Hate restores us. Hate focuses us. Hate keeps us warm at night and spoons us if we so desire it. And no time is hate more powerful – more necessary – than the postseason, when those we despise are so close to getting what they want. I don’t get what I want, so f*ck those guys. There are countless reasons to hate anyone. Some of which you might not be aware. Or been made to realize that they are worthy of scorn. Well, you came to the right place. Allow us to guide you to the darkest recesses of the soul, where the streets run dark green with bile and everyone knows your embarrassing nickname.

I don’t know why I hate the LAND OF SHIT Colts so much, and yet that’s what makes hating them so much fun. When I was in school, there were always one or two classmates that just rubbed me the wrong way. These were kids I didn’t know. Kids I never even spoke to. Yet for some reason they would just piss me off. That happens all the time when you’re thirteen years old and you’re a moron. You see something… BOOM. You love it or you want to tear its head off. No in-between. And I hate the Colts much in the same irrational way.

Do you want to know a terrible secret? You’re well aware that we give the Patriots and their fans oceans of shit on this site. All the Tommy jokes and Simmons digs, yada yada yada. We hate them and we have good reasons for it. But whenever the Patriots play the Colts, I root for the Patriots to win every time. EVERY time. Even if I don’t want to. Even if I command myself to not want the Colts to lose to New England, I still want them to lose to New England. I’d far prefer seeing Tom Brady get his fourth Super Bowl than seeing Peyton Manning get his second. Overall, of course, I’d prefer both teams get raped by a pack of sea lions. But if I had to choose one or the other, I instinctively choose THE FACKIN FOOTBAWL BOBBY ORR-AHS every time.

I was watching a game with Maj at his place a while back and I brought this up.

ME: You know, when the Colts play the Pats, I always root for the Pats. Even though I hate the Pats.

MAJ: Oh, me too.

ME: Why? Why do we do that?

MAJ: I dunno. Fuck the Colts.

Indeed. Fuck you, Colts. Fuck your team and its disgusting fan base, half of which still rock stirrup pants any time they hit the mall to go shopping for their junior high classmate’s baby shower. Somehow, you’re more hateable than the team we ought to hate the most. And that’s quite something. And fuck you, Houston and Jacksonville and Tennessee. The one year I could have had a playoffs free of Manning knob-slobbing and none of you limpdicks had the balls to knock him off. Damn you to to Hell. Or to Indianapolis.