Photo courtesy of Keith Allison

First of all, I would like to take this opportunity to sincerely apologize to the city of Atlanta, the Atlanta Falcons and to the true heroes who read this newspaper week after week.

Earlier last semester, on Oct. 2nd, I authored an article that was published by this wonderful newspaper. In it, there were some things that were said of which I am not very proud. Below are a couple of excerpts from that article. I hope one day you all will forgive me, but please do remember this was written from a different time and a happier phase of life.

“This year, [the Atlanta Falcons] have changed. This year, the boys have become men. This year, the darkness has turned into light. They have taken off the cloak of failure and put on the breastplate of glory. This year, they — no, we — are going to the Super Bowl.

“Along with one of the league’s easiest schedules, these Dirty Birds are looking at a future brighter than Rihanna’s diamonds. Personally, I don’t see a reason they couldn’t go 19-0.”

Now listen to me carefully. I am not a prophet, nor a wizard. I’m not even a very superstitious person. And although that article probably had zero impact on the Falcons’ performance, there is still angst within the deep crevices of my soul telling me I had jinxed and ruined the remaining season of the 2015 Falcons.

Friends and family have traveled miles to pour their love upon me and try to convince me that it’s not my fault. Church leaders have prayed endlessly that this guilt would be purged from body. But no matter how many therapy sessions I attend, this nagging regret seems to be permanent. It is here to stay. I must now carry this burden with me forever.

But that’s enough about me. Let’s take a second to observe the trainwreck that is the Atlanta Falcons, shall we?

Look over there, everybody! It’s Matt Ryan! Or should I say, “Mr. Interception”? Matt Ryan, you threw 16 interceptions this season. Wonderful job. Do you know which two quarterbacks threw more interceptions than you this year? The 76-year-old Peyton Manning and the quarterback of the most pathetic team in America, Blake Bortles.

Matt Ryan, if I ever have children, first thing I’m going to show them is a photo of you. I’ll something like, say, “Kids, here’s Matt Ryan. He had everything a boy could ever ask for: two Pro Bowl receivers, one Pro Bowl running back and the greatest fans in the NFL. And what did he do with it? Absolutely nothing. He wasted another year in his prime fooling around in mediocrity. Kids, don’t be like Matt Ryan. He’s average. Be great, instead. Be more like Tom Brady.”

Now if you’ll look to your left, it’s the Falcons defense. I’m surprised you can actually see them, since they’ve nearly been nonexistent. These so-called defenders couldn’t even stop Matt
Hasselbeck, Blaine Gabbert and rookie Jameis Winston from beating them.

Congratulations, guys. This defense recorded a total of 19 quarterback sacks this year. Do you know which team had less? None! You guys are officially the absolute worst.

Now this is directed to the head of the snake. I’m talking to you, head coach Dan Quinn. Honestly speaking, I really did have faith in you this year.

Like a pubescent choirgirl going to prom with the senior quarterback, I was jumping with excitement. They were doing so well. They won their first five games. And they were having a blast, dancing the night away.

But then reality set in. The music stopped, the gym lights turned on and the parent chaperones started herding all the students outside. You look up and realize you’re all alone. You run outside and find your date making out with the prom queen, a.k.a. his ex-girlfriend.

So what happened? Was it all just a big joke? I’m talking to you, Coach Quinn. Answer me!

Coach Quinn, I am that choirgirl! Atlanta is that choirgirl! Now look at what you’ve done. You let your team lose six straight! We missed the playoffs! And now we’re left standing here alone in the cold, while everybody points and laughs at us.

  • Rick Day

    Oh Cry moar, will ya?

    There is always next year.

    Stop living vicariously through your sports heroes.