Vikings ... it's complicated

I’m not sure if even Fran Tarkenton could have consoled me as I hid in the closet. Of course, he was at that time on a plane returning from a Vikings loss in Washington. It was in the early evening on Nov. 30, 1975 — a gloomy, wet gloaming outside — and I still had chores to do. But I needed some time. I was incapable of doing anything just then, least of all my rotten watering and feeding job down in the barn.

Offensive coordinator Jerry Burns said Tarkenton had the best performance he’d ever seen from a quarterback that day at RFK Stadium. The Vikings amassed 508 yards in offense, the bulk of it on Fran going 27-for-37 in passing with 357 yards. He also got a key scrambling touchdown as the Vikings recovered from an early 21-0 deficit.

All of that was lost on this 8-year-old. I just wanted the undefeated season to continue. I didn’t care that this Vikings team, one of destiny in my eyes, had already wrapped up the Central Division and a playoff spot after starting the season at 10-0. I was 8, after all, and lived and died for purple perfection each Sunday and on an occasional Monday.

“The loss isn’t life or death,” Tarkenton purportedly told Minneapolis Tribune scribe Sid Hartman after the 31-30 loss. “It’s a bitter pill to take. But we’ll move on from here.”

Had my hallowed quarterback told me that from outside the closet where I was secretly crying — away from my seven siblings and parents who never really believed in the team — I may have lunged at him, throttled his neck, rendered him unable to play for the rest of the season.

Then a rampage would begin, with the first in a series of revenge maimings occurring at the home of placekicker Fred Cox, who missed three key kicks in the loss.

Perhaps the only one to be spared would be defensive great and future Minnesota Supreme Court Chief Justice Alan Page, who was on my side in saying that Washington illegally held him and his other Purple People Eaters on every play in what became the winning drive in the last minute of the game.

I would secret onto a plane and find Billy Kilmer, who, despite being the same age as Tarkenton (35), was a broken down quarterback literally on his last legs. That this ancient, drunken fossil led his team over my Vikings was maddening.

All of this rage came back to me last Sunday when chatter got around about how great the Vikings-Bills game was. Indeed, it was an incredible game, with seesaw emotions coming from impossible plays. And the team is now 8-1 this year.

Memorable, yes. But in my lifetime? Yawn.

I’ve adjusted, thankfully, from my 8-year-old self to not take as much stock in the Minnesota Vikings. Not that I don’t watch each week. Not that I don’t root for them in some nonchalant or maybe melancholy way.

As I got into adulthood, the driver in my football viewing life was for the Vikings to at least get one Super Bowl win while my constantly doubting parents were still alive.

Nope.

They had 60 chances. Now I have to wonder if it will happen in my lifetime. Yikes.

The good thing about this year’s team is that each game itself has provided a season's worth of the typical hope and disappointment we meet each year. The comeback kids, you might say, have certainly provided entertainment. They haven’t been dominant, but what team in the NFL is in that category these days?

So I let things roll, and for the first time in a long time am feeling less guilt about spending three or so hours watching a game.

I kind of miss that preteen passion, even if it may have scarred me for life. Think of this: If I recovered anytime soon from the defeat in Washington, it all came back again a month later when Drew Pearson pushed off to propel Dallas into the Super Bowl. I think a lot of us can say that we’ve never really recovered from that one, where the term "Hail Mary" came to describe such hopeful heaves down the field.

But say I did, indeed, recover from Drew Pearson pushing off. I was only then to meet the next year and another great season and, yes, a fourth Super Bowl appearance for the Vikings. My zeal had waned by then, and a great blizzard proved distracting enough from the crushing loss to Oakland. I didn’t end up in any closet. (Maybe I retreated to the igloo I constructed after the storm.)

I’ve slipped once since then. Falling in love in 1998 with a 15-1 team that was a lock to win it all. They didn’t. When Gary Anderson missed that field goal in the NFC Championship, I dropped the phone I had picked up as the perfect kicker trotted onto the field. My confused father was on the other end, wondering what had happened to me and my bragging that he was finally about to see the Vikings win a Super Bowl. Nope.

I am not in love this year, and will likely never be again. I have my memories — good, bad and infuriating. That’s enough. Enjoy the ride. Stay out of the closet.

Mike is a writer and page designer for the Pine Knot News. He can be reached at [email protected].