George S. Patton: Speech to the Rams

"I want you to remember that no bastard ever won a game by dying for his team. He won it by making the other poor, dumb bastard die for his team..."

Men, all this stuff you've heard about the Rams not wanting to fight, wanting to stay out of the game, it's a lot of horse dung. Rams, traditionally, love to fight. All real Rams love the sting of battle. When you were kids, you all admired the champion marble shooters, the fastest runners, big league ball players, the toughest boxers. Rams fans love a winner and will not tolerate a loser. The Rams play to win all the time. I wouldn't give a hoot in hell for a Ram who lost and laughed.

Now, the Rams are a team. It lives, eats, sleeps, fights as a team. This individuality stuff is a bunch of crap. The bilious bastards who wrote that stuff about individuality for the Saturday Evening Post don't know anything more about real battle than they do about fornicating.

Now, we have the finest organization and equipment, the best spirit and coaches, and the best players in the world. You know, by God I, I actually pity those poor bastards we're going up against (49ers, Cardinals, Seahawks), by God, I do. We're not just going to shoot the bastards; we're going to cut out their living guts and use them to grease the treads of our Nike’s. We're going to murder those lousy Division bastards by the bushel. Those poor dumb bastards just don’t have a chance in hell.

Now, some of you boys, I know, are wondering whether or not you'll chicken out under fire. Don't worry about it. I can assure you that you will all do your duty. I expect you to run perfect routes, beat the opposing quarter back like a red headed step child, and just totally annihilate those stupid monkeys who have the nerve to think they can stand up to the mighty Rams!

All the other teams in the NFL are the enemy. Wade into them. Spill their blood. Shoot them in the belly. When you put your hand into a bunch of goo that a moment before was your best friend's face, you'll know what to do. You’ll track down that fancy pants read-option punk with the high-top pink cleats, and stomp a mud hole in his ass!

Now there's another thing I want you to remember: I don't want to get any messages saying that we are holding our position. We're not holding anything. Let the enemy do that. We are advancing constantly and we're not interested in holding onto anything except the winning score. We're going to hold onto to those bastards by the nose and we're going to kick them in the ass. We're going to kick the hell out of those other teams all the time and we're going to go through them like crap through a goose, until we win the super bowl!

Now, there's one thing that you men will be able to say when you get back home. And you may thank God for it. Thirty years from now when you’re sitting around your fireside with your grandson on your knee, and he asks you: "What did you do in the NFL Grandpa?" You won't have to say, "Well, I shoveled shit in the Louisiana super dome!"

Alright, now, you sons-of-bitches, you know how I feel. Oh... I will be proud to lead you wonderful guys into battle anytime, anywhere.

That's all. Now go kick some ass!

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