Dear Purple Jesus …

Dear Purple Jesus,

*sniff* You’ll have to excuse me a little bit. I know it’s been three days since the Redskins spat on the Bible and decided to cast stones upon our team’s savior. I know others have written about the events, spoken of the tragedy, watched clips of it over and over again and … I just … I can’t do it. It’s still to fresh for me, too raw. You see, I know what you mean to this team, to the Vikings, to Minnesota. I know what you were so close to doing. You had just crossed that cusp between being a dynamic athlete and being a veteran football player. You had seen the ups (NFC Championship games), and you had seen the downs (Favre penis). Despite all that, you were more than willing to put this state on your back, lead us through the wasteland of the NFL, parting blockers like Moses, burning bushes of hope like that guy in the Bible that burned bushes of bushes. I think it was magic. What you did was equally like magic.

And now? Now … I’m scared, Purple Jesus, and I don’t want to say this, but it’s all gone. It’s done. And it breaks my heart.

There was a time when Vikings fans had a similar player to you on the team, a young dynamo that caused us all to lose our bowels when a pass was thrown deep to him. Randy Moss was just a huge a-hole though. You were a nice person, heavenly, even. You smiled, said all the right things (mostly …), and were a similar generational type player. You came to town and almost wiped the Moss memory straight from our twisted heads. Ha, man, I will never forget the 2009 opening game when you pushed that Browns player straight in the face like a bitch. Man, he totally had that coming! I remember your first touchdown in the NFL too, against the Bucs on a screen pass from TarVar of all people. I was at that game! I saw you look at me in the crowd and could almost hear you whisper, “Don’t worry, fella, I got this.”

And get it you did. You set single game rushing records, won awards for rookies, and were on pace to shatter all franchise records … and then the Apocalypse happened Saturday afternoon. It’s funny that it would happen on December 24. The Jews probably didn’t care (except for Zygi, I’m sure), but those other yokels who celebrate Christmas ended up with the worst day of their life. No present our family opened later that night could take the sting out of what we saw. It was Joe Theisman getting hit by Lawrence Taylor. It was Willis McGahee in the National Title Game. It was Jedi Knight Daunte Culpepper facing the Sith on the Panthers team. I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say it may have been more gruesome than Hiroshima and Nagasaki, in my eyes. Seeing your knee turn in ways it shouldn’t … I … I’ll never forget.

I saw you laying there writhing in pain. My heart stopped. Should I call out to him? That’s stupid, he can’t hear me through a TV. Should I send him a “Get Well Soon” card? No, too formal. I don’t know if there’s really anything I could have done to take that heart breaking grimace off of your face. It’s like you knew when it happened that it was the worst news possible. An ACL and an MCL tear … Why not just take my own heart out of my chest, still beating, and feed it to me while you’re at it? It was be less painful than knowing that the only person that really matters in this franchise is going to be a cripple for nine months (so they say).

And nine months is generous. Purple Jesus, I want you to know that I’m rooting for you. Praying, even! I’m hoping you come back sometime in 2012, whether it’s to Minnesota or the LA Vikings, and hit the ground running. Maybe it’s just spot duty at first, to get your feet wet and get accustomed to the game again. But then you’ll turn it on, and show that same power and speed that you’re known for. It’ll be just like good old times! Back to where we belong; battling against a sub-.500 record and maybe a playoff wild card spot while those bastard Packers are long dicking all over the league. But …

Call me a pessimist. Call me a hater. Call me Pontius Pilate even. I just … I don’t think you come back, Purple Jesus. I look at what happened with Daunte, Cedric Griffin, EJ Henderson … I know that things will never be the same. You may come back. You may have a nice little run here or there, show glimpses of your former self … but everything we had promised each other I fear is gone. I don’t know if you’ll ever be able to make me believe that you “got this” anymore. And it’s not your fault. In fact, I don’t even know who’s fault it is. Frazier’s for letting you play? Dejon Gomes for hitting you? Charlie Johnson for letting you run behind him? Ponder for not audibling to a pass? I don’t think it’s anyone’s fault. I think it just had to happen, and I have to believe that you’ll come back someday, somehow, in some shape or form, and make things right, in this lifetime or next.

I can tell you one thing though. You’re still my favorite by a landslide. The number 28 will always live in Vikings lore. I don’t know if you’ll come back, this year, 2012, 2013 … Ever. But if you do, you’ll always have a spot here. You’ll always be remembered as the only player we gave a damn about on this blog. We’re Vikings fans, Purple Jesus, through and through. That’s not really by choice. But being a Purple Jesus fan? Let’s just say, the name of this blog is never changing.

Get well soon, bud. We can’t wait for you to return on the third game of next season.

Sincerely,

Purple Jesus Diaries.