Tuesday, June 21, 2016

From the Archives: 'Shattered Childhoods and Rib Cages: A Frame-By-Frame Analysis of a Majestic, Historic, Season-Altering Run'

Posted By on Tue, Jun 21, 2016 at 10:19 AM

click to enlarge pbw_tweet.jpg
(Ed. Note: According to Phillip B. Wilson, the NFL announced yesterday that mascots will be playing a charity game against Pee Wees at Carmel HS on July 15. This seems unwise. Maybe Steely McBeam and Sourdough Sam can handle themselves decently and non-violently on the field against children ... but Blue cannot. He is a monster. He is a bloodthirsty drunk hellbent on scoring TDs/stiff-hoofing little kids in the throats.

Here is the recapping of the carnage from four years ago when the Colts were 0-and-179 at the time. It is NSFW.)


Dec. 9, 2012

After the Colts’ lackluster first half against the Titans, “Blue” emerged from whatever squalor-soaked storage unit/meth den he’d been living in & cutting himself in since October. Not much was expected of him in the Mascots vs. Pee Wees game – he was, after all, long mired in the throes of deep depression, weakened by the harsh winds of life. It was assumed that he would show up merely because he had to, uninspired and mostly unconscious.

That assumption was wrong.

Blue showed up to play football – to lead an entire franchise out of the dark cellar of suck, if only by example, because this nonsense had gone on long enough. There are obstacles in games as there are obstacles in life; and they all can thwart your shit if you let them. Or YOU CAN THWART THEM, decisively and with great vengeance, even if those obstacles are children, because why not??? If they are standing between you and greatness, then they must be obliterated.

Or so Blue taught us, on the second play of the game’s opening drive. A play heretofore known as “THE YULETIDE YOUNGLING MASSACRE.”

It began innocently enough, with a fake-pitch to Ragnar the Viking, who had caught a fade route from Blue on the previous play.


As seen above, the Pee Wees bit on the fake, opening up the right side of the field for Blue on the keeper. Now keep in mind: old, depressed, useless addict Blue from the not-too-distant past would have taken it wide to the sideline here because he was a pussy who was afraid of getting hit. NEW REJUVENATED ENRAGED Blue, however, does no such thing.

No, he turns it back to the middle of the field and unleashes BEAST MODE on some kid’s face:


That’s just a big, pulverizing hoof TO HIS STUPID LITTLE TODDLER CHIN, a foreboding and gruesome sign of things to come. Look at Rangar the Viking there at the bottom of the frame – he is covering his face, aghast, unable to watch the carnage unfolding before him. OH BUT THERE WOULD BE MORE, RANGAR!

Because as #37 lies dazed & fractured in Blue’s wake, #83 unwisely decides to slay the beast and gets quickly dispatched via a STIFF-ARM TO THE NECK:


As Blue nears the goal line, he has left a bloody trail of concussed, broken bodies scattered like forgotten Legos in the yard. But his task is not yet complete, his greatness not yet achieved. For there are still more obstacles to overcome, more defenders to cripple & leave for dead upon this KILLING FIELD WE CALL LIFE.
Make no mistake, on this day in mid-December, nothing was going to keep Blue out of the end zone. Not a bulldozer, nor a wall … nor a wall of bulldozers … and especially not little Timmy McHappyMeal, the defense’s last hope. Blue responds to the challenge AUTHORITATIVELY:



Let’s see that again in super-slo-mo ZOOMED IN MODE:


A thing of beauty, that. Pure, brute, terrible beauty. And Blue wasn’t yet done maiming kid’s spines.

Because at this point, Blue had become more monster than mascot, a terrorizing force of nature hellbent on emphasizing his dominance. He had scored his hard-fought touchdown, yes – but had his point been made emphatically enough? Was his complete re-emergence on the scene known to all? That was harder to tell for Blue. So for good measure and just to be sure, he ruthlessly wiped out yet another bright future simply because HE COULD:


KA-BOOM!!!!!!!! Look at Santa!!! LOOK AT HIM!!! He too is drunk on violence, sucking at Blue’s hardcore teat, basking in the child’s swift annihilation. Santa is all “OH SHIT YEAH THERE’S ONE LESS STOP I HAVE TO MAKE ON – ”

Wait …




Oh dear is he awake? Can he move his extremities?? The Easter Bunny seems genuinely concerned for the child’s well-being, as do his terrified teammates …




“WHAT SON?! WHAT?!?!!!”


And while you might call that “tasteless” or “excessively poor sportsmanship” or “possibly a felony,” Blue doesn’t really care what you think, and in no uncertain or vague or timid terms proudly declares “FUCK YOU, WORLD!"


And so it was. A performance for the ages.

The rest of the story we already know. Blue’s reckless destruction of an inferior team infused a sense of Pride & Violence into Lucas Oil Stadium – a swaggering, bullying, dick-kicking vibe that rung proudly through the rafters, lingering heavy in the air like cannonball smoke and fueling the Colts’ second-half destruction of an inferior team for the first time in forever.

Shine on, Blue – you crazy diamond-faced goon. You, sir, are our Beowulf.

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Roy Hobbson

Roy Hobbson

Roy Hobbson writes about sports, fatherhood and sometimes nachos. He was responsible for the now-defunct IndyCar blog called The Silent Pagoda.

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