak with their homes, whose idea of a backyard barbecue culminates in "Breaking News" clips of blazing hillsides and helicopters dropping clouds of fire-retardant slurry. Worst of all, since the Patriots peed on their field, Hat fans harbor a bizarre persecution complex that's begun to affect the players. Not LT, though. He really was injured during last season's AFC Championship game. Those who say otherwise ought to get out there themselves sometime and try playing with a sprained
Like any household from an early John Waters film, Hat has its own Baltimore Foot Stomper, and his name is Phillip Rivers. What a (copulating) punk! That's a compliment coming from me, though, and while I wouldn't say Phil could front the Sex Pistols, he'd be right at home with the Dead Kennedys. Unfortunately, Jello Biafra never won a Super Bowl, and oddly amusing as he is, neither will Phillip Rivers. Though he demonstrated some grit by playing with an injury that would've sidelined other not-to-be-named Hatters, that's actually too bad, since Phil's best performances take place along the sidelines.
But you know what? Over the past year I've been caught up in the... the Norvness of it all. Hat has a chance. Considering their division, anything could happen. The AFC West is like that family you always seem to get behind as you're leaving Wal-Mart. There's the tired, pregnant sister (Chiefs), the 90-pound, meth-addled brother (Broncos), the lagging, disheveled, reprobate patriarch (take a guess), and, front and center, cruising defiantly toward the soon-to-be-repossessed Ford Expedition on her Rascal scooter, the proud, wheezing, 320-pound queen bee (Hat!)
Sooner or later, she's gonna win the Powerball. And when she does, the property values in Mission Beach will never be the same.
Note: This article was written before Shawne Merriman's injury, but I wouldn't have factored it in anyway having seen the guy get laid out by a dwarf.
THE GOODELL SCALE
(The odds of your team winning the Super Bowl, based on 1-to-5 Goodells. One being worst, five being best.)