From a concerned and troubled reader in a troubled city:

“It’s bad enough that I have to be a Titans fan living in fucking Baltimore city. Its bad enough that I have to see these slobbering cock-gobblers every day as I go about my business, walking around in their old, stained ravens super bowl sweatshirts and fucking-unbelievable-that-they-choose-to-dress-themselves-that-way purple camo. This is the team I most loathe (well, Patriots too, but we’re not talking about those grundle-munchers right now, are we?), and I’m surrounded by their fans. I will be this Saturday when we play. The prospect of us Kerry Collins boozing up before the game and lofting one to Ed Reed haunts my dreams and if we lose I’d rather have a bleach chugging contest with myself than see one moment of Ray Lewis dancing around in joy. But now Steve McNair, pride of the Titans for so many years but one of many to defect to these purple dog-fuckers, is hosting a Ravens pre-party in Nashville. He even denied it at first, his agent proclaiming him a Titan fan for life, but now the truth has come out. My blood boils. Then I find out its a pre-party planned by that gel-haired jackass fucking moron of a radio man whose commercials haunt my television, bringing the Ravens into the safety of my home. Once I calmed down was able to see straight enough, I looked again at their poster. Apparently the party benefits the Ronald McDonald house of Baltimore, MA. Hang on. Baltimore, MA? ARE YOU TELLING ME THESE MONGOLOID SCROTSUCKERS DON’T EVEN KNOW THE PROPER ABBREVIATION FOR THEIR OWN STATE?!?!? Then again, I’m not sure why I’m surprised. Say what you will about Tennessee (and you will), but can anyone be dumber than Ravens fans? FUCK.”

“Their website tells me they are less than 24 hours away from all heading down on a bus together to my hometown. I know you guys talk to God now and then, any chance you can get him to run that bus off the road? Into a river? And strike that motherfucker with lightning a few thousand times? Thanks so much.”

Well, that was by far the least interesting of the playoff games thus far. Kudos to the Ravens for their first playoff win in seven years. Perhaps Miami’s commitment to the Wildcat against an opponent that has already quelled it wasn’t the best call. That and ever giving the ball to Ted Ginn.

Ed Reed got two picks, returned one to the house and never even thought about lateraling one. To me, that’s probably the most remarkable story of the early game. That the Vikings should be happy that one of those vaunted road favorites got a win so fate isn’t so obviously setting them up to shit the bed.

And fuck CBS for the paucity of cheerleader shots in Miami.

Day two of Wild Card weekend opens with two AFC teams fond of employing gimmick plays and crazed linebackers. If the teams can negotiate a playing field draped in shoes, it’s to their credit.

Of course, it’s a homecoming of sorts for the Ravens, since half their starters went to the U. Okay, just McGahee, Ray-Ray and Ed Reed, otherwise known as the only Ravens anyone gives a shit about (except Bawlmer fans – they love their Matt Stover! That and McGahee sucks).

So join us in some retarded commentary. Otherwise

THAT’S DISRESPECT!

And Peezy ain’t havin’ that.

If you find yourself confronted with an NFL postseason without a rooting interest and unmoved by Don Cheadle soliloquies, you must draw from the well of that most powerful of human emotions. Ok, well, lust probably won’t do here. But the second most powerful, hate, will serve as a fine proxy. This is the first second in a series of posts filled with bile, spleen, vitriol and all-around nastiness toward all the teams involved with the sordid roundelay we know as the NFL Playoffs.

At the Hogwart’s School of Towson, the honmaster has taught us many important incantations for bedazzling the foes of the fearsome black magic Ravens. I have spent several semesters honing my mystical techniques. Observe!

[Twirls magical lacrosse stick]

Officiatus Culpatimatum!

With this spell, I can blame everything on the NFL and officials hating the Ravens. And none will be the wiser. A pox on you, Walt Coleman. May Terrell Suggs threaten you and not follow through on it!

Metropolicon Insecurious!

One chant of this and I can make it rain in all the cities that surround Baltimore that I hold a grudge against for being better than my hometown. WHAT GAVE YOU THE RIGHT!?

[Shakes lacrosse stick angrily at all the superior cities that surround Baltimore]

Judicious Obstructinium!

Now Ray Lewis can kill anyone he wants and announcers will continue to push his post-conviction religious awakening! He’s God’s linebacker! Yet he’s spending eternity jumping on piles of bodies in the eternal hellfire. Just don’t jump on Johnny U, Ray-Ray!

HHHEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!

That’s not really a spell. We Ravens fans just like Todd Heap far more than any other player. I can’t really pin down why. I mean, he’s not the best player on the team. Not even in the top 5. For some reason, we feel a kinship with him, like we share some ineffable common trait. I bet he’d love to go downy o-shun with us! He’s so approachable!

Sure, Pittsburgh won the Super Bowl as a 6-seed three years ago with an 11-5 record and an inexperienced quarterback, but if we can’t do it, we’ll shrug it off by saying Flacco is rookie. And you’ll buy it, because you fell under the flummox spell of Muddle. You might even be duped into acquiring a Ravens fan’s overpriced Purple Cloak of Invisibility from White Marsh. Mwahaha! Tremble at my puckish grin, muggle!

Woooo! McTrain, Go. Crush the teams we should beat and lose to the ones we shouldn’t. That’s the Ravens way! Now excuse me, I must teleport myself far away from this horrid, crime-ridden city.

Pikesville Transporto!

It’s the last game ever in TIXAS Stadium, and as much as I’d like to go on about how much I dislike the 50-foot crown in the center of its playing field, reader Brian had to go and send me this indelible piece of Bawlmer trashiness, the annual singing of “Crabs for Christmas” by David DeBoy and Da Hons. I know the citizens of Baltimore are fond of wearing their innate tackiness as a badge of honor, but I really think it’s them daring us to test chemical weapons on them.

Brian advises us on some highlights to skip to:

1:43: You get to see some kind of crab mascot shuffling around in the back of the hall. Obviously he is your local sex offender who’s been allowed to dress up as a STD and palm it off as community service.

2:08: We get the entire “Crabs for Christmas” ensemble in all its glory. The Honfest pageant winners and the man on the electronic keyboard who puts the Creep-o-Meter right through the roof. Between this guy and the Crab mascot, the pedophiles are beginning to amass inside this shithole of a hall. Also, notice the lifesize Fathead sticker of Elvis on the wall behind the electric piano. Never understood Balwmer white trash’s fascination with the King, but this makes it a tell-tale sign of a Dundalkian White Trash gathering. Seeing Elvis present on the wall is as tell-tale as a cross burning at a KKK rally.

3:40: “The Chrisssmas Whisshle” – enough said…

Oh, but the Cowboys won’t be denied their stake in the battle to be the biggest cornball shitheads, as this week brings soft focus remembrances of a football stadium infused with grating quasi-religious hokum.

No, it’s a meteor hole. C’mon God, this is your last chance!

(Okay, in the spirit of fairness, here’s Ben Roethlisberger, Brett Keisel and Justin Hartwig singing a holiday song called “Neutered Balls.” Goddammit.)

The day we’ve all feared has arrived, friends. Observe this photo a reader sent us from Sunday’s game at M&T Bank Stadium. WHAT IS THAT SCRAGGLY HEAD DOING JUST FLOATING THERE!?

The purple camo pants were bad enough. But now with the purple camo jacket and hood, they’ve completed the outfit. They’re virtually undetectable to the naked eye. With their advances in camo wear, Ravens fans can lurk among us completely unseen! Who knows what horrendous acts they can commit unbeknownst to us.

Observe this seemingly innocuous photo of a couple innocently enjoying a picnic.

Oh, it looks idyllic enough. At least to the untrained eye. But there’s actually a Ravens fan sitting next to them. Look harder. Harder. Squint hard enough aaaaand…See! I told you! He’s just sitting there whispering something stupid like “Move Those Chains” or even complaining about the refs. He’ll swipe your food for his lame Ravens Festivus playoff run feast.

Y’know, when I think about it, Under Armour should really strive to be the official manufacturer of these. What better way to mask all the illegal immigrants they hire.

Beware, Cowboys fans. Beware. For all you know, there may be a Ravens fan behind you at this very moment. Just start stabbing air, it’s the only way to be safe.

Thanks to reader Chris for the pic. Sorry you had to go to Bawlmer to get it.