Despite getting a handful of just horrible, horrible calls in their favor, the Packers were the first home team to drop a game this postseason. Very sad. But also hilarious to the point of gut laughter pain. Those State Farm ads will take on a very plaintive tone over the next week. It was a mixed weekend for teams with superior offenses and wretched defenses. The Saints and Packers, teams that many hoped to meet in the NFC Championship after a memorable Week 1 shootout and a season of putting up huge points, were downed by opponents that could actually bring pressure with their front four.

The Patriots, another team that fits the mold of defensively inept shootout kings, lived to grit it up another week because they ran into a Broncos team wholly unprepared to face a defense that wouldn’t stupidly stack nine in the box against them all game. Luckily, they’ll face Joe Flacco, who couldn’t make a throw today to save anyone’s life, let alone those who Ray Lewis helped kill but escaped serious conviction by ratting out his friends in a plea bargain with the court. The Ravens won’t be quite as stymied offensively next week, as Houston’s defense is far superior to New England’s. This also isn’t the floundering ’09 Pats team that Baltimore came into Foxboro and wiped their ass with in the Wild Card round a week after Wes Welker was lost for the season. The Patriots will put up points and Joe Flacco is actually going to have to do something, anything to keep up. Best of luck, Fu Manchu.

As for the NFC, the Giants will get the heft of the hype this week, by virtue of having felled the seemingly juggernaut droptastic Packers and also just being a team from New York. I wouldn’t bet the Niners will allow Eli to convert 5,000 third downs the way Green Bay’s porous defense did. And the Giants might do something to guard against Vernon Davis running free down the middle of the field. As PK would say, it’s an INTERESTING matchup, except for the potential of Alex Smith regressing to regular Alex Smith.

We’ll have live blogs for both conference championship games next weekend. Until then, I don’t know, get drunk and touch yourself.

You might have heard that the last time a playoff game was hosted at Lambeau Field, Eli Manning and the Giants won to advance to Super Bowl XLII. Well I’m here to tell you that was an elaborately constructed fiction fobbed off on the masses to sell Citizen Eco-Drive watches and Oreo cookies. It was actually Brett Favre who went on to defeat the then-unbeaten Patriots. Yeah, the shocking revelation still isn’t enough to make me tolerate Brittfar or even not wish gruesome tractor accident-related death on him, but at least now you know the truth.

Tonight’s offering is a rematch of last year’s divisional round playoff game, which the Packers won by roughly 3,000 points. Roddy White said after the loss that he still thought the Falcons were the superior team, which was hilarious then and still is now. But who knows? Maybe Rodgers will get hurt and Matt Flynn will get knocked out and then Atlanta can prevail, thus giving Matt Ryan another Cris Collinsworth-dubbed signature victory, like when the Falcons beat the Eagles after Vick got injured. Anyway, let’s all hope Green Bay can be comfortably ahead in time for the “Breaking Bad” finale at 10.

Finally, after a two week run-up that featured such prepossessing storylines as Hines Ward going to a strip club, Ben Roethlisberger singing “Piano Man” at a bar and a bunch of injured Packers players being upset for being excluded, then included with criticism, into a team photo, we finally have a football game to a decide a champion.

Green Bay fans also spent the break cribbing all the Steelers fan traditions that people find obnoxious. A Titletown Towel has been produced for the game by the same company that manufactures The Terrible Towel. Lil’ Wayne, who claims both the Packers and his hometown Saints as his teams, remixed “Black and Yellow” with the predictable enough title “Green and Yellow.” He makes sure to take a shot at Steelers corner Ike Taylor, who also hails from New Orleans. Clearly it’s all about Green Bay pride for Weezy.

No doubt nearly everyone who isn’t a Steelers fan is rooting against Pittsburgh getting a debatably dynastic third Super Bowl title in six years for any number of reasons, not the least of which is Ben Roethlisberger. A Steelers win would produce a bunch of facile and annoying Roethlisberger “redemption” stories, followed by twice as many indignant and contrarian pieces about how saying anything even halfway complimentary about Roethlisberger ignores the unforgettable evil of two rape allegations that produced no criminal charges. As if anyone actually forgot that they happened. Meanwhile, every outlet save Jezebel has been content to ignore that the Packers have on their roster an alleged rapist who is still being investigated. But don’t let Brandon Underwood ruin your wholesome anti-rapist rooting interest, America.

A Green Bay victory would stick in the Ol’ Dongslinger’s craw and make his lone career Super Bowl victory that much less impressive, which would be nice. But that line of reasoning neglects that Favretard Green Bay fans gleefully enabled that prima donna asshole for years and years without compunction. 80 percent of them would still accept him as starter tomorrow even if Rodgers wins today. That’s not gonna be enough to sway anyone to back the Steelers, but just something to think about when you see five million fat cheeseheads imitate Rodgers’ title belt celebration if the Pack wins.

Oh, and this very well might be the last meaningful scab-free NFL game until 2012. You should probably make the most of it.

The NFLPA has made today #LETUSPLAY day, which probably means little to nothing to you useless you happen to follow a bunch of NFL players on Twitter. Even if you do, you’d be excused for mostly ignoring it. The gist is that players are all tweeting a plea to owners to allow them to play the next season and not force a lockout that would needlessly damage the sport. Sure, it’s a pointless gesture, but it’s hard to fault the players for getting the message out there. Nevertheless, someone has:

Myself, I’m saying no. No, I’m sorry, you don’t get to have a #LETUSPLAY day. Instead, how about every day be declared #SHUTUPANDWORKITOUTDAY until you people can decide on the best way to divide up your billions?

How dare you ask people to “do [their] part as a fan”, as if it’s the fans who aren’t doing enough here. You know what a fan’s job is? It’s to watch and enjoy this game. To spend money on tickets, television packages and merchandise. To submit our eyeballs to commercials before and after every single kickoff in a game.

You know that gigantic pile of money you guys can’t decide how to divide? That came from us. That was us, doing our part. It is not our part to take a side in your petty battle over who gets to roll around in more of that money.

Uh, MJD? You should probably realize the impending lockout, should it happen, is almost entirely the fault of the ownership, who are basically asking the players to forfeit money, play more games and receive essentially nothing in return. I’ve liked MJD for some time and continue to appreciate his work at Shutdown Corner, for no other reason than that he’s not Chris Chase. But the tedious and trite millionaires versus billionaires dichotomy doesn’t work here. It’s billionaires versus everybody. I can understand how you might not feel horrible for some NFL players, who won’t struggle at all financially even if they don’t play a single down next season, but you can mourn the far larger group of players for whom a lost season will mean a significant loss of income. Oh, and you can mourn a year without the great game we’ll be losing.

Anyway, your Meast for the divisional round is Aaron Rodgers, who put together one of the best statistical performances by a quarterback in postseason history, going 31-36 for 366 passing yards and three touchdowns, adding another one rushing as well. After the run TD, he fired back at Falcons’ defensive end John Abraham, who mocked his title belt celebration earlier in the drive. Rodgers was so good that a cancer patient who he spurned for an autograph came to his defense. We also considered Ryan Clark, Tramon Williams and the Jets secondary as a whole.

Your Least for the divisional round is Anquan Boldin. T.J. Houshmandzadeh also had an embarrassing and costly drop, but his final stat line wasn’t nearly this bad:

- Targeted five times
- Two drops, including a would-be go-ahead TD in the end zone
- Finished with one catch for negative two yards.

The Ravens’ offseason acquisition of Boldin elevated Baltimore to preseason Super Bowl favorite status. There was this often bandied and invoked exchange between he and Stabby that is now quite hilarious in retrospect.

Looks like someone made plans to watch from the stands early. A late entrant to the Never Miss A Super Bowl Club, maybe. We also considered Patrick Chung, Bill Belichick and Matt Ryan.

Life is shit. A gun barrel inside the rectum, blasting up through my yellowed guts and quickly raping through my organs. It is a virus, and we are all born infected. There is no escape for when it decides to pin you down and muffle your screams with its filthy crotch.

And god dammit, when is Clifton coming back? I can barely fucking breathe back here.

/sacked

Oh, virtue. You have forsaken me. You have left me cold and naked on a desolate road, and you have shacked up with a callous and disgusting old man, who will scrape the inside of your labia with his razor sharp chin stubble. Brett Favre, you do not deserve virtue. You do not deserve to take advantage of her naivete. YOU ARE A SUCCUBO. A leech. A raper of hope. That you have found success through sheer manipulation is proof alone that God’s corpse rots up in heaven, and the rain that falls upon us is his embalming fluid.

You dick.

/sacked, stripped of ball

JESUS FUCK CHRIST, BARBRE. WHY ARE YOU EVEN ON THE ROSTER? ARE YOU SOMEONE’S COUSIN?

/sacked while being sacked

Oh, I’m so happy for you, Brett! I’m so happy for you and your wife, Deanna, who I know by name because I have been told she is your wife 50,000 times by the media ghouls who lavish at your milky bloodteat. I’m sooo pleased you’re experiencing such rejuvenation at such an old age. Isn’t it marvelous? Isn’t it wonderful? Isn’t it a sign that the Beast is soon to visit us all?

/spits on picture of Favre

I have a poem for you, Brett. I composed it in longhand. I compose all my poetry in longhand. It is called, FUN.

FUN
Fun is playing the game with love
Fun is slapping your teammates’ behinds
Fun is jumping up and down after you throw a TD

Fun is Satan’s distraction.
Fun is the devil’s penis in your cerebrum.
Fun is a mask of the world’s death
There is no fun.
There are only LIES.
Your fun is a LIE.
Your fun is a cover-up of cannibalism and dismemberment. Of rivulets of blood oozing out of orphans and flooding the roads of Africa like a red tsunami.
That is your fun. So let us all have FUN.
Ha ha ha ha ha ha. (this is a written laugh that is meant to be read in a jeering manner)
Fun is a flayed, rotting carcass.
So let us drink each other’s blood in your honor, Fun Baron.
Fin.

You see how “Fin” plays off of “Fun” there? That is because fun is close to the end. The end of love. Of compassion. Of using Aarom Kampman in a three point stance, WHERE HE FUCKING BELONGS BECAUSE HE’S GOOD AT IT AND WHY WOULD YOU FUCK UP THE BEST PASS RUSHER ON THE WHOLE FUCKING TEAM, CAPERS?

/sacked, raped

Life is the existence of agony.

There’s always a towering superstructure of fail to rummage through on any given gameday, but this Garo Yepremian-like fumble throw from Brady Quinn was a clear standout on this Sunday, at least until the Bears took the field, started running fake punts up the middle on 4th and 11 (only to challenge them), and generally having a pickerceptionkkake with a side entree of sulk.

The winners, however, they can’t help but exude a certain bravado (unless it’s Eli). Take Aaron Rodgers. Statistically, he didn’t have a particularly amazing game. But he whiped out Ken’s shoryuken after his winning TD pass to Greg Jennings. That’s enough to make you think to yourself that he deserved it all along.

Even if he was being rooted on by these mutants.

[Thanks to reader Rafael for the Rodgers gif]

BONUS RAFAEL GIFFAGE

Referee laughs at the Bears after their epic punt fake fail

Christmas is a rotting cancer of the anus. And Santa Claus is nothing more than an Indian giver, who bestows the lemmings of the masses with material goods in exchange for a piece of their rotten, festering souls. His costume is red for a reason, for it is stained with the blood of innocent children who toil in his “workshop”. Ha. Workshop. The children of Polynesia are paid in nothing but sodomy. Here “comes” Santa Claus, indeed.

YOU are responsible for this. YOU are to blame for this yearly “tradition” of scavenging for goods, while others are left to drown in their own liquified feces. Your Christmas tree is a symbol of hate. Why must we continually violate Mother Earth’s withering uterus just so we can our houses can be “festive”? This is not a festive time of year. This is the time of year when the bloated, pus-feeding tapeworm that is mankind feasts upon itself. This is an unholiday. AN UNHOLY DAY.

You are the reason a man on the subway will choke to death on a cockroach’s babies tonight.

All in the name of Jesus. Jesus thinks you are a perversion. When I think of all the children that have been slaughtered in His glory… try putting a bow on THAT. Jesus is a landfill of death and smashed baby corpses. And God is an abortion. An oozing fetus splashed onto a cracked headstone, its placenta filled with oil and green blood. Conceived with the black ejaculate of the Undead Serpent.

I denounce your so-called Christmas and its 2,000 year reign of terror. My Druid friends and I laugh at your pathetic ritual. You know nothing of what Dagda really wants from us. You will die as you were born into this world: a seething pile of hate, bile spilling out of every orifice. And the world will end sooner than you think. And it shall not be rapturous at all. It will be painful, an orgy of bloodletting that spares no one. Except for Robert Pattinson and Kristen Stewart. They alone are virtuous, and see this world for what is really is: SHIT.

This is what happens, Mother, when you don’t get me that rune necklace I asked for. NOW DO YOU SEE?

Also, we’re way better than 5-10. That record alone is proof that God is a sadist, who delights in flaying my back with his six-headed flaming penis of anger.

MERRY CHRISTMAS, EVERYONE!

Bears. Packers. These teams have met a few times. Perhaps Bobby Wade can spare you the three hours by letting you know what will happen.

(gets sacked)

Hey, that’s all right. No problem there. Better to take the sack than throw a foolish pass, am I right? That’s how it’s gonna be here. No flash. Just smart football. I think all of you are getting an idea of the steady kind of leadership I’m here to provide! Now let’s get back out there, team!

(gets sacked again)

Again, not a problem. Just taking care of the ball and managing the game. I think, as time goes by, everyone here is going to come to appreciate my savviness!

(locks in on one receiver, gets sacked again)

Boy, you know I think you guys blocked a little harder last year.

(gets pass tipped and intercepted)

Okay! That’s okay! Not a problem. Nothing I could do about that. Not going to worry about the things I can’t control… just gonna stay strong mentally and play within myself…

(throws 8-yard completion without any sort of bravado or derring-do)

See! There it is! A good, solid completion. Keeping the ball moving, not trying to do too much out there. Isn’t that great? That should really please these fans out here tonight!

No! No, Aaron! Stay strong! Don’t let it all get to you. Keep your composure. Don’t get rattled. Poise! Must stay poised! Can’t… let it… get… to… me…

(runs to locker room)

(runs back out)

The world is a festering pile of molten spider excrement. And its people are clones, ghoulish clones of death whose only mission is to suck each other dry, and then to ejaculate their hate babies upon piles of twisted, mangled flesh and broken bones. There is no sun. There is no day. There is only night – a long, dark night of savage bloodletting. In a world of hopeless decay and indifference. Left to its own shadowy fate.

I shall not participate in its hypocrisy.

And lies.

LIES LIES LIES LIES.

I have written a poem, a poem that shall put the pus-thirsty masses in their place. And I shall read it to you aloud, so that everyone might here and suffer the truth of their own blindness.

God is an afterbirth,
A rotting placenta that sucks away rather than nourishes.
And his love is not love but pain.
He delights only in seeing the maggot-infested carcasses of lovers
Ground up by the hate machine
And shat out upon the dying lands.
Pain is God
Here is your tribute, your worship

(spits on ground)

Ha.

Live with that, people of Green Bay. The Aaron Rodgers you once knew is dead, and YOU are the murderers. MURDERERS! That cheese on your head had turned bleu and marbled. I shall not be one of your lab mice. You are all bathing in the black amniotic fluid of ignorance.

I will enjoy watching the world die.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, me and my Twihard friends are going to go egg Stephanie Meyer’s house for the way she mishandled Bella and Edward’s romance at the end of “Breaking Dawn”.