Easy for you to say

(A recent Facebook post about mispronounced words that are pet peeves for some people garnered some interest. And the cited words stuck in my head…until I purged them here!)
My Minnesota Vikings have been a pleasant surprise, going in to this weekend with a solid 8-3 record – good enough to sit in first place in the NFL’s North Division ahead of the hated Bears and Packers. However, this past Sunday morning the Vikes showed dark shades of their former sorry selves in a 38-7 shellacking administered by the Seattle Seahawks.

While watching, my angst grew and my command of the English language lessened. It was the weirdest thing! Not sure what was more unsettling though: how Seattle was having their way all day with my boys in purple, or my inability to speak properly. I mean really, I was getting fustrated!

The game was close for the first quarter and I was pretty comfterble with it all, but things went completely nucular in the second. Proberly had something to do with three straight Viking punts, followed by an interception. Shiver me timbers, it was 21-zip at half time! Irregardless, I thought, the Vikes will come back in the third quarter because for all intensive purposes they’re great athlaletes who’ll be chomping at the bit. Uh huh. They’ll watch some fillum to see their mistakes, and then they’ll do their upmost in the second half. Give a hunerd-and-ten precent and all that, excetera, excetera.

Well, things didn’t work out so well. Not four minutes into Quarter Three, Seattle scored another touchdown. 28-0 and the rout was on in earnest (or is that ernst?). Supposably, the effort was going to be better in the second half, but I didn’t think you could find one pacific example of someone trying harder. I’ll axe you direct right now: did you see one? No, didn’t think so.

By this time, I’m yelling at the TV trying to get my Vikings to wake up, but the words were all jumbled and strange-sounding like I’d fallen off the turnip truck, hitting my head on the ashphalt. I’m off the couch yelling incoherently, while the Bos Lady – feeling mischievious, proberly – was trying to get my goat-cheese, cooing: “There, there, dear. It’s just a game.” But I didn’t take the bait; just ignored her, thinking if she wanted to float that perticular boat, well that was her perogative.

But oh dear, I was getting a lulu of a headache, what with Seattle running up the score and me yelling things that weren’t making any sense. Head pounding so bad, it wasn’t even English anymore. What a scene: me standing there, hands clamped tightly on my ears, froth drooling out of my mouth, screaming: “Olliebollen! Olliebollen! Olliebollen!” like some pathetic old Payten Manning.

Thankfully, the Bos Lady had a heart. She soon came to my rescue with a cup of expresso and two Advils or some undisclosed perscription drug. Might even have been a couple of those Happy Pills she takes once in a while. Midol or MiDoc or something.

Before long, my headache was a thing of the past. But that expresso – man, that jacked me up!! And for some reason, I was fighting an urge to try on the high heels the Bos Lady was wearing that morning. She’s got miniture feet though, so the urge didn’t last. No sense trying the impossible, I thought.

And, mercifully, the shellacking on the Tube came to an end, as well. Best the Vikings put an asteriks behind that 38-7 rout and just be done with it. But they better show up next game or some of them will be calling their realators. Just sayin’.