The 1997 Season

Note: 1997 was the first season that I wrote down thoughts the entire year. Therefore, the 1997 season summary will come in multiple additions to my blog. Today's 1997 entry will be Week 10, Chicago thoughts.

Week Ten: Chicago

We rose before dawn and broke our fast. We donned leather and purple, helming ourselves with iron and strapping steel to our hips. We slung heavy wooden shields over our shoulders and bound our arms and legs with hard leather. We loaded our vehicles, formed the ranks, and then moved silently through the streets to the field of battle. We are Viking fans.

Before daylight we assembled to tailgate below the hulking whiteness of the Metrodome and looked long upon the approaching storm swirling above it. I raised a horn to my lips, sending forth a long, ringing call to the forces. This weekend we gathered from the nearby lands of Iowa, Illinois, Pennsylvania, New York, Montana, and Wisconsin and from faraway Norway and England.

We are Viking fans. We are the team’s strong arm, their shield and spear, their blade and helm. We are the blood in the players’ veins, the hard sinew of their flesh, the bone beneath their skin. We are the breath in their lungs, the clear light in their eyes, and the song rising to their lips. We are the sound and fury to their opponent’s ears.

When feasting was complete, we moved to surround the battlefield. Our warriors were attacking to hold the Bear clan at bay. Our defensive leader signaled to us and was greeted with long blasts on great Viking war horns, those blood-chilling harbingers of doom. The din across the field was deafening.

The opponents danced their defiance, taunting. This was soon regretted as the purple-clad warriors attacked in a swarm, chaos in motion. The sight of the churning mass rolling toward them caused the front rank to draw back involuntarily. So determined were our warriors that they forced the foremost rank back upon itself. Their leader screamed in rage.

From the first blow, the battle blazed. The Viking faithful breathed so much fury, the roof glowed white hot. Our world filled with the shattering sound of pad against pad, then bone against bone.

Our superior strength began to tell. Once the first wind of battle passed and the combatants settled into fighting rhythm, our warriors pushed out around their flanks. Our enemies were forced to steal men from their center to keep the Purple from closing behind and surrounding them entirely. But the Bear-clad opponent kept on.

Their leader had no sense of danger. He could not weigh one risk against another, causing him to do things in battle which, counted as courageous in certain situations, became foolhardy in others.

Then came the Viking warrior known as Big Dog. I have never seen a man so gloriously innocent in battle. He was a joy to watch. He became a terror.

A terror, for it fell to the opponents’ front ranks to protect their leader, and this was an impossible task. The enemy crumbled before Big Dog. We grew more frenzied with this sight and redoubled our vocal efforts. With every yell, we gained and the enemy lost. We were Viking fans.

We were the storm battering against their shore, dragging them grain-by-grain and stone by stone into the foaming maelstrom. I felt each successive sound grate in my bones. I waited for the shock of Big Dog’s hit on their leader to send me into the familiar, curiously distorted, battle frenzy. It came as I saw their leader surrounded, with their front line being forced into a circle. The death circle, we Vikings call it, for once adopted there is only one outcome for an opponent’s leader.

While there is no honor in slaughtering a fleeing foe, it must be done. Caught between forces on the field and in the stands, the enemy found itself unable to advance or retreat. Confusion seized them and shook them like a dog shaking a rat. Chaos closed its fist around them, and they gave in to it.

It is a curious thing with these Bear-clad opponents, but capture their leader, and the fight quickly goes out of them. They become confused and dismayed and are easily overcome. And our offensive warriors had yet to see battle.

Our offensive leader took the field. Their defense chided his attributes. The one known as Johnson took up the call and drove toward them. Into his path leaped two Bear-clad warriors. One thrust a arm past his ear; another jabbed toward his chest.

Johnson knocked them aside, kicking himself free as they thrashed at his feet. He ran forward to face two more warriors. One of them gave a shout and rushed at him.

Johnson saw the enemy move toward him, saw their faces dark and grim, their eyes gleaming hard like sharp iron. Sweat misted their faces, and cords tightened in their necks. He saw it all and more, with dreadful, heart-stopping clarity as the speeding flow of time dwindled to a bare trickle.

Every action slowed, as if all around him was suddenly overcome with an impossible lethargy. He saw the warriors edging towards him. He let the force of their blows spin him away so that as his attackers fell forward behind their quarry, he was gone.

Johnson looked first to the left, then to the right, and threw a ball of leather, which became as a shining circle of light. The one named Carter received this light, and men toppled like cordwood in his wake as he forced his way to the goal.

The Bear-clad warriors dared not come within the arc of this light the rest of the day. Their defense became leisurely, almost laughably so, each action non-determined and slow. Johnson had time not only to react, but to plan his next move and the one after that before the first had been completed. Once he fell into his fighting rhythm, he found he could move with impunity among the absurdly sluggish enemy.

In the stands we knew the battle was won. A wave of exultation rose within us. We began a high keening call, a war chant, a victory cry, and I recognized my own voice soaring from my throat.

The reaction of the enemy was immediate. They turned to meet the source of this unnerving sound, and I saw, in that extraordinary clarity, black despair fall across their features. They were undone. We were victorious again.

We are Viking fans.

Tailgate Jottings

What a fantastic weekend for Viking fans! Saturday morning I conducted a tour of Winter Park for our Viking friends who came from across the pond. Representing England Mike Salmon and Geoff Reader (a season ticket holder, no less) found themselves sitting in the comfy purple chairs of the Board Room and decided then and there to buy the team. No word yet if they are keeping the team here or moving them to London. We also talked shop with Viking Director of Research and Development, Mike Eayrs, who said to keep watch on the Viking offense the next few weeks for a special goal-line play that is sure to be “the featured story on ESPN the following day”. Recent Viking stadium developments have the team considering a deal with the University of Minnesota to build an open-air stadium on the U of M campus. Another possibility hinges on the outcome of the Twins initiative to be decided November 13. After that decision, the Vikings will gather the forces to make a determined pitch for a dual-purpose stadium once again.

Posted by maasx003 at October 25, 2004 07:57 AM