From Friedrich Nietzsche’s Thus Spake Zarathustra
Translation by Thomas Common and D.E. Wittkower

Football is a rope stretched between the animal and the Superbowl — a rope over an abyss.

A dangerous crossing, a dangerous wayfaring, a dangerous looking-back, a dangerous trembling and punting.

What is great in football is that it is a bridge and not a goal: what is lovable in football is that it is an over-going and a down-going.

I love those that know not how to live except as down-goers, for they are the over-goers and the 110% givers.

I love the great despisers, because they are the great adorers, and arrows of longing for the other team.

I love those who do not first seek a reason beyond the field for going down and being sacrifices, but sacrifice themselves to the earth, that the earth of the Superbowl may hereafter arrive.

I love him who liveth in order to know, and seeketh to know in order that the Superbowl may hereafter live. Thus seeketh he his own down-going.

I love him who laboureth and inventeth, that he may build the house for the Superbowl, and prepare for him earth, animal, and plant: for thus seeketh he his own down-going.

I love him who loveth his virtue: for virtue is the will to down-going, and an arrow of longing for the other team.

I love him who reserveth no share of spirit for himself, but wanteth to be wholly the spirit of his virtue: thus walketh he as spirit over the bridge.

I love him who maketh his virtue his inclination and championship game: thus, for the sake of his virtue, he is willing to live on, or live no more.

I love him who desireth not too many virtues. One virtue is more of a virtue than two, because it is more of a knot for one’s championship game to cling to.

I love him whose soul is lavish, who wanteth no thanks and doth not give back: for he always passes, and desireth not to keep for himself.

I love him who is ashamed when the coin toss fall in his favour, and who then asketh: “Am I a dishonest player?” — for he is willing to succumb.

I love him who scattereth golden words in advance of his downs, and always doeth more than he promiseth: for he seeketh his own down-going.

I love him who justifieth the future seasons, and redeemeth the past seasons: for he is willing to succumb through the present ones.

I love him who chasteneth his Ref, because he loveth his Ref: for he must succumb through the wrath of his Ref.

I love him whose soul is deep even in the fouling, and may succumb through a small matter: thus goeth he willingly over the bridge.

I love him whose soul is so overfull that he forgetteth himself, and all things are in him: thus all plays become his down-going.

I love him who is of a free spirit and a free heart: thus is his head only the bowels of his heart; his heart, however, causeth his down-going.

I love all who are like heavy drops falling one by one out of the dark cloud that lowereth over the stadium: they herald the coming of the lightning, and succumb as heralds.

Lo, I am a herald of the lightning, and a heavy drop out of the cloud: the lightning, however, is the Superbowl.

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