01-17-2018, 05:11 AM
Editor’s note: Scott Korzenowski is a longtime sports columnist and attorney in the Twin Cities area. He’s the host of Sunday Morning Sports Talk on 1500ESPN, and this is a guest column.
Not long before the heartbreak of the Chiefs and Hank Stram, there was a boy and his dad sitting behind home plate at Met Stadium on a cold late December day in 1969 preparing to watch Joe Kapp and Alan Page lead the Vikings to what the boy was certain was going to be a memorable and significant victory over Roman Gabriel and the Los Angeles Rams.
The boy and his dad started the day at a watering hole in Northeast Minneapolis. They ate breakfast. The boy drank hot chocolate; the dad drank something just as warm, but with a little bit more of a kick. They took a bus to Met Stadium. Once there and in their seats they befriended a young couple from Los Angeles wearing rain coats, fancy leather dress gloves and totes. The dad said, “You two are going to need some help.” The boy and his dad gave them their blankets, and the dad shared his Thermos full of coffee and magic.
At that point, the boy truly believed the Vikings were unbeatable, and just about the surest thing, and not just in sports either, but in life. So even though the Vikings trailed 17-7 at the half, the boy wasn’t the least bit worried. The Vikings were going to win, because, in his extremely limited experience, they always did. And on this day, they did just that, grinding out a 22-20 victory when Alan Page intercepted Roman Gabriel’s final pass attempt.
The boy and his dad filed out and climbed into the bus. The people on that bus were now acting differently than they had on the trip the stadium, and the boy figured it was only because the Vikings had won. The passengers in the bus had become loud, boisterous, and were jumping and singing, and when the song leader pumped his fist into the air during the refrain of “Skol Vikings,” he punched a hole through the interior ceiling off the bus. The dad smiled and said, “Well son, you’re getting quite an education today.”
Just three weeks later, while watching Super Bowl IV with family friends, the boy soon learned what every Vikings fan since has come to know, the Vikings are a sure thing, but not in the way the boy originally had thought. The only thing sure about the Vikings, the boy learned, is that they are going to win just enough to make you hurt.
So it came as no surprise to the boy who now has become a 57-year old man that, as the Vikings lined up for what would become the final play against the Saints on Sunday, the wife of the man said: “The Vikings are going to lose, aren’t they.” The man actually had come to peace with this eventuality. He had become calm and somewhat relieved that at least this team had the common decency to end early this chapter in the man’s 48-year sporting despair. In the pantheon of Vikings defeats, this one was not nearly as depressing as the four Super Bowls, as sudden as the Hail Mary, nor as shocking as “wide left” or “12-men in the huddle.”
But instead of simply saying, “Yes, they are going to lose today,” the man said, “Yes, unless there is a miracle.” The man is not sure why he said that, because the man certainly wasn’t expecting a miracle; nobody expects a miracle, do they? Especially when it involves the Vikings. But as Case Keenum’s pass sailed down field and into Stephon Diggs’ outstretched hands as he rose up to catch it, and then as Diggs came down, pirouetted, and suddenly started running straight into Vikings lore, the man stood up, raised his arms, and suddenly felt the presence of the person who had infected the man with a love for this team so many years earlier, his dad. The man, once again, had become the boy.
rest of this great essay here;
http://www.1500espn.com/vikings-2/2018/0...y-boy-dad/
Not long before the heartbreak of the Chiefs and Hank Stram, there was a boy and his dad sitting behind home plate at Met Stadium on a cold late December day in 1969 preparing to watch Joe Kapp and Alan Page lead the Vikings to what the boy was certain was going to be a memorable and significant victory over Roman Gabriel and the Los Angeles Rams.
The boy and his dad started the day at a watering hole in Northeast Minneapolis. They ate breakfast. The boy drank hot chocolate; the dad drank something just as warm, but with a little bit more of a kick. They took a bus to Met Stadium. Once there and in their seats they befriended a young couple from Los Angeles wearing rain coats, fancy leather dress gloves and totes. The dad said, “You two are going to need some help.” The boy and his dad gave them their blankets, and the dad shared his Thermos full of coffee and magic.
At that point, the boy truly believed the Vikings were unbeatable, and just about the surest thing, and not just in sports either, but in life. So even though the Vikings trailed 17-7 at the half, the boy wasn’t the least bit worried. The Vikings were going to win, because, in his extremely limited experience, they always did. And on this day, they did just that, grinding out a 22-20 victory when Alan Page intercepted Roman Gabriel’s final pass attempt.
The boy and his dad filed out and climbed into the bus. The people on that bus were now acting differently than they had on the trip the stadium, and the boy figured it was only because the Vikings had won. The passengers in the bus had become loud, boisterous, and were jumping and singing, and when the song leader pumped his fist into the air during the refrain of “Skol Vikings,” he punched a hole through the interior ceiling off the bus. The dad smiled and said, “Well son, you’re getting quite an education today.”
Just three weeks later, while watching Super Bowl IV with family friends, the boy soon learned what every Vikings fan since has come to know, the Vikings are a sure thing, but not in the way the boy originally had thought. The only thing sure about the Vikings, the boy learned, is that they are going to win just enough to make you hurt.
So it came as no surprise to the boy who now has become a 57-year old man that, as the Vikings lined up for what would become the final play against the Saints on Sunday, the wife of the man said: “The Vikings are going to lose, aren’t they.” The man actually had come to peace with this eventuality. He had become calm and somewhat relieved that at least this team had the common decency to end early this chapter in the man’s 48-year sporting despair. In the pantheon of Vikings defeats, this one was not nearly as depressing as the four Super Bowls, as sudden as the Hail Mary, nor as shocking as “wide left” or “12-men in the huddle.”
But instead of simply saying, “Yes, they are going to lose today,” the man said, “Yes, unless there is a miracle.” The man is not sure why he said that, because the man certainly wasn’t expecting a miracle; nobody expects a miracle, do they? Especially when it involves the Vikings. But as Case Keenum’s pass sailed down field and into Stephon Diggs’ outstretched hands as he rose up to catch it, and then as Diggs came down, pirouetted, and suddenly started running straight into Vikings lore, the man stood up, raised his arms, and suddenly felt the presence of the person who had infected the man with a love for this team so many years earlier, his dad. The man, once again, had become the boy.
rest of this great essay here;
http://www.1500espn.com/vikings-2/2018/0...y-boy-dad/
