The Curse of the Were-Spartan
It all seemed to start last year when Boise State traveled to San Jose, California for an early morning game against San Jose State. It was so early that many fans were in their pajamas – the once-piece full-body kind with feet with the teddy-bear picture on the front and that all-important little flap in the rear which could've come in handy when the ESPN cameras zoomed in to show the world that yes, it's true, Trev Alberts does have a twin.
It was only appropriate that fans wore their PJ's. After all, this was a game the Broncos were supposed to win in their sleep.
Though rated in the lower echelon of the college football computer ratings, the pesky Spartans fought a good fight. It took over four hours and two overtimes for SJSU to be put to bed by Boise State. And boy, did the national media and BCS homers have a field day with that one. If USC or Tennessee or ______(fill in the blank) played San Jose, they said, they would beat them by 50 points. In the first quarter. With their practice squad. While drinking a big cup of hot coffee without the little sippy lid.
So, of course, there was no way Boise State really be one of the top teams in all the nation and even Canada.
Since that game, whether it was that the Bronco players listened to those bitter and jealous and ignorant words, or were offended and began trying too hard to prove everyone wrong, they haven't been quite the same since.
Oh sure, there was the Nevada game in which they played tough, and the Liberty Bowl in which they nearly gutted-out a huge victory. But the San Jose result continued to haunt them throughout the season, and, strangely, appears to haunt them still today.
There can only be one explanation:
The Broncos were cursed by the evil Were-Spartan on that cool autumn morn last season.
Yes, that's right. The Were-Spartan -- a frightening entity that's not to be confused with the werewolf or the were-rabbit or the furry yet demonic fire-breathing were-hamster of southern Caldwell.
It's obvious now. The Were-Spartan is to blame.
The nefarious Were-Spartan was obviously in the stadium that day, and cast an evil curse on the more talented Bronco squad. Thankfully, it must've been distracted in the second overtime by a Were-Cheerleader or Were-Hotdog Vendor, otherwise his evil magic may have taken hold, and the powerful Broncos escaped with a W.
Yet, this much is clear: the residue of that cursed curse remains.
There can only be one cure for the cursed curse: a public and powerful exorcism of the demon and evil spirit that followed this team around since that bizarre '04 San Jose State game.
The Were-Spartan must be stopped. It must be exorcised.
The exorcism is simple, if not silly. An exorcise exercise, if you will. All it takes is for every Bronco fan to chant the following in the privacy of their office, living room, restroom, dark room, rumpus room or favorite gentlemen's club:
I, [State Your Name], a True Bronco Fan, command that you, the wretched Were-Spartan, evil malicious creature of the dusk, curser of curses, shaver of rams, tickler of inappropriate body parts, wearer of inappropriate things that make annoying noises, ye who poisoned the pure minds and infected the souls of our Boise State Bronco football team, BE GONE WITH THEE! We, the faithful Bronco brethren and sistren, with one resounding booming sometimes squeaky voices worked raw from ceaseless loud cheering at Bronco games, DEMAND with vigor and passion that you release our Bronco heroes from the clutches of your sticky foul grasp. By the name of your wicked colleagues Craig James, Trev Alberts, Vern Lundquist, Dan Fouts and Ted the Tap-Dancing Monkey, we hereby denounce your curse! We consume your wrath and expel your demonic stink in a properly ventilated room so as not to choke on thy ingested damnation which we appropriately shove through the blessed rectum of rectitude. In other words, go away. Please. Amen.
Only with your help, true Broncos, can we send the foul and disgusting chair-stealing Were-Spartan back from whence it came, and hopefully, with yet another loss.