I hate your favorite team
Let's set the record straight. I don't like your team. I've never liked your team. I clearly graduated, if you can call it that, from your in-state rival institution of higher learning. The academic curriculum there was not as challenging as it was at your alma mater, and I got wasted every night. I don't think I ever saw the inside of a classroom during my entire 7-year stay. All of my fellow alumnus are scum-suckingly inferior human beings with obvious unsavory hereditary traits, and we celebrate it with great aplomb just because we know it grinds your gears. We hate you as much as you hate us, and guess what? That is exactly why I chose to be a football referee, for the sole purpose of sticking it to your favorite team at every possible opportunity, consistently and thoroughly.
I could have been a police officer, a security guard, a barroom bouncer, or even that guy at Blockbuster who forgets to scan in your videos on-time, but I decided that the best way to abuse my authority in order to drive you and your fanbase bat-scat crazy would be to worm my way into the intricate workings of our beloved football. Now that I'm on the inside, no one can possibly stop me from throwing my yellow handkerchiefs willy-nilly at the expense of the hopes and dreams of your seemingly ill-fated football program. You think replay can stop me? I AM REPLAY! What do you think of that? I've got all of my inbred buddies up there in that booth. We're going to go drinking right after this game, and you know what? We're definitely going to be toasting to how lucky we are to screw your favorite team on a regular basis! I mean, we all fell ass-over-tea-kettle backwards into this position of ridiculous power, and now we can do what we've always wanted to: apply unnecessary screwjobs to your team at every possible crucial juncture. I hope I've given you an ulcer!
Oh that? You don't think that was holding just now? Guess what? There's holding on every play, I admit it, but you know, nothing helps me get it up right before a big game more than the thought that I'm only going to be calling holding against your favorite team for the next 60 minutes of seemingly incorruptible football. You don't like it? Well now this is going to happen. False Start, on the offense, number...I don't care, I'll just pick one. The big guy over there. Yeah, 74 definitely moved before the snap. I totally saw that. How about one more? It looks like a pivotal 3rd and short in the redzone...I think I'll call a futile Illegal Shift right about here. You know what the funny thing is about those? I don't think illegal shift is really in the official rulebook! The rules committee doesn't even teach that to us anymore, and when they try to bring it up, its interpretation is shoddy at best. I just want to really lay the woodwork to your favorite team.
Try to pass in this environment, you insignificant clods. I don't care if your quarterback is John freaking Elway, there's no way he's getting the benefit of the doubt from me. No way in hell. I am going to let the opposing secondary commit voluntary manslaughter on his receivers. That's what he gets for being Mr. Perfect fancy-lad QB on my watch! I absolutely hate him, but not as much as I hate your favorite team. I can stop their precious offense at will, man. At. will. It's going to be a long afternoon because I know exactly how to mess with your head. Your team will be stringing a few good plays together while I try to make everything look nice and legit and then WHAM! I'll bring that holding flag back out at the WORST possible time! I don't even have to be watching the play half the time. Lord knows I've got my linesman buddies ready to short change your boys on every single spot. Oh yeah, you forgot about that didn't you? That's probably my favorite part, chipping away your vicarious joys inch by motherf!#$!$ing inch. Death by a thousand paper cuts. So much hate.
You may think I'll never get away with this, but let me remind you of a very important fact. Your favorite team draws absolutely zero water with my conference, sir. While we let on the appearance that we play favorites with certain teams around here, and we certainly do, I can guaran-damn-tee you that your favorite team is not pulling our strings. Your favorite team is getting the shaft at every possible opportunity, from the top on down, and every last one of us enjoys every single minute of it. If we had our way, you wouldn't be even playing football right now, but we like taking your money. It only helps us further increase our deathlock on your football fortunes. There is no possible way you're getting the best of us, but there's no way we'll ever openly admit it.
In summation, I hate your favorite team. I hate they way they look, I hate the way they play, and I hate everyone mentally deficient enough to value their stake in this sporting match. This hatred is not born of jealousy or even malice. This is simply who I am, and there is no way around it. As long as there is a black heart beating in this hollow soul of mine, I will spend every breath making sure that these little yellow flags of mine get in the way of the success of your team. Mark my freaking words.