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.

For the majority of the season, the mantra among NFL pundits was that this was the year of parity and that there was no true favorite. But then the Patriots followed up an ass-kicking at the hands of the Cleveland Browns by cutting a swath of destruction through the rest of the favorites in the NFL, with the exception of the Packers, who the Pats would have lost to if Aaron Rodgers had started.

In some ways, the Patriots, as a team, were a touch more difficult to hate this season (by Patriots hating standards, at least). Most of their roster is compromised of players who haven’t been in the league long enough to build the dirty, cheating reputations they will undoubtedly have by the time their Patriots’ career is over. Sure, Brandon Spikes got suspended for violating the league’s substance-abuse policy. But that was reportedly for ADHD medication, which is fucking lame. Also, he sucks, so it’s not really that fun, anyway.

Lucky for us there’s still gloating dipshit neatly coiffed vagina troll asshole Tom Brady (Cromartie sucks, but he’s right on that score), the small army of white skill players that will each one day receive a biopic co-directed by Ben Affleck and Mark Wahlberg, not to mention dirty dickface Vince Wilfork.

Oh, and there’s still cheating mumblefuck Bill Belichick on the sidelines. That one of his disciples, Josh McSuperAIDS, was caught cheating this year only further beats back the obnoxious claim by Patriots fans they were unfairly picked on for something everybody does.

“FACK THAT NEW YARK FAGGOT SAL ALOSI. YOU’LL NEVAH TRIP LIKE OW-AH BILLY B!”

And, really, the Patriots could have the most likable roster in the history of the league and we’d all still loathe them because of the bandwagon dunkincunt racist distracted baseball fans. I spent Christmas in Boston and heard more white people use the N-word in three days than I have in the last three years combined. And they’re proud of it. They really are. The Massholes who show up on KSK bristle and do their best to counter the established stereotypes about the depiction of their hometown. But get up there and the locals wear it like a badge of honor. “WE AHHHH HONEST ABOUT HOW WE FEEL ABOUT THE DAHHHKIES. WE’UH NAWT AFRAID OF SAYING WHAT WE MEAN! WE’RE JUST TOO REAL! YOU-AHHH JUST SCARE-UD OF SHOWING YO-AH TRUE COLAHS! YO AHHH NO DIFFERENT THAN US!”

/Tawmmy masturbates to Dan Connolly return set to Seether’s “Broken”

As I’ve mentioned before, my girlfriend is from Bahhhstan. She’s – SURPRISE! – a Red Sox fan who can’t be bothered with football. When defending the recent surge in interest among her fellow Masswipes, she says, “well, football is new to us.” THE TEAM’S 50 FUCKING YEARS OLD! WHY MASOCHISM, WHYYYYYYY? GGGGGAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!

/Only nice thing she had to say about The Fighter was the accuracy of the accent

I know, I know. We’re all just jealous that the Patriots are going to win their first title unmarred by cheating (until said cheating surfaces years later) unless of course New England plays the Packers again, in which case they will lose another Super Bowl and a great rejoicing will be had. Nevertheless, shitty publications in Massholia are already proclaiming the season a done deal. I don’t read Simmons, but I’m sure he has a dozen separate reverse jinxes in place, each douchier than the last. Never mind that since Brady won his third title in ’04 and started his career 9-0 in the postseason, he’s been – to paraphrase PK – a quasi-Manningesque 5-4.

’05 – Lost to Jake Plummer and the Broncos (cue Pats fans whining for 30 minutes about Champ Bailey’s fumble going through the end zone).

’06 – Lost to the Colts, who could supposedly never beat them, after overseeing the largest blown lead in conference championship history.

’07 – Depending on your view, either committed one of the biggest chokes in Super Bowl history or just got plain dominated by the Giants’ front four (cue Patriots fans ongoing whining about uncalled holding penalties on The Giant Snatch, the ball hitting the ground and issues with the game clock. Also blaming it all on Randy Moss.)

’08 – Bernard Pollard secures himself a place in Canton. 11-5 Pats miss playoffs in favor of 8-8 Chargers. Why would you ever want to change the playoff format after that?

’09 – Patriots get absolutely destroyed by the Ravens in Foxborough (Foxboro? Fox burrow?). At one point, Tom Brady has the chance to easily run in a four-yard touchdown, but opts to throw the ball away instead. Dreamboat downgraded from pussy to stoma fuckhole. Despite the home playoff loss, the team has the gall to celebrate its record regular-season home winning streak record the following year. Didn’t you assholes mock Fat Humps for doing the same shit when the Colts establishing the longest regular season winning streak in NFL history in ’09 after losing in the playoffs the season before? Yeah, you did.

In his first playoff game each year during that span, Brady has a combined 10 TDs and 3 INTs. The rest of the games? 7 TDs and 9 INTs. Probably means bad things for the Jets, but fans of late-round choking by New England could be in for another treat. Brady had quite the streak of games without interceptions this season, but he’s also been lucky as shit. I think the Bears alone dropped three Brady picks. And should New England win it all, well, they were the favorites anyway and it’ll only be the first of theirs that hasn’t been completely discredited. Pressure’s all on them.

Finally, may Woodhead commit the fumble that causes the Pats to lose. May Brady go bald from the stress and anguish of defeat. May Bob Kraft hug a roadside bomb when he visits his Israeli football league. May Welker get reverse vitiligo. May Charles Pierce kick the shit out of Bill Simmons the next time the Sports Guy actually returns to Boston. May FreeDarko get to write Simmons’ obituary. May someone finally make Maria Menounos shut the fuck up. May Belichick get foot fucked by Rex Ryan. May all the sisters and daughters of Pats fans sire black children who grow up to play and win championships for the Yankees and Lakers. May Fenway Park – THE CATHEDRAL OF BAHHSTAN – crumble to dust and you all choke on it. Gillette Stadium can stay, because you don’t give a fuck about it anyway.

Players

Fans

Grit

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.

Pfft. Going to Morehouse doesn’t make you from Atlanta, Sam Jackson. I’ll just have to revert to my default Falcons clip:

It takes a lot to make me ever want the Eagles to win anything (just as soon as Unsilent dubs their fans “unfairly maligned,” those toxic subhuman drooltards went and trashed a Packers fan’s car when the Iggles lost on Sunday). Nevertheless, I was hoping those shitheads would at least advance to the NFC championship to face the Falcons in Atlanta, so we could witness the spectacle of 90 percent of the home crowd rooting on the opposing quarterback. Michael Vick wasn’t even that good with Atlanta, but it’s like the racial inverse of Boston. They’ll love him forever. Matt Ryan could win the next dozen Super Bowls and you’ll still see every jersey in the stands be a 2004 vintage Michael Vick.

Atlanta, by the way, is frequently cited as one of the worst sports cities in America. The Braves had the entire South to themselves for pretty much forever and can barely get anyone to care about them. I think I saw half dozen people get in a tizzy about Jason Heyward last year. Fantastic. The Falcons will never stand a chance unless they’re allowed entry into the SEC. So you could be excused for not being up to speed on what has been going on with the Durrrrty Birds lo these last forty-plus years. A brief summation:

Them sucking. Then sucking some more. Jerry Glanville wearing a bunch of hokey black shit like an even faker version of Johnny Cash. Deion Sanders being good before he left to win titles with other, better teams. Brett Favre being traded away so they could swiftly usher in the Jeff George era. Andre Rison getting his home burned down by Left Eye. That one good season in ’98 where they kept the far more entertaining Vikings team out of the Super Bowl then proceeded to get blown out by the Broncos and have Eugene Robinson arrested for solicitation. Michael Vick being exciting but erratic and eventually jailbound. Bobby Petrino fucking the team over but nobody caring because it’s the Falcons. Matt Ryan being a mediocre shriveldick.

You are now caught up on Falcons history.

It’s a quarterback fluffing league, so it’s not surprising that Matty Ice has received an inordinate amount of credit for this BANNER Falcons season, even though if you take away Michael Turner, the offense goes entirely to shit. The Falcons are 1-3 this season in games where he’s posted fewer than 50 yards. Neutralize him and Ryan forces 30 passes at Roddy White. Annoying aging vegan Tony Gonzalez has finally hit the wall and doesn’t do anything but run five-yard crossing patterns. Kroy Biermann has a stupid name and a reality show whore of a fiancee. Arthur Blank is Vincent Price, only unintentionally creepy. Mike Smith has eclipsed Tom Coughlin in facial ruddiness and he doesn’t even coach a cold weather team. I’ve never been to Atlanta, but the laws of urban planning dictate that if your city has a nice aquarium, it’s almost certainly a shithole. More than a few people have confirmed as much.

But mostly what I hate about the Falcons is that they’re just goddamn boring. Roddy and Brent Grimes are exciting players and John Abraham remains measty, but for the most part their games are plodding affairs. They don’t have any fans to rile up. No compelling narrative in any way, other than me wanting to see that Play 60 team bus commercial end in a fiery wreck. If the league weren’t already intent on destroying itself with an impending lockout, Goodell would have to be shitting himself over the however remote possibility of a Ravens-Falcons Super Bowl. Holy shit would that generate absolutely no buzz whatsoever. ESPN might just start previewing Jets-Patriots games for the 2012 season. Lucky for the Rog this team will get rolled by the Packers, unless Atlanta can keep getting away with not showing replays that would reverse critical 4th down conversions.

Players

Fans

Shermometer

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.

Although the Cowboys have the nickname “America’s Team,” it’s the Pittsburgh Steelers who deserve the moniker. The massively popular Steelers have won an NFL-best six championships — an honor that includes beating the only two 9-7 teams to reach the Super Bowl (Rams in SB XIV, Cardinals in XLIII — both times requiring 4th quarter comebacks to do so) and the worst performance by a winning quarterback in Super Bowl history (Ben Roethlisberger, SB XL).

The Steelers, of course, are named after the once-burgeoning steel industry that was based in Pennsylvania, and the team’s popularity is oddly tied to the industry’s failure. Starting in 1970, U.S. Steel couldn’t compete with low-wage foreign manufacturers, a problem that was aggravated by a recession that started in 1973, kicking off a widespread diaspora from the Pittsburgh region. At the same time, the Steelers won four of seven Super Bowls between 1974 and 1979, ensuring that the steel-making dipshits who lagged behind all other industries in forming unions raised a new generation of disphits who liked the Steelers, even though they were being raised in non-shitholes rather than the fallow gray hell of Pittsburgh (such as Curt Schilling, who was born in Alaska and went to high school in Arizona). It also opened the door for bandwagon fans of the greatest and dumbest magnitude, intellectually bankrupt idiots who enjoy the simplicity of following a winner and the color black (see: Snoop Dogg, born and raised in Los Angeles).

So that’s why there are nine different Steelers bars in Charlotte, five in Honolulu, five in Boise, eight in Chicago, three in Omaha, 15 in Manhattan, and on and on and fucking on. The continued success of the team combined with the death of American steel has guaranteed an endless font of hangers-on and people who find self-worth in aligning themselves with a winning football team. At least Detroit and Cleveland had the decency to crumble in such a way as to inspire a modicum of sympathy.

The Steelers faithful, spoiled by unparalleled success, exceed every other fan base in size, annoyance, and wearing replica jerseys to formal events. They bemoan the one Super Bowl — ONE out of SEVEN — that the Steelers lost (“Damn Neil O’Donnell!”). They lament the terrible reign of Kordell Stewart, an electric (if imperfect) player who made the Pro Bowl and is better than any quarterback that the Bears or Bills have had in the last 20 years. For his trouble, Steelers fans spread rumors that Stewart was gay. They complain about Ravens fans complaining about the referees (more than Ravens fans actually complain about the referees), they complain about Seahawks fans complaining about Super Bowl XL (more than Seahawks fans actually complain about Super Bowl XL), and they’ll certainly dismiss my vitriol as jealousy and/or bitterness, because redirection prevents self-reflection. Pointing the finger somewhere else is the only way they know how to ignore their own appalling behavior and collective lack of self-awareness.

Holy fuck, what a gigantic cluster of inflamed bleeding assholes.

If the fan base weren’t bad enough, the media exacerbates the problem with unwarranted fellatio of the franchise at every step. Fox has shoved that braying jackass Terry Bradshaw down our throats longer than I can remember. CBS treats Bill Cowher like a god when he’s arguably the least-deserving Super Bowl-winning coach of the last decade (Brian Billick and Jon Gruden warrant mentions). You can’t watch the Steelers run the ball in the 4th quarter without an announcer lauding the team with an appreciative, “THAT’S JUST GOOD STEELERS FOOTBALL” — as if the Steelers invented running with a lead. And for everyone’s sake, let’s not even talk about Jerome Bettis. Ever.

The worst praise for Pittsburgh, though, has to be the bullshit notion that the Rooney family runs the Steelers “the right way.” If the “right way” meant running a winning organization, I couldn’t help but agree. But pundits say the “right way” meaning that the Steelers are run with some kind of moral rectitude the other 31 teams in the NFL don’t have. You’ll forgive me if I don’t see the moral rectitude in keeping your rape-accused quarterback while ridding the team of a wideout guilty of a marijuana misdemeanor, or winning four Super Bowls with coach-approved steroid use. I’m not saying that other teams are better in this regard; I’m merely saying that the Steelers are just as dirty and cutthroat as any other team in the league, and to say otherwise is a steaming load of horse shit.

In conclusion, fuck Ben Roethlisberger. The world would be a better place if he had died in 2006 with his australopithecine brain painted on the pavement. Fuck Hines Ward. Smiling doesn’t mean you’re not a cheap-shotting asshole. Fuck Joey Porter, the most sensitive little bitch to ever put on football pads. Fuck James Harrison. Go ahead and retire, you attention-whoring crybaby piece of shit. You’ll be replaced by some other defensive stud and spend the rest of your life not getting thanked for being the only reason the Steelers won Super Bowl XLIII. Fuck Jeff Reed, who could have won the Duke Lacrosse Memorial Award for most stereotypical entitled drunk jock douchebag if he didn’t have a colossal fuckstick like Roethlisberger in the same locker room. Fuck the Terrible Towel. There’s nothing terrible about it, and I don’t appreciate the proceeds going to retarded kids. It’s like robbing Peter to pay Paul.

But most of all, fuck Steelers fans. You’re the Yankee fans of football: spoiled and unaware of what it means to love a team through actual bad times. You may be louder and more numerous, but your love for your team will never match the love I have for mine, and the hate you have for me can never match the repulsion I feel in my gut my when I see one of you overgrown cockroaches in a Steelers jersey. You’re filth. Scum. A disease of NFL fandom. I’d rather spend the next five decades unmarried and die alone of ass cancer than procreate with a permed wench in a Polamalu jersey, because I’d rather have my seed and my surname eradicated from the Earth than take the chance that my progeny would lack the basic human competency to cheer for any other football team on the planet.

Eat shit, get fucked by rusty concertina wire, and die.

Players

Fans

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.

Cutlerfucker, in his fifth season, is now making his first-ever playoff appearance after presiding over three late season chokes with the Broncos and a complete washout in his first year with the Bears. When they acquired him, Chicago fans figured they were getting the team’s first capable franchise quarterback in several lifetimes and now it turns out that 23 touchdowns and 16 interceptions is about the production ceiling for their po-faced sulkslinger. This is as good as it gets and he still blows.

That kind of gets to the heart of my difficulty truly detesting the Bears. Even when they’re good, they’re never a threat to do anything. Every few years, they manage to be a bye with someone like Jim Miller or Rex Grossman leading the way. The ’06 Bears made the Super Bowl on account of the rest of the NFC being horrid (the 10-6 Jeff Garcia-led Eagles and the 10-6 defensively deficient Saints were the two best teams in the conference after Chicago) then proceeded to let the Fat Humps win the Super Bowl even though Peyton Manning played like shit except for the one long pass where the Bears didn’t bother to cover Reggie Wayne deep.

The Bears are like a former president who hasn’t died yet. Every few years they might come out and say something or write a memoir or win some pointless award, but no one really cares. Your phase of significance has passed. We’re just waiting for you to croak so we can present your body in-state.

And the 2010 Bears might be the worst team to ever get a first-round bye. If Seattle beats them this weekend in Soldier Field, AS THEY ALREADY DID IN WEEK 6, I don’t know if I would really consider it a upset. I would consider it satisfying after reading articles about how Bears fans are already looking forward to a home NFC Title Game against Green Bay, who would likely crush Chicago unmercifully.

Ticket broker James Magoonaugh awoke this morning to several messages from Bears fans on his answering machine. But none of the callers were asking about tickets to this Sunday’s match-up against the Seattle Seahawks.

They were already looking ahead, to a potential dream match-up: an NFC championship game on Jan. 23 between the Bears and Packers at Soldier Field.

“If Green Bay comes, it’ll be something special at Soldier Field,” said Magoonaugh, owner of Redlinetickets.com.

The Bears best offensive strategy is still hoping someone is dumb enough to punt to Hester. Of course, even though the Bears ranked 30th on offense, Cutler managed to throw fewer than 20 picks, so Mike Martz is lavished with undue credit once again. Sure, Chicago’s defense is pretty good, but I can’t even appreciate it because Julius Peppers domination just transmogrifies into slurping for overrated, Paris Hilton-infected shitbag Brian Urlacher. And if that weren’t enough, it gives cause for Matt Millen to call defensive coordinator Rod Marinelli one of the the best coaches he’s ever been around.

The Lions should have swept this goddamn team. The Bears only won the first matchup by dint of an idiotic and soon-to-be-changed NFL rule that negated what should have been a Calvin Johnson touchdown catch. The second game the Bears were helped to their go-ahead touchdown by a laughably incorrect roughing call on Ndamukong Suh for pushing Cutlerfucker too hard to the ground on a scramble.

Bullshit.

You know those fan bases that think every minor transaction their team makes is deserving of universal attention? Well, Bears fans are the only member of this club who root for a team that never wins shit. Take away the ’85 Bears and their franchise isn’t much less downtrodden than the Browns in the modern era. Yet if they sign someone to the practice squad, I have to hear a bunch of rah-rah assholes wonder why this isn’t a bigger issue on the national stage. Fuck you, that’s why. You’ll all still be buying Ditka sweater vests in 50 years because you won’t have anything more recent to celebrate.

Players

Fans

Remaining Lovie Smith challenges

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.

Oh, Seattle. You’ve really done nothing to deserve the grief we’re about to lay down on you. You’re just the northernmost major city of the United States, which nobody believes, because Maine is like totally up there on the map. Really, the worst thing you ever did was not killing Frasier.

And then I saw this…

Look at that. LOOK AT THAT SHIT. I don’t know what’s more amazing, that the Seahawks’ two sizes of beer cups hold the exact same amount of beer, or that people in Seattle actually drink beer. I mean…coffee? Sure. Heroin? Whatever. But beer? I expected better, Seattle. I really did.

I also expected better than 7-9. Your “NFC West Champs” shirts will be the new Che. But instead of hearing, “He was sort of a communist that killed a shitload of people” to “YOOOOOOU SUUUUUUUCK.” Kurt Cobain never would have stood for this. But then again, he wouldn’t recognize a good football team if it was cooking in his spoon.

And then there’s Matt Hasselbeck, that bald fuck with the bad back and the even worse arm…who somehow is starting today. Has Roger Goodell finally cleared Matt to play with a walker? Just hang it up already, holmes. Then you can get back to your other life’s ambition–killing Superman.

But I wouldn’t worry, Seattle, because in ten years, we’ll be watching the Oklahoma City Seahawks win four straight Super Bowls. But you’ll still have your coffee and your soccer team and gaggles of manically-depressed women. Good luck spending your Saturday nights getting pepper-sprayed at Barnes and Noble. But until then, enjoy being the San Diego Padres of football. You’ve got about three hours left to work that awkward boner of yours into an enjoyable west-coast lather, Seattle. Enjoy it while you can.

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 have very little reason to hate the Ravens, seeing as how I live in the DC area and the Ravens occasionally save this TV market from being subject to nothing but the Redskins. Furthermore, obnoxious Steelers fans spend an inordinate amount of time bitching that Ravens fans always complain about the refs, which I really haven’t seen much (Cue Steelers fan going “WHAA???? BUT THEY DO IT ALL THE TIME DERP DERP DERP!”). Also, mention the Ravens and your average Steelers fan will spend ten minutes explaining to you why the Ravens aren’t as good as you might think they are. So really, the reason I hate the Ravens is because they make the Steelers more annoying than they already are.

But that’s not good enough. This site is dedicated to good hatin’, and you deserve a little more than just indirect hateration. After all, this team still employs Ray Lewis. And it’s still the franchise that was cruelly wrested away from all the fat people in Cleveland, who were then doubly wounded by being given the NEW Browns, who are worse than butt herpes. Also, Michael Oher is on the Ravens, and his existence is the reason “The Blind Side” made $250 million, which goes to show that white Americans love to watch movies about white Americans who adopt very large black men and treat them like puppies.

Then, of course, there’s Willis McGahee:

Q: So far, what’s the most difficult thing about fatherhood?
A: Nothing right now. Not for me. Just dealing with the mother. That’s the difficult part. After that, everything is cool.

Q: What’s more troublesome, an ex-wife or a baby momma?
A: A baby momma.

Q: Why?
A: Because they feel like they should be a part of your life for 18 years. An ex-wife, you can get away from her. A baby momma, you can’t get away from her until the child is 18 or older. They’re going to constantly ask you for money. They just want to nag you for no reason, just because they can. (Willis has never been married.)

Q: Did you meet both of these women here in Miami?
A: (Laughs) Yeah.

Q: Is that why you say you need to get out of Miami?
A: I need to get out of Miami.

Ha ha! It’s funny because he’s terrible person. He’s also the single most annoying fantasy football player of all time, managing to be at various points a Bust, a Vulture, and The Guy You Have To Start Off Waivers Who Never Has Good Week At The Right Time. God, he’s horrible.

The Ravens also are celebrating their third straight year as the Least Interesting Team in the Playoffs. Did you know that nine of Baltimore’s thirteen franchise playoff games have ended with a double digit margin of victory? They are allergic to interesting playoff football. Watching them win the Super Bowl in 2000 was about as fun as watching a pigeon take a shit. They are an aggressively boring and pointless squad, and I hope the Chiefs beat the living piss out of them on Saturday so that I get Jamaal Charles in Round 2 instead of Joe Flacco’s waxed eyebrows. SO FUCK YOU, BALTIMORE. The reason you have an inferiority complex when it comes to other East Coast cities is because you are, in fact, inferior.

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.

The first problem I have with writing about this sorry sack of shit team is the title: ”Hater’s Guide to the Postseason.” With the Chiefs, it ought to be called “Hater’s Guide to Teams Who Should Be at Home Jacking It While the Real Men Take the Field”. If the league truly wishes to reward divisional success—which Roger Goodell assures us is the case—then a team that finishes 2-4 in its division should never get into the playoffs over a team with an unblemished divisional record.

As bad as the Chiefs are, their fans are far, far worse. They try to make themselves feel less like the redneck misanthropes they truly are by manufacturing this cock-and-bull story about how the team ISN’T named after Native Americans. The entire city clings to this fantasy that team is named after former mayor H. Roe Bartle, who was supposedly nicknamed “Chief”. Really? And are supposed to believe that Arrowhead Stadium is named after former city planning and zoning commission chairman Murray R. Arrowhead?

Oh, and here’s the team’s original logo…

I don’t think that’s the f-cking mayor wearing a loincloth and brandishing a tommy-hawk. I’m not going to wade into a debate about the use of Native American sterotypes and imagery by sports teams. But at least the Redskins own up to their use of racial stereotypes, unlike the gutless Chiefs and their delusional fans. Er, on second thought “gutless” is a poor choice of words when discussing Kansas City:

Yes, Kansas City is a wasteland. They are fat because of their beloved KC-style barbecue—which generally tastes like Slim Jims soaked in ketchup. Memphis bbq, on the other hand, is far superior. That’s right Kansas City, the one thing you think you do well– the thing that you pride yourselves the most upon—is done far better by a city full of illiterate disability recipents and crackfiends. Congratulations, KC you fail at everything.

If you want to antagonize a Chiefs fan, remind them of one of the biggest chokes in the history of the playoffs. The Chiefs were actually pretty good in 1994, landing the AFC’s top seed. So of course they lost their first playoff game to Jimmy Harbaugh and the Colts, 10-7 in a botched proctological examination of a game. Steve Bono threw three picks and Lin Elliott blew three makeable field goals, including one in the closing seconds. To date, it’s one of my favorite games ever. I still think about Marty Schottenheimer’s expression at the end of that game whenever I need a good laugh.

Truly a city of imbeciles

So we’ve established the Chiefs can’t win at home in the playoffs even when they are good. And this season they’re downright shitty. They’re the worst 10-6 team in the history of the league. I guaran-damn-tee the Chiefs lose to the Ratbirds Sunday. So enjoy it while it lasts, Chiefs fans—you’re on the road to the Super Bowl. Unfortunately, Derrick Thomas is driving. BOOSH!!!

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.

This was supposed to be easy. After all, we’re talking about the Eagles here. The Philadelphia Eagles. Your hate for them should flow like Mississippi in the days following a record rainfall. But for many the hate has slowed to a mere trickle. And it’s all Mike Vick’s fault.

Once Vick was thrust back under center the Eagles quickly became the NFL’s most exciting team. They have been thrilling to watch, and the added story of Vick’s rehabilitation and reclamation have further diluted our righteous vitriol.

At this point the Eagles are totally like that one crazy hot girl that Bill Simmons probably never dated. We should know better than to grow to fond of them. As aesthetically pleasing as they may be, we must resist all urges to root for them in the playoffs, especially if they should happen to win the NFC.

Yes, Mike Vick is incredible. But just think what a Super Bowl title would mean for the citizens of Philadelphia and the rest of the football loving nation. Never again would we be able to dismiss their drunken fans with jokes about their barren trophy case. Frankly, I’m not sure I want to live in a world where the Eagles are victors, and neither should you.

Their fans, while often unfairly maligned, are still some of the league’s preeminent assholes. Their coach is big old bag of shit. Their top receiver is a dick. And whenever you catch yourself marveling at Vick’s brilliance just picture him stomping the life out of your childhood dog.

The Eagles may have drawn you in, but now you must pray that they become the next flock of birds to fall to Earth. Otherwise the end of days could truly be nigh.

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.

The Saints got their feel-good title last year and forever tarnished Peyton Manning’s legacy in doing so, and for that we have thanked them. But now we must insist that they have overstayed their welcome on the sympathy wagon and must please now fuck off and die in turbid water.

There has been a noticeable change in the Who Datters since getting their long-awaited Super Bowl. Whereas last year most of them were overjoyed that anyone was paying attention to their shitty team for any other reason than multiple shots of people in the Superdome crowd with bags on their heads, now those titblisters flip out anytime speaks ill of their precious Breesus or suggests the Saints might not repeat as champions. More than any other fan base – even fuckstick hypersensitive Colts fans – I’ve gotten more backlash on Twitter for cracking on teams from Saints fans. Maybe they just expect everyone to keep kissing their ass in perpetuity because some tragedy happened five years ago, but fuck that shit. You got your Super Bowl. Your city is “saved” now. Piss off.

It’s not like misfortune hasn’t befallen anywhere else in the country. Hell, Detroit and Cleveland look like bombed-out hellscapes and they didn’t even need natural disasters to get there. Where’s their sports redemption? And let’s just come out admit it: a good portion of the reason you still get sympathy is because everyone hates Bush and oil companies. You got fucked over by popular villains.

Treme’s fucking boring. It is. Sorry, David Simon fluffers. I thought your city was supposed to be compelling. And if the music scene is so great, why don’t I listen to anyone from New Orleans? Oh, you guys produced Lil’ Wayne. Wow. That one decent album he made was nice, I guess. Doesn’t he not even live in the city anymore? Oh, you got great jazz musicians. I’ll be sure to alert all the old black guys and the clove cigarette smoking pretentious white college kids.

I’m getting sick of Drew Brees’ “1…2… Freddy’s coming for you…” pregame bullshit. We don’t need a white Ray Lewis. And now Breesus has gotten dangerously close to Manning and Favre levels of announcer apologia for his mistakes. You all saw the Monday night game in Atlanta. Even fucking Matt Millen was calling Brees’ fuck-ups “Favrian.” “BAAAWWWWW GAAAAWWWW DREW BREES HAS AMNESIA HE DOESN’T REMEMBER HIS LAST INTERCEPTION OR EVEN WHERE HE IS WHEN HE WAKES UP IN THE MORNING!” With 22 picks this year, Brees is gonna be glad he forgot about the year he turned into Jay Cutler.

I’d love to see the Saints get bounced by the 7-9 Seahawks just to see the gumbo tears of Nawlins as a bunch of newly cocky Saints fans piss and moan about how they got screwed by the playoff format. And this is coming from somehow who hates the fucking Seahawks. Don’t think it could happen? Shit, the Saints shat the bed against Arizona AND Cleveland this year. Remember when Hartley missed that chip shot that cost you a win and possibly your division? Glorious.

Enjoy your run at relevancy while it lasts. If it weren’t for the Miami Dolphins being fucktarded and signing Daunte Culpepper instead of Brees, you’d never have even sniffed a division title, much less a Super Bowl. That was a gift that fell into your lap. The Saints are too inept and mismanaged to stay good after Brees retires. Soon enough, the team will suck again and Tom Benson will restart talks about moving the team to Los Angeles or whatever other market is dumb enough to pony up for a new stadium. And the rest of America won’t feel sorry for you.

Players

Fans

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.