Previously, On The Hundred Yard Wood

At risk of attracting Narraptor's scorn, I'm going to avoid the subject of Battlestar Galactica, and instead talk about my other favorite non-scripted form of entertainment, football.

Last Sunday, we were privileged to see both teams 'o destiny get crushed under the booted heels of their farmboy opposition. Just like in Contemporary Fantasy, it does not pay to put your faith in destiny. You'll always end up with a crystalline sword in your heart, suddenly realizing what that old witches' poem had really meant:

"And one shall be felled at the very moment of his triumph,
For he hast misinterpreted these very words of prophecy."

Your only satisfaction will be in knowing that soon your shade will rise from the grave, and enjoy renewed success against the sons and daughters of your slayers for the first two books of the upcoming sequels. (Unless you're unfortunate enough to stay dead, and receive the cold comfort of being avenged by a sibling or improbably named Greater Threat)

A recap, in case you missed the two part extravaganza:

Colts Versus Patriots:
You'd be forgiven if you thought the networks were showing a rerun by mistake. The Colts made terrible mistakes, the Patriots capitalized on them. Then Payton Manning single handedly slew half of the Patriots, all while screaming "Not like this!" and crying tears of blood. Afterwards, he admitted feeling guilty asking God to make Tom Brady throw an interception. He can only take comfort in knowing that he wasn't the only one abusing his direct pipeline to the almighty.

Meanwhile, cheated of another opportunity to tell America that they had won by eschewing ego, compassion and humanity, the Patriots retreated back to their iron sarcophagi.

Saints Versus Bears:

The prequel companion to the first great work, the Saints Versus Bears was a much less exciting affair. Both armies began their pregame rituals; The Saints anointed themselves with oil and vowed to avenge those who had died before them, and the Bears circled Rex Grossman and chanted "No Whammies!"

For a time, both sides fought each other to a near standstill in a glorious game of strategy and tactics. Sadly, the match came to an unfortunate end after some damn fool revealed to the Saints that they were not wearing magical shoes, but the power had been within them all along. The Saints' game collapsed, and as a result of their loss Bourbon Street will be bulldozed by evil land developers to make condominiums.

Superbowl Next:

The season finale is billed as "The ultimate battle between a top ranked defensive team, against a top ranked offensive team." These sorts of matchups usually mean that you'd better hope that the commercials are a damn sight better than they were last year, because that's going to be the only thing left in doubt after the first hour.

Like Jander, I'll be rooting for the Colts. Unlike him, I'm an hour away from Chicago, so I'll be doing it very quietly.

(Edit: There was a broken link to one of Jander's comments. Now there isn't.)