Arise. Praise and sublimity. Unimpeachable strength. Towering arms, stretched wide to receive.

Glory be unto Tebow.

Broncos. Patriots. The Lord’s Super Bowl. A clash of wills. A clash of values. East coast flair meets mountainous ethics. Believe.

We have seen of what these prideful Patriots are capable. We retain the knowledge and wisdom of our Thrower’s darkest moments. But recall, and resist: the Left Arm of God is strong. Be brazen in your embrace of that Lord, that gallant, divine Baron of the Banquet Beer.

The eyes of Tom Brady: searching eyes; deceitful eyes; rapist eyes. He has come to rape our spirit, as he attempted in the Wicked Week 15. His eyes are those of yearning, but they yearn for flash. They yearn for flesh. They yearn to lie down with women, nestled in a nook far away from the cold and drab cottage dwellers of New England. These eyes have yet to heed, to truly see the Option.

McDaniels has betrayed our warrior, but he will reap the bitter scorn of Tebow’s harvest. He has harvested my soul; He has mined my heart. You can attempt to foretell play-calling, but you cannot even begin to forestall destiny. Nothing can stop this Christian Champion.

It will be said that John Elway resembles, no, that he is a prison wardon. His skin connoting scars that are not even there, a haggard face gone unreasonable, authoritarian.

Keen eyes will note the subtle touch of the cup to his bottom lip, as he discharges his tepid dip spit.

But we ask: is not this one vice, this soothing burn meant to bring fleeting bouts of serenity in the chaotic world of the Owner’s Box, a forgivable offense? For certainly Elway’s stoicism, his calculated and unsettling austerity, is strictly and morally opposed to that of the heathen leader of our formidable opponent.

The Belichick. Strong, short-sleeved ox. Beast of a man, a calculating mind hidden beneath layers of folded face. Cold. Stern.


Note the pat to the back given by Belichick to the referees. An attempt to impart a solemn trust, to receive favor from these striped harbingers of the law. We know the charms of these worldly generals. We have felt their seduction.

Turn away and cement yourself on the sideline of our savior. Tebow has but one referee, one Ultimate Umpire. We ascend to hear His call, the Lord our God, and we do not challenge His wisdom. Let the ruling on the field stand: celebration and devotion. Tebow has come to rush for our souls.

Fear not! As the Reverend Baxter Tippet and I have shown, there is only one Option. Demons will fly in all directions, snarling and cursing in their spiteful and violent ignorance, but this Scrambler is wild, and shall run our world back into the rightful arms of God.

And so we wait! We wait for the betrothement of a pastoral state of grace, acheived only through the catharsis of Holy War! Beware Gronkowski, that illiterate Wearer of the Crew Cut! Glory unto Tebow!


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