For a brief shining moment, Minnesota was my new state. Then the tide turned. The Forty Niners won. See, the boys in the backroom were cheering for the San Francisco team, with their expensive cigars, and seeing as I am naturally a contrarian, especially when it comes to doddering old rightwingers and their favourite things, I was vocal for the opposite side.
Periodically I'd yell Viking encouragement into their area.
A great team. Who fought most splendidly. Noble savages, with cheese, horned hats, and manly underwear. Minnesota is famous for little prairie dwellings and husker do.
As well as Lutefisk. A truly great state.
The purpose of American "football" is to convey a leather object from one end of the field to another and sell beer. That's all I know.
Minnesota is on the same side of the continent as Massachusets and Mississipi.
And somewhere in between the two.
Despite the fact that they voted for Donald Trump, there are not nearly as many toxic puss blisters in Minnesota as there are in Marin. They may have been binge-drinking at the time. Steve Buscemi is an honourary citizen of Minnesota.
The cigar-chomping old fascists went out of their giddy little minds when the San Francisco team won the game. Sickeningly ecstatic.
It was quite nauseating.
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