I know why you are here. You are wondering how this could be allowed to happen. In a world full of sustained conflict and suffering, when a hero is most needed, why is mankind denied the only one who knows the path to victory - the very path he forged himself? For once fellow citizens, I have no answers. This morning I do not feel like the pinnacle of man, the offspring of living gods, or the genetically perfect creation capable of miraculous healing and throwing footballs to the moon. No - this morning, like many of you, I woke up hoping it was a dream but all too quickly realized I had shit my pants yesterday. Mother knew something was wrong immediately when instead of the lavendar-scented golden treasures I usually leave in my silken diapers, I had instead crapped a pantload of Sacagawea dollars. I mean, you can't even give those things away.
Father was so looking foward to this season as the one where he would fully transcend the game of football. He commented to me recently that he has been seeing defenses in downward scrolling green letters and numbers - total Matrix style.
After generously granting a wish to Eli Manning last year, and making leaps of progress with the Umlaut (I am told she can now go up to 30 minutes in a row without servicing a stranger in a taxi), he was truly excited to demonstrate the full capacity of his talent.
This situation does bring to mind a story Father once recanted to me. He and I were in the main sitting room, lounging in our smoking robes and reciting our favorite James Joyce quotes back and forth while the Umlaut slept in the corner of the room in her tattered party clothes; her face planted into her purse of narcotics as she snored. Father showed me that even in her sleep, the Umlaut managed to ingest heavy amounts of cocaine and ecstasy. We both had a hearty laugh at the Umlaut - for truly she is a most degenerate creature.
But Father did take a moment to point out that evil like the Umlaut must exist in this world. How could one know and attempt to comprehend the beauty of Mother without having a soul-less harlot like the Umlaut by which to compare? Good cannot exist without evil he said. I had thought nothing of his profound and prescient statement, for I was too busy kicking the semi-conscious Umlaut in the ribs with my baby crocs. Some days I cringe at my youthful impulses! I felt I had nothing to learn, yet how can I teach and save the world without first being a good student?
It is my belief that by allowing his own injury, Father was demonstrating the point more with extreme clarity. Not just to me, but to all of New England and the world. The point that evil does exist, that we must triumph over it no matter what, and that the collective heroic intentions of the whole - can in some ways - match the power of a single divine being.
The other surprising thing? Evil came in the form of a man named Bernard. And here Father had always been convinced it would come by the one they call "Jay Mariotti."