Go ahead, Texas, humiliate us

Do it. Sweep us. Rub our noses in your grand tradition, o mighty Arlingtonians.

Cowboy up, you macho men of la Mancha...

It's come to this.

We need an old-fashioned, kinky-sexual, borderline sociopathic mule-whipping by a team and city that claps like trained seals every time the face of George W. Bush, like a giant projection of a Mad Magazine cover, smiles down from the Jumbotron.

We need to be embarrassed, swirleed in the toilet bowl, hung upside-down from the 14th floor by our underwear, pleading for death; we need leave town in second place, mocked by small children in wheelchairs, afraid to look the stewardesses in the eyes when asking for our freebie snack-packet of Beer Nuts.

Go ahead. Kick our asses. Make it hurt. Make us remember.

Come Oct. 5, we're going to need a reason. Lately, we haven't seemed to have one.

We don't want Minnesota in the first round. We want you. Give us a reason.

Break out your brooms. And don't forget to laugh. Please... laugh.