Yimminy, that Was Some Doormat Bowl, Eh?

The Doormat draft starts tonight, so let's wrap the sandwich from last year.

After watching a classic debacle in Doormat Bowl 2015 in frigid Minneapolis, Minnesota--Tampa Bay edged Tennessee to take the loss--this reporter stumbled into the nearest warm place that served Spanish Coffees on Sunday. That's where I met some guy named Guy who said he was looking for a missing woman by the name of Sven. "Isn't that a guy name?" I asked Guy. "Have ya looked at yer watch lately?" he answered. "It's 2015, Mack. Nowadays, any stiff gets any name they want, any gender they want, and they can use any bathroom they want, eh?"

I watched as the bartender swirled flaming rum around the sugar coated edge of the Spanish Coffee glass. "So, Sven is a girl who is a guy?" 

Guy snorted his shot of whiskey. "Nah."

"Sven is a guy who is a girl?"

"Nah."

"So what is Sven?"

"Sven is a missing woman and I'm lookin' for her, OK?"

"Did you try the bathroom?"

"Oh, yer a wise guy, eh?"

The bartender slid the drink to me, hot and potent. I took a swig and scalded my lips.

"Jeez, buddy," she said. "That's molten sugar there, take it easy, eh?"

"Yah, yah," Guy added. "C'mon, let's go." He plunked two ice cubes in my drink and slugged it down, wiped his lips, and ushered me out into the frozen Minneapolis night. My pants felt like stove pipes as I walked. 

That's when a Viking woman dressed in a leather tunic with a broadsword at her hip stepped from behind an old El Camino. Guy seemed unfazed, so I guessed this was a common occurrence in Minneapolis. 

"I am Ingrid. You look for Sven?" she said. We both nodded yes. "I take you to Sven."

She picked us up and tossed us in the back of the El Camino. "Hold tight." She said. 

Frozen and shivering, we arrived 30 minutes later at a dark warehouse along the Mississippi river. It's strange to think Minnesotans with nordic accents live along the Mississippi. What was even stranger was the scene inside the warehouse. A gigantic above-ground pool was in the center with two small Viking ships bobbing around, one with a crew of 11, the other with just 8. Around the pool were bleachers packed with men and women drinking ale from cow horns and screaming. They rocked back and forth to the sound of great skin drums, like tall corn in a stiff, swirling wind. 

Ingrid hoisted a horn of ale, quaffed it, wiped her face with the back of her sleeve, and then pointed to one of the ships. "Sven," she said, and signaled us to follow her.

As we toddled along behind the striding woman, I mumbled to Guy, "So, why are you looking for Sven?"

"I didn't say," he answered.

"Well, you found Sven, so she isn't missing anymore."

"We gotta get her home, kid."

We came up to the edge of the pool, Ingrid drew her sword and banged the side of one of the ships. "Sven!" she bellowed. A sturdy, wide, person who looked a lot like Ernest Borgnine looked down from the ship. "Ingrid!" she shouted. "You made it!"

Ingrid waved us to follow and we all three came aboard. Sven handed me and Guy each a horn of ale. "Drink," she said. 

I turned to Guy. "I don't think this is going to be my cup of tea." 

"Yah, eh? You are getting it in barrels, kid," he answered. 

We drank. Ingrid slapped us both on the back. "We get you gear," she said. "Now we are 11."

At that moment the crowd exploded into roars of anticipation. Drums beat again, and crews slowly turned the ships to the center of the pool. Sven climbed half way up the mast and addressed the crew. "No quarter!" she cried. "It's victory or Valhalla for us now!"

The ships picked up speed as we were handed helmets and swords. I peered through the lights in the stands. Did I see TV cameras? Was this ESPN?

Too late to answer that one. The ships collided at mid-pool, we were thrown forward and the crowd roared louder than Seahawks fans at a 49ers game. Berserk Vikings, men and women, surged over the railing of our ship, swinging axes and swords. I noticed Ingrid seemed to be handy with hers, so I got in behind her and followed her lead. A hulking, horned-helmet moose of a man knocked her back and came straight for me. I fell on my back and waved my arms like a beetle. "I don't want to die!" I screamed. The man paused, bewildered by my response, which gave Ingrid time to hack him down. "Good ruse," she said to me. "You are smart, and brave."

Well, at least I was alive. I stayed close to Ingrid the rest of the battle, chopping at anyone who came at her from behind, and finding lots of opportunities to beg for mercy, and I somehow survived it, Guy too. Our team was ultimately victorious, and the stomping crowd chanted their approval. 

"Where is this place?" I asked Guy. "It's Minneapolis, kid," he answered, finishing off a horn of ale. "Every day."

Now, you might think that is the end of the story. But it is not; though I have run out of time to tell it. I will conclude with a quick summary. Guy had found Sven, and got her and his client connected again. Not sure why anyone wanted to be connected to Sven, but she was a winner, I guess. Ingrid said to me, "You come home with Ingrid." I enthusiastically said yes, expecting a hero's reward. What I did not know was that Ingrid lived in Russia. I protested at first, but I got the reward right away, and there was definitely the likelihood of a lot more, so I decided, what the heck, let's go to Russia.

We spent one glorious year in Norilsk, Russia, the furthest north city in the country. It was below zero almost all of the time, so we had to stay home, drink mead, and keep warm; which was fine with me.

Then I heard that Doormat Bowl 2016 was to be played in St. Petersburg, Russia. Ingrid had never seen a real American football game and wanted to go. I told her she still would not be seeing a real American football game, but it would be in the neighborhood of one. So we took the Trans Siberian Railroad to St. Petes, and enjoyed a true stinker of a game between the Doormat champions of 2015/16 season, Dallas and Tennessee. This was Tennessee's second consecutive appearance in the Doormat Bowl. They accidentally won in the last seconds of that game, failing to lose to the impossible to lose to Tampa Bay Bootineers.

There were over 500 rowdy Russians at this game, which was played Feb. 20 on an old soccer field with the temperature hovering around 2 degree Fahrenheit. Tennessee got off to a rocky start, scoring a field goal in the first and second quarters, taking a 6-0 lead into the 4th quarter. Finally, Mariotta engineered and excellent negative drive and, on his own 5 yard line, he tossed an interception and Dallas had the ball on the 23. Three plays later it was Dallas on the 29, but still in field goal range. Tennessee then pulled a trick play and deflected the field goal, recovered it on the 4, took a hit at the 5, fumbled it into the end zone, and Dallas fell on it for a TD. It was 6-6. Dallas expertly missed the field goal and the game went into triple overtime.

Finally, Dallas was forced to kick a field goal, handing a well-deserved loss to Tennessee, 9-6. Tennessee had prevailed in one of the worst games ever played (there was a total of 148 yrds of offense in the game and 8 punts, 8 turnovers, and 200 yards in penalties. Not to mention three shanked punts).

And that was Doormat Bowl 2016.

Looking forward to a great 2016/17 season in the basement!