Mean Old Grandpa Carl's Super Bowl Lock of the Wek

Here at FTT, we believe in America. And the Greatest Generation.

So our Pigskin Prognosticator is a man who has seen more football than any of us could ever hope to see. A man who not only remembers Slingin' Sammy Baugh, but got him drunk and then attacked him with a baseball bat when his back was turned. He was 2-0 in the championship games, and he's back to give you his Super Bowl Pick... Our very own (and very old) Mean Old Grandpa Carl!

FTT: Carl, great to see you again.

Carl: What the hell's that supposed to mean?

FTT: Just that we really en...

Carl: Didn't think I was going to be here, did you?

FTT: No, no, not at...

Carl: I'll tell you what I live for, punk. It's for outliving pukes like you. You go and make your little jokes, like you're not going to be old one day. You're right. I'll kill you myself before you get that far. With my bare hands.

FTT: Oh Carl, you're such a kidder...

Carl: You think I couldn't? You want to go? You don't think I sleep with a loaded Colt under my pillow, and the dried skins of those dirty little kids who messed with my lawn?

FTT (to nurse): Is he on some new meds?

Carl (pulling out gun): You want to see it close up?

FTTL: Holy cra...

Carl (reverently): You're thirsty, aren't you, Betty? Been a long time since you drank all that Commie blood. '43, oh, good times...

FTT: But if you were doing that in...

Carl: Oh, stop peeing yourself. Oh crap, that's me. Anyway, shut up and start writing. I'm going to give you the winner of the big game this weekend.

FTT (shakily): OK. Last time, you didn’t much favor the AFC, so you’re going with the Bears?

Carl: Those rum-running Italian scum? The same lot that made little kids cry when they sold the Series to the stinking REDS in 1919? The bastards that cost Richard Nixon the presidency in 1960, giving us three years of Clinton-esque White House bestiality until a Marine, goddamit, put things right?

FTT: Um, wow. Not going to answer any of that. So, the Colts?

Carl: Can't an old man talk without the Democrats in Congress putting wires in his head?

FTT: Uh...

Carl: Like you don't know. Like you aren't in on it, with your little speakers in your ears and your thumb-diddling phone and that electric box in your nether regions. It's disgusting.

FTT: You mean the computer?

Carl: I've seen what you got on that thing. You’re going to enjoy hell. Lots of loose women there, loose all over, if you catch my meaning…

FTT: When were you looking at my computer?

Carl: It's going to be ugly. Both Unitas and Luckman are going to play more scared than the Commies when they saw me pull out the piano wire and the rats. I can hardly blame them, it’s got to be tough to play football when you’re looking over your shoulder for Castro the whole time. I bet he tries something during the halftime show, that filthy cigar-smoking bastard.

FTT: You really think there will be a Cuban military action at the Super Bowl, just because the game is in Miami.

Carl: He’ll have his little friends from Hollyweird cook up something to turn America into queers, and then take over the stadium as everyone there goes all Sodom and Gomorra with the gay sex. You just watch. I won’t. But the President will scramble the military in time to get the second half started – I just hope he’s not too much of a pussy to shoot Castro himself, like he did to Saddam -- and everyone knows a Cuban is no good in a fair fight. Expect less than 200 dead and minimal disruptions.

FTT: 200 dead after group sex is a minimal disruption?

Carl: It’s in Miami, isn’t it? You telling me it isn’t? Those people down there, they let that little alien kid get abducted. Don’t put anything past them, I don’t. When that kid got grabbed, I shook my fist at my television for weeks!

FTT: I really doubt that Cuba will prove to be any…

Carl: Who asked you? You ever win money betting on football, junior?

FTT: No, sir.

Carl: Of course you haven’t. That’s because winning money in football only happens if you’ve got God on your side. And I’ve killed too many people for God to be anywhere but with me. How else do you explain all these skins?

FTT: Those aren’t from animals? Oh dear God, I think I’m going to be…

Carl: Puke all you want, you little mama’s boy. The same way that those filthy gun-toting Eye-talian gangster defensive tackles from Chicago will puke when the True White Colts run it down their throats. Luckman’s gonna go three and out and choke, and the Colts will move the chains until the Bears defense collapses like an Irishman on Saturday night. Take Unitas with the points.

FTT: We talked about this, Carl, it’s not Unitas any…

Carl: You want to give Betty a drink?

FTT: No sir.

Carl: Colts 24, Bears 13. Now get me my pills!

Ladies and gentlemen, Mean Old Grandpa Carl!