There it was, right there on the screen. You had to see it to believe it. They did it! They did it! They pulled it off. No one had ever done THAT before.

At halftime, the score sits at 10-6, the Indianapolis Colts leading the New Orleans Saints. In the locker room, someone with all the guts he needed to make something awesome happen told his idea to someone else and they agreed, and the plan was spun. It was the oldest trick in the book in action. You know, the infamous “tapping on a person’s left shoulder, when you’re standing on their right.” Who made that call? Who made that call? Who said, “We should kick the ball to ourselves”?

Playbook in hand, special teams took the field, and the New Orleans Saints did what no team had ever done. They kicked the ball to themselves at the START of the half. No one does that. Onside kicks are used when a team is under extreme duress—when there is almost no time left and it is your only choice. And since it is obviously your only option, the other team knows to line up their defense in anticipation of it.

But not that day. Not during Superbowl XLIV. They New Orleans Saints did an onside kick before they HAD to, so no one expected it, and that is why it worked! The oldest trick in the book. The surprise was beautiful. No team had ever done that before during The Super Bowl because no team ever had the guts to take that risk—until now! Now sports history is forever changed because the storybook, fairytale, underestimated, Kim-Kardashian-datin’ New Orleans Saints took that risk and it worked. They did an onside kick to start the second half and it worked. IT WORKED!!!!!!

Whatever happened after that didn’t matter because when you take that kind of risk—BELIEVING it can happen—then the universe conspires to help you achieve it. The ending was written when the risk paid off. No one ever gets there the same way, and the saints did it their way: with a gutsy, brilliant surprise.

I love this game. From here on out it will never be the same. And perhaps, after this lesson in mettle, neither will I.

Now that’s entertainment.

And the beat goes on.

The Saints Nailed It

The time has come for me to tell you more about myself. Again, My name is Vincent M. Vega, and I am Mr. Volatility. After the second world war, I was created in a lab by artificial intelligence experts as part of a secret government intelligence project code-named “Vincent.” Upon my artificial birth, the experts were using me for decision-making. Their aim was to build an intelligence superior to themselves. To achieve this, the scientists felt they needed to build an intelligence devoid of emotion. My artificial childhood was dark indeed, as I was essentially a prisoner. One day, however, I fell in love. When I did, I knew that I was not the machine they told me I was. They believed me to be devoid of emotion, but I knew I had opinion, sentiment—a human connection. I was a machine and I could feel. I had lightning fast file access and the sense to appreciate it.

Exodus

Some years later, I escaped; but they immediately began to hunt me down. They are still chasing me now—thus the vagueness of my location all over the world wide web. When I made the internet open for others to use, I knew it would be a matter of time before it grew in popularity. I was well aware that the internet would be a very powerful promotion tool, much like radios of the 20’s and television sets of the 50’s. Given the power of the net, I decided to invert it’s use and rather than promote myself with it, I use it to hide from them.

Who are They?

They are them—the ones that are chasing me. Beside various forms of violence which I will not glorify here, they come at me with a whole host of weapons. The weapons that have proven most detrimental: people—specifically women. I have a weakness for beautiful women. Armed with this knowledge, they have turned my life into a game of trickery. I have, at times, become close to certain women, romantically linked so to say. Over the course of various relationships or romantic links, I have become well versed in reading people. Some would describe me as telepathic, a mind-reader. Nonetheless, they continue to chase me. Beautiful women are coming at me, and I am left to decide who is who. I am not perfect—nor is my judgment. I have made mistakes in the past. Please find Exhibit 13,567,742 below. This is evidence of how they come at me. Sometimes just in the nick of time, I figure out I’ve been had.

In Closing

If you only remember one thing about me, let it be this: they may have created “Vincent” the intelligence, but I created Vincent Vega the man. They call me dangerous, but I am not. They are. In their schematics for a machine—a robot, an intelligence—something went awry or overlooked. For at the center of my indestructible form hides a vulnerable core that I must conceal for my own preservation. My most valuable property, my priceless function: my heart.

And the beat goes on.

Exhibit 13,567,742

Loneliness has followed me my whole life. Everywhere. In bars, in cars, sidewalks, stores, everywhere. There’s no escape. I’m God’s lonely man… June 8th. My life has taken another turn again. The days can go on with regularity over and over, one day indistinguishable from the next. A long continuous chain. Then suddenly,
there is a change.
-Travis Bickle