God, Please Help Those Mothers SCORE

Now that it's nearly college football bowl season -- and given that Da-da's bloodthirsty young charges, Bronko and Nagurski, are already being scouted at 3 and 5 -- Da-da will venture a brief, fearless, third-person commentary on prayer and football.

You probably don't recall the Supreme Court’s decade-old ruling that prohibited a high school in North Carolina from broadcasting a prayer over the school's stadium PA system immediately prior to a game, as it violated the Constitution’s mandate on the separation of church and state. That’s fine, but has the Supreme Court delved into what’s REALLY going on in the stands? Da-da doubts it.

Basically, both sides -- the tragically in-bred VISITORS and the shining HOME TEAM -- are doing what homo sapiens sapiens have been doing for the past million years or so: praying for carnage and overweening VICTORY, at all costs.

With an eye toward his youngsters' scholarship future (never too early, as they say), Da-da was invited to a college game in the middle of the season between two middleweight schools who just happened to be playing one another. Frankly, even Da-da was SHOCKED at the steaming bloodlust of such educated people (and Da-da's been to lots of Scrabble tourneys) on either side of the gridiron. Observe the prayer of the folks on one side of the field, here quoted in its entirety; Da-da's changed the names of the teams and spiritual advisors to help them avoid embarrassment and prosecution. Take warning that the following contains questionable language, and note that this was the BLESSING on one side of the field, cast from the one-eyed, one-legged, Right Reverend "Hacksaw" Boilermaker himself:

“Please God, let the Tortuga Behemoths beat the HOLY BEJESUS out of those g*ddamn Hamburg Warthogs on this, our night of Holy Redemption and Ultimate Revenge. And Lord, please have their QB Billy Bob Whackenfacker SUCK BIG TIME in the Red Zone, as he has in his last five appearances. Oh... AND COVER THE POINT SPREAD THIS TIME YOU SCUMBAGS!”

Such heartfelt sentiments echo about the head- and limb-festooned halls of history. Remember the Crusades? Back then, after sticking your sword in the ground, you knelt and asked your personal Diety for your enemy’s quick demise, THEN you stuck your sword in your enemy. Play ball! It’s still vogue in most armies to check with the Almighty prior to handing your opponent his head on a platter, not to mention enjoying all the later Edenic fruits rightly belonging to the victor’s art of Pillaging Proper. You get all that?

In light of this, Ambrose Bierce once gave the definition of “prayer” as: “Asking that the laws of the Universe be annulled on behalf of a single petitioner confessedly unworthy.” Ambrose had obviously been to a few Home games.

Mix with that the words of venerated Notre Dame football legend Knute Rockne: “Football has been rousing emotions for hundreds of years in a variety of forms, all having in common the idea of whacking a ball from one place to another with varying degrees of violence as the means of propulsion.”

Put the two together and you have a conflict that would take armies to suppress; the franchise rights alone could make you rich beyond your wildest dreams.

Anyway, later that night, after the police cleared the field, Da-da uncovered a copy of the beseeching, visceral prayer to The Big Kahuna from the virtuous chosen ones screaming in the VISITOR bleachers. This from Father Vlad the Impaler:

“Please, Dear Lord, have Our Lady of Blessed Acceleration WHOMP the living CRAP out of those Godless ONE-EYED PIG F*CKERS! KILL THE F*CKING SOCIALIST BASTARDS! DIE DIE!!”

Amen. Pass the Manifest Destiny, brother.