It's A Happy HoG New Year After All...Maybe

Please. Allow me. On behalf of the HoG staff, we really do hope the calendar keeps bringing happy holidays to you. And now, now that we're back from our international holiday travels (Editor's Note: Cecil and I didn't actually go anywhere; we just work and drink too much. And are lazy.), we can get back to those things that are really important here on the good ol' CyberNets. (Note: We hope Seven will join us when he returns from his I-must-snuggle-with-the-tundra-once-traversed-by-Viggo-Mortensen-induced jaunt).

Nevertheless, let me convey, precious readers, the events that signify badassery that have already occurred in this fair span of time we will heretofore refer to as Two Thousand Eight.

One)

This spectacle was indeed so incredible, that naming it won't do any justice. I will, however, set the scene: New Year's Day; gusts of wind and snow, 73,000 strong; national television; Ralph Wilson Stadium; two of hockey's most up-and-coming teams in today's NHL; overtime; a five-hole Sydney Crosby game-winning goal...it was incredible.

I realize that my colleagues, along with 99% of the HoG readership, don't give two squirts about hockey/think it's a joke/honestly believe that NASCAR and televised poker are more exciting. And that's fine. The game is better without their ignorance. But one has to appreciate the magnitude of this event. The organ music was blasting, prompting the masses to bellow "Let's go, Buffalo!" while Mike Emery, Darren Pang and Ed Olyck produced a flawless display of commentary and game-calling. Suffice it to say, that if you missed it, you really, really missed it.

Alright. So that one-man circle jerk left the Bankmeister happy. And on that same day, perhaps even as Crosby was beating Ryan Miller, one of Crosby's biggest fans/quite the HoG presence since its invocation, was getting stocking filled with an oft-desired holiday gift.

Two)

Yep. The Lone Reader is the man of whom I speak, and his fulfilled wish came in this form. I won't support the decision, but I certainly won't bash it either. Something had to give. And by something, I mean a lot of shit. Never in my 27 years of watching Chiefs football, have I experienced a season as miserable as this past one. And there've been some really bad ones (Note: see the entire '80s). Anyway, football season is officially over for the HoGers, but we'll secretly watch every moment of every playoff game, and probably prop ourselves up in front of a television when that Super Bowl thing hits the air waves.

Personally, I'm pulling for the five seed in the AFC and the six seed in the Nobody Freaking Cares. Mm-hmm. Jags/'Skins. That'd be a cool Bud Bowl. You know. 'Cause Jack Del Rio's club is pretty rad, and you've got to rally around Joe Gibbs, the memory of the Meast, and long-time Chiefs backup QB Todd Collins. Oh, and of course death and destruction to the Fetus and SmegmaBoy.

Anyhoo. May the new year bring health and happiness to the HoGnation. And by "health and happiness to the HoGnation," I mean enough traffic to this here IntraWebs locale that we can quit our jobs. Finally.

Oh. And the maybe part of the headline to this post is this: If the Chiefs (Herm) continue their ultra-unsuccessful, decades-long, good ol' boys hiring/re-hiring circle, and bring Paul Fucking Hackett back as O.C., I quit. For real. And forever. I will fucking nuke One Arrowhead Drive, so help me Christ.

Just sayin'.

Cheerio.