Tuesday, February 6, 2007

I'm Sorry, Vince Lombardi Trophy


When I saw you for the first time I wanted so badly to be with you. I thought you were lovely, slender, not like the other footballs I've fallen on top of or taken to the house. I respected you for your correct scale and deep engravings, but I also lusted for your concaved edges and slender base. I wanted to moisten my needle and penetrate your bladder. I wanted to inflate you to your correct weight, until I realized that you were solid silver and could not be penetrated. Or inflated. Even after knowing these things, I still wanted so very much to try.

We talked a while in Miami, Vince Lombardi Trophy, and during our brief chats I had visions of us. Yes, I know how silly it seems now, looking back. I play football and, well, you're a football on an unusually-shaped pedestal. I still thought we could make it work. I saw us together, me carrying you down the beach in my arms, shielding you from the salty water to protect your finish. Later that night we would get shitfaced off Everclear, and then curl up in bed. I would run my fingers over your laces and whisper Journey lyrics into one of your noses, and as your metallurgy cooled my chest, we would fall asleep. In the morning, I would have awoken early to make you pancakes on the hot plate that I brought over, since I know you have no stove.

But now you are gone, Vince Lombardi Trophy, as if my fleeting moment to acquire you never existed. You are so far away from me now, perhaps being passed around in Indianapolis like a bowl of delicious pretzels. When I got back to Chicago, I thought, "Why don't I come to visit you in Indianapolis? It's in the same state, and we could spend time together and laugh and eat spinach dip, and maybe take you back to my kitchen that I painted pink. I hope you like pink."

But the fates proclaim that we were not meant to be together, Vince Lombardi Trophy. And so here I sit, distraught with grief and shame, with the George Halas trophy, as I wonder what could have been. Sure, it is a trophy, Vince Lombardi Trophy, but it is not you. Its touch pales to your gleam. And while the Halas trophy and I have tenuous conversations on the living room sofa, fights about the toilet seat, and unsatisfying sessions of lovemaking, I'll be yearning, hungry, for your delightful charm and pristine sheen.

You're the one I wanted, Vince Lombardi Trophy. And now you are gone, whisked away from me by my failures. I don't care what the others might say, I know I could have done more to bring us together. It's my fault, Vince Lombardi Trophy. You are the epitome of elegance and grace, and I am a large, dumb man. The joy your promise brought to me was real, Vince Lombardi Trophy. I will never forget you.

Maybe we can still be friends?

22 comments:

impresario919 said...

"Why don't I come to visit you in Indianapolis? It's in the same state..."

It's the subtle things that crack me up the hardest.

flubby said...

It's the same old story. Boy finds trophy, boy loses trophy, trophy finds boy, boy forgets trophy, boy remembers trophy, trophy dies in a tragic blimp accident over the Orange Bowl on New Year's Day.

Quarterly Prophet said...

Poor Urlacher. Perhaps he will find comfort in the warm embrace of Paris Hilton's arms?

They can run underneath the warm beaches of Chicago, him giggling because he's been dosed up on horse tranqs, and her giggling because she's a fucking moron.

Mike said...

I think Paris Hilton thinks the Vince Lombardi Trophy is a slightly oversized sex toy.

That Guy said...

The big question is whether Jeff Saturday was done pushing Urlacher around on Sunday night...or did he actually take the Chicago team plane and push him around on there also.

the dude said...

Poor Urlacher, instead of spooning the Vince Lombardi trophy, he'll be gang banging the NFC Championship trophy. It's like going from a 10 to a 7.

Lloyd_Carr_Pool_Lane said...

As is tradition, the team usually kisses the trophy...do you think anyone would have kissed it AFTER Urlacher, knowing where his lips have been?? I picture a bunch of dudes saying "no, that's OK Brian, we're good" the reaching for a can of Lysol to spray it with....

Unsilent Majority said...

Poor Vince Lombardi Trophy, doesn't even own a stove.

Lloyd_Carr_Pool_Lane said...

I wonder what the Sex Cannon would have done with the trophy...or should I say Who would he have done????

McFad said...

Journey and Everclear, that takes me back to Friday

Communist Dan said...

Who knew the Bears had two Poet Laureates? This was Rexy's somber ode to losing the Super Bowl...

"I dreamnt of throwing eighteen deep passes, over the Rocky Mountains like Uncle Rico in Napolean Dynamite, But alas it was not to be, as the rain beat down and the stars had not alligned right;
Dreams of glory faded, falling through my hands like a bad snap turned fumble, Prince's halftime phallic guitar innuendos and my half cocked sex cannon made me feel nothing but humble;
Nay the night my long bombs didn't come close to passing through the Milky Way or weren't illuminated by the light of the moon, it's with great trepidation I write that I'll only end up with Urlacher's leftovers - third rate poon."

Poor Rexy!

Chris said...

Kiss me softly kiss me slowly
I get lost in you like only lovers do
Hold me closer love me tender
I get swept away like only lovers do


I will never forget you Vince Lombardi Trophy.

Joe Asheville said...

Awesome! Romance AND Metallurgy.

Grimey said...

That's only slightly less disturbing than this tale of unrequited love.

the butler said...

fights about the toilet seat

Fucking hilarious! Nicely done.

the butler said...

fights about the toilet seat...

Fucking hilarious! Nicely done.

peter king crowned my ass said...

Nice work, MMP. Not bad for a random internet fanboy.

highonLowe said...

I wish I knew how to quit you, Vince Lombardi Trophy.

Tim said...

you have the soul of a poet and the hands of a blacksmith.

Otto Man said...

This post has been up all morning, and Clint has yet to call you a cock-gobbler.

Must be double-dose day down at the methadone clinic.

Mike said...

Otto with the fresh Troll-bait. Might as well call it Clint-chum.

5150cd said...

May I add:

http://i87.photobucket.com/albums/k131/whutaboutbob/grossmanjiz.gif