“I, John Brown, am now quite certain that the crimes of this guilty land will never be purged away but with blood.”

They’re playing a football game in Kansas City tonight. Missouri, Kansas. Ancient hatreds, 116th meeting, the meek inheriting the Earth, college football division. Big 12 North. BCS title ramifications. Blah, ha ha.

Fuck that shit. This is war, pestilence, famine.

Biblical prophesy in the bloated, tortured, rotting flesh. Kind of like Iraq.

The Kansas and Missouri rivers will burn with the petroleum stench of mortal sin, and the hell-bound heathens of the heartland will pray to their righteous God that they may drown peacefully before being consumed in the boiling flames of eternity.

Yes, says that esteemed voice of Kansas City, it is “Armageddon at Arrowhead.”

Nice, alliterative.

Punchy, almost sexy.

Raw and manly. Memo to Jason: Call Vince McMahon, he’ll eat that shit up.

Passing over the obvious inappropriateness of cloaking a mere football game in apocalyptic imagery …

Dear Jesus, we can’t pass by that.

It’s like a dozen scantily clad college cheerleaders gyrating around an armed nuclear warhead at the 50-yard line while Gale Sayers raps the national anthem. There is no passing by that.

Armageddon at Arrowhead?

You can do better than this, Jason. You are better than this. I think.

Many readers, including yourself, think you straddle this forlorn profession like a journalism colossus. But think of it, Jason: Iraq, Afghanistan, Nick Sabin’s post-traumatic loss disorder, U.S. soldiers offing themselves at alarming rates (, the entire Middle East teetering on the brink of collapse … Aw fuck it, Jason, I was about to get all pontification-happy on your ass. I’m such a mean-spirited busybody.

Sorry, Jason. Really. I know how pleased you are with “Armageddon at Arrowhead.” Because I see you’ve become shit-faced, shambling, rolling-in-your-own-puke drunk own your own Promethean creation.

Hell, maybe you didn’t invent it, but you sure loved the shit out of it, Jason. You reminded us no fewer than 13 times this week, including a staggering five-spot in Monday’s table-setting column, that Armageddon was coming to Arrowhead.

I understand, Jason. When you’re a creative genius in the troglodyte world of the postmodern newspaper, you can’t trust the reader. Subtlety is no good. You write “Armageddon at Arrowhead” one time, the obtuse reader might pass over it without notice in search for some nugget of deeper wisdom, i.e. which team you think will prevail in the apocalyptic clash.

But if you repeat the phrase, say, five times, or even a mere four – – the slower-witted among us will catch on and realize we’re in the presence of a visionary talent.

And all kidding aside, I hope your visionary powers do not intersect with John Brown’s tonight in Kalamitous Kansas City, that the good states of Kansas and Missouri shall not be summarily wiped from the map like rival Sodams and Gomorrahs so that they might remain stolid bastions of decency, common sense and rock-ribbed Republicanism, and that a good, clean, spirited game will unfold at Arrowhead.

And, oh yeah, may the best team win.

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