It’s time to sit down by this roasty fire, and let ol’ Uncle Lupagus tell you a tale. This is a tale that happened long ago in the small suburb of Two Harbors, Minnesota called Segog. All names will be changed to keep identities and dignities intact. It was the first year the NFL had changed the Draft from a Saturday/Sunday affair.
Ol’ Twobar and Lipagus were very dismayed by this change and weren’t sure when to have the Draft Party. They ultimately decided to just have it on that Friday night after many days and weeks of intense and heated discussions. The year was 2009 and some new faces came to the party that year. Mingus’ father in law, Punto, and Patterson were just a few. Now Patterson is the one I’d like to point out. Patterson has three loves in his life, the Minnesota Vikings, very tight fitting jeans, and Jesus Christ. I mean this guy never missed a Saturday night Mass. He showed up to the party that night very excited. He brought with him one of those purple semi soft Viking horns you can blow into, and a big inflatable Viking guy, that we blew up and sat by for our group picture that year.
So fast forward a few hours and many beers later. The Vikings are getting close to being on the clock. The majority of the party wanted the Vikings to take the “Blindside” himself Michael Oher. Our offensive line was a mess and we saw Oher as the answer. There were rumors swirling that the Vikings were interested in Florida WR Percy Harvin, but most of us didn’t believe the Vikings would actually take a guy who tested positive for marijuana at the Combine. The picks continued to roll in and soon the moment of destiny was upon us. The VIKINGS WERE ON THE CLOCK.
As DraftSeaon tradition, Lipagus and Twobar stripped down to their boxers in anticipation of the pick, and celebratory shirtless chest bump that was soon to follow. Shockingly enough both Michael Oher and Percy Harvin were still available. That was the discussion Berman and the boys were having on the ESPN panel. As the minutes ticked down, the room suddenly got quiet and there was a ton of sexual tension in the air. Lipagus slyly looked about the room as the silence and anticipation were killing him. To his right, he saw the horn lying on the ground, he picked it up and blew hard and a sound of thunder came barreling out of it, cutting the tension out of the room. But then the commissioner walked out, and the horn was tossed to the side, and all was quiet again. He approached the mike and made that fateful announcement, “With the 23rd Pick the Minnesota Vikings select……Percy Harvin WR, Florida”. The room erupted with a mixture of applause and anger. One person who was not mixed on his feelings was Twobar. He was so angry he punched his ceiling tile, destroying it right then and there.
The post pick chatter commenced around the room, as attendees gave their opinions on Harvin and what he could do for the Vikings offense. Lipagus was enjoying a large sip of his Mich Golden Light when suddenly he was struck down. An angry Twobar came flying across the room and blindsided the helpless Lipagus. Lipagus flew into the couch with beer flying everywhere. But ‘Ol Twobar wasn’t done yet. He begin snarling, and drooling and started to tear away at the Lipagus’ boxers like a rabid dog. Lips tried to fight back, but was still woozy from that sneak attack. Twobar was relentless and soon Lipagus’ brand new Vikings boxers were nothing but tattered purple rags, and he was left exposed to all, with his crooked, floppy dong hanging in the wind.
Lipagus looked for his clothes, but Inhouse, that sneaky bastard, stole them after Lips took them off prior to the announcement of the pick. Lipagus was not only nude, but starting to get cold, so he frantically searched about the room and then he saw it. It seemed to glow purple in the early evening light. Yes there it sat, the Horn of Patterson. Lipagus picked it up and immediately put the open end of the horn over his man junk. Lucky for the Lipagus, there was an elastic band attached to the end of the horn, for wearing it around one’s neck I presume. Lips’ pulled it up and found it fit quite snugly on his waist. Lipagus found he liked the way it felt and proceeded to wear nothing but that horn for the next few selections. He seemed to forget it didn’t belong to him and eventually he looked over at Patterson. The poor guy had a look on his face that was a mixture of pure horror, sadness, and apathy. It must have been similar to the look on a young child’s face when they learn that Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny aren’t real. His beloved horn was now defiled by the sweaty, meaty, stink of Lipagus’ man parts. Shortly after, Lipagus’ put his clothing back on and placed the horn on the floor. He looked up to find Patterson, but the poor man had silently made his exit. It turned out to be Patterson’s first Draft party, and also his last.
The horn was left untouched on the floor the rest of the evening, never to be blown into again. Many years have passed since this story took place, and many times was the Horn of Patterson cleaned, but it is said that if one were to hold the horn to their nose and take a deep whiff, the smell of sweaty, stinky man balls can still be smelled to this very day…