The Pain is Over
My feet still haven’t touched the ground. My throat is raw and scratchy. My voice is shot. I sound like Jennifer Tilly after several rounds of scotch and cigarettes at a Poker tournament. Myself, and everyone around me, are acting like we’re in a Dr. Pepper commercial. My brain still can’t wrap around the idea that, yes goddamit!!, we fucking won a game! And completely ruined the NFL’s hopes of having an 0-14 team meet a 14-0 team in the process. Fuck you NFL! Sunday's overtime win over the Ravens marked the first time in NFL history a 1-13 team and their fans celebrated like they had just won the Super Bowl.
At first, this game had all the makings of a typical semi-tractor-trailer-tire-crushing-your-nut-sack vibe the Dolphins seemed to have perfected this season. The kind that says, “Look! We’re gonna win! We’re gonna win!!! Nah, I’m just fucking with you. We’re not gonna win.” First, we made the fatal mistake of knocking Kyle Boller out of the game. After all, our defense loves and excels at giving opposing backup quarterbacks their Joe Montana moment. Then, after we take a 16-13 lead with less than a minute to go, and all those feelings of vindication and celebration begin to bubble up within our collective cockles, our kicker – who inexplicably wears gloves in 85 degree weather – kicks the ball out of bounds, giving Joe Montana Troy Smith and the Ravens the ball at the 40. The Ravens, of course, drive all the way down the field and kick the game-tying field goal, forcing overtime. And suddenly the old familiar crap-feelings were back. Oh no. Please God. Not again. The Ravens won the coin toss. The Ravens marched the ball down our throats. Yes, God hates you and your children and thinks your sister is a dirty, smelly whore. So when Matt Stover lined up to attempt the game winning 44-yarder, it was DEFCON 1. Total and complete nuclear meltdown. My head spun. My stomach churned. And there was significant shrinkage, even though I hadn’t been anywhere near cold water. It seemed as if God was going to allow this shit to happen to us yet again. But, as it turns out, God decided it was enough already and Stover’s kick sailed wide-left. We had new life. All we needed was to get into field goal range. But oh my did we get so much more.
Enter our hero: Greg Wes Welker Is A Limey Little Pussy Camarillo!
The overall magnitude of this particular Fuck Yea! Moment cannot be overstated. We were headed towards infamy the likes of which franchises never recover from. It was the Season of Shitstiny. The worst team ever! The 0-14 1976 Bucs were at least lovable in a Three Stooges meet the Bad News Bears kind of way. This Dolphins team, being a complete wreaking ball to your groin, cactus enema, rip your heart out and shove it up your rectum kind of team, had no such redeeming qualities. Our lone highlight from the last 16 games had been a creepy giant animatronics Jason Taylor. But a dude named Camarillo said "Fuck that noise!" And slayeth the dragon.
Also, Jason Taylor has balls of steel. Greg Camarillo: Cojones de metal. Cleo Lemon: Not quite steel balls but they are a metallic-like alloy of some kind. Same goes for Lorenzo and Marty Booker. All five of these guys played a significant role in getting us our first win in over a year. Sweet baby Jesus it’s been a long time. And it feels so damn good.
So Merry Christmas, Fins Nation! Turns out God doesn’t quite hate us after all. He just kinda tries to avoid us at parties. But that’s cool. I can live with that for now.
The pain is over. -- Chris Joseph
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