Bloglander

UPDATE: Last night, the Seattle Seahawks revealed that Marshawn Lynch won't be available for tomorrow's wild-card playoff game against the Minnesota Vikings and he didn't make the trip.

PREVIOUSLY: This week, with surprisingly little fanfare, Marshawn Lynch returned to the Seattle Seahawks’ practice facility after a month-plus-long absence. As of now, he’s listed as a game-time decision for Sunday’s frigid Wild Card Playoff contest in Minnesota, but Coach Pete says he had a good week of practice.

You can bet that Marshawn will take the field on Sunday and that the injured abdominal muscle that’s kept him off the active roster since Nov. 15 has healed. He’s been getting ready for some time now. And while the powers that be want you to buy the wild story that he was training with mixed martial arts dudes down in his native Oakland, that’s not what happened. Not even close.

Here’s how it really went down, from the best I can tell...

OK, so in that game against the Cardinals back in November, the Seahawks lost a very tough one and it looked like the season was pretty much lost. And with the sore gut, Marshawn went and got that shit fixed, but it takes some time to recover from something like that.

But he didn’t come back to the Seahawks, and he didn’t go to that MMA trainer, either. His friends and family were worried. Not wanting to cause a stir, the Seahawks issued a vague statement about the running back “rehabbing off-site,” whatever that means. In truth, Marshawn was missing — and only one man knew where to find him. So after the Seahawks ripped the manhood from the Cardinals on Sunday, presumably as retribution for the earlier game that knocked Marshawn out for seven weeks, Russell Wilson took a separate flight home, apart from the team.

He landed somewhere east of the Cascades, where he was met by a guy probably wearing a wolf’s skin for a coat, a wolf’s head for a hat and a wolf’s tail for a scarf. His gloves? You guessed it. Really nice Goretex mittens. The grizzled man nodded to Wilson, who signaled for his plane to leave.

He outfitted Wilson with a pack and climbing gear and the two set off into the mountains, but about a mile in, Wilson turned to the guide.

“I’ll take it from here,” said the quarterback.

“You won’t last an hour in these wilds,” said the grizzled man, his beard blowing in the winter gale that had kicked up, bringing with it waving sheets of snow.

“Go,” said Wilson.

“Your funeral,” said the guide and turned down the hill.

For miles, Wilson trudged through the snow, the only thing keeping him company? The warm thoughts of his snuggle sessions — just snuggling, nothing more — with recording artist/his girlfriend, Ciara. Ice clung to his stubble of a beard and his legs, already worn from their use as the conduit through which a victory was delivered earlier that day, grew weaker as he ascended the mountainside. Doubt surrounded him.

But then he saw it. A plume of smoke rising through the cedars. With renewed energy, Wilson charged toward the source of that smoke to find a solitary log cabin. He crept to a window and inside, lit by the glow of a roaring inferno at the center of the room was Marshawn Lynch, his chest glimmering with sweat as he lifted a massive elk above his head once, then, twice, then three times, then a fourth. And then he put the magnificent beast down because four reps are plenty when you’re dealing with an elk like that.

Wilson went to the door and opened it. The teammates, so many weeks estranged, shared a knowing glance.

“It’s time,” said Wilson.

The one they call Beast Mode wiped the sweat from his brow, adorned his Beast Mode™ hat and Beast Mode™ sweatshirt, both part of his new 2016 line of Beast Mode™ apparel. 

“You ready for the playoffs?” Wilson asked, warming his hands by the fire.

“You tell me, boss,” said Marshawn. He then ran through the side of the cabin. Wood shards flew in all directions and soon Wilson found himself scurrying out of the cabin as it collapsed under its own weight. Don’t worry, the elk got out fine.

Again, they shared that knowing glance. The next day, they were back on the practice field.