Greetings, my non-Gaelic companions. It is I, Sir Liam Neeson, of the Isle of Emerald and the fists of steel. I present myself not as your Archduke of Awesome, but as fellow brethren of the Hawk. There’s an issue that’s come to my attention, one that even a simple releasing of my Kraken won’t solve.
As I was scrolling through the comments, I noticed something disturbing. At first I thought that my wise Irish eyes had failed me, but I knew that theory was shite because they’re Irish and wise, and thus they fail no man. There before me was evidence that the fiend whom Interpol and Scotland Yard call "Fear " had infiltrated our camp.
This was not my first encounter with the rapscallion. We crossed paths on the deck of the U.S.S. Missouri. I chased him across Godforsaken, Wolf-ridden tundra. We came to blows on the other side of the Wardrobe. But when he interfered in my ninja training of a billionaire, enough was enough.
The words I spoke to young Master Wayne that day ring true for all those nervous about Sunday’s game.
"What you really fear is inside yourself. You fear your own power. You fear your anger, the drive to do great or terrible things."
This team has the greatest potential I’ve ever seen. With that potential comes the fear that we won’t live up to it, or that we’ll burn up faster than my skin in Darkman. Well guess what, that’ll never happen. I have complete and utter faith in this crew. I should know something about faith, considering I’ve been a Priest twice, even been called Priest in that Scorsese flick.
Besides my gut feelings (which are considered law in the UK and the planet of Naboo) here are some sure-fire, leprechaun gold plated facts to ease your mind, most of them inspired by my past lives.
-Our secondary is the A-Team of the league, except they don’t pity fools; they manhandle them and cackle with delight over the disheveled remains.
-Our WR’s are deities, a Parthenon of champions fully prepared to smite any ignorant idiots who dare to slander them as "average." I present Percy "Zeus" Harvin, an immortal being faster than the lightning he wields. Behold Doug "Ares" Baldwin, his anger a mere symptom of his bloodlust. And avert your gaze from Golden "Poseidon " Tate, master of waves, (think about it.)
-Our DE’s are a pack of ravenous lupine, with glistening fangs bared in anger at the thought of the Niners wandering into their den. They will show them the same amount of mercy they showed those oilrig workers whose plane crashed. The Grey (Jerseys); coming to a theater where bloodstains are tolerated.
-Not only do we have a Beast, we have the King of Beasts. Marshawn Lynch is like Aslan in every regard, except for his speaking abilities. In that case he more closely resembles a normal lion. A Beacon (Plumbing) of light to a world stuck in winter, he’ll lead the charge against Jim Harbaugh, known to all as the White Bitch.
-Last but not least we have our QB, who has Taken all our hearts. We know who he is (Russell Wilson,) we know what he wants (three superb owls.) If you are looking for ransom, I can tell you he doesn’t have much money (rookie contracts are a bitch.) But what he does have are a very particular set of skills (passing, running, leadership, elusiveness, work ethic, and I wouldn’t doubt the keytar,) skills he’s acquired over a very short career, skills that make him a nightmare for people like you (you being the entire NFL and the next three generation of their families.) So Niners, if you surrender now, he won’t look for you, he won’t pursue you. (Unless a sick child requests it, then all bets are off.) But if you don’t, he will look for you, he will find you, and he will kill you. (He has a deal with Russell Investments, for each Niner skull he collects, $2000 will be given to charity.)
And don’t you dare wish him good luck. One, he doesn’t need it. And two, Marko from Tropoja tried to do that to me once, and to this day he remains in an improvised electric chair.
So brethren of the Hawk, do yourselves a favor and give fear a swift punch to the throat. Forget your worries like I try to forget I was in Battleship. There’s victory in the air. I can feel it in my fingers; I feel it in my toes. (Ten points for whoever got the Love Actually reference.) And of course, go Hawks.