Bolts win! Bolts win! Bolts win! All because of me and my Charger friends

I sat on the edge of the couch, unreclined, on the west end facing south, my feet exactly 14 inches apart (former hall of fame Charger quarterback Dan Fouts' number).

The television's volume meter was set at - you guessed it - 14. The DVD player, which had the San Diego SuperCharger song cued in the unlikely case they scored a touchdown against the Indy Colts Sunday night, was set to play the song at - uh-huh - 14.

I only drank Newcastles until the win appeared in doubt, then I switched to another English Ale: Boddington's.

I turned on just one light, in the east corner of the Compound's family room, but only one click (that's right, we're rich MFers, we can afford 3-way bulbs).

Of course, I was clad in my LT Charger jersey, and for good measure, had my LT MVP tee underneath because that shirt is 3-1 this season as opposed the jersey which was 1-2 heading into Sunday night's battle.

Like baseball players who will not step directly on the foul lines of a baseball field during the game, when I walked on our tile I would not step on a grout line.

I let the dogs out early in the third quarter and the Bolts let the Ponies get within two. Wife asked if I had let the dogs back in, perhaps that was where the mojo went sour, so I ran - mindful of the grout lines - threw the sliding glass door open and frantically called for the pups to get back inside.

And finally, I wouldn't let Wife out of porn viewing room, er, the computer room except for a bathroom break, and even then she wasn't allowed to step foot in the "big" TV room. I told her I'd bring whatever she wanted. She took advantage and requested tiramisu the size of an Olympic swimming pool with enough chocolate to flood the English Channel and topped with fresh Vermont maple syrup (remember, pregnant = crazy food concoctions, at least it wasn't a sardine topper with a garnish of Rocky Mountain oysters).

And you know what? The Chargers won. They beat a 7-2 Ponies team who nearly beat the New England Patriots the week before. The defending Superbowl champions lost because I was wearing my golf course boxers and resisted the urge to call Funky C in Cali. to gloat over the Bolts 23-7 halftime lead.

After I pen this little diddy on how I single-handily brought down the Jack Asses Sunday, I plan to write the Chargers to see what kind of compensation they were willing to ship my way. I'll settle for season tickets in the View section, or a jacuzzi date with a cheerleader of my choosing (which I'll dutifully hand over to my buddies the Sports Geek or our photo friend SnapShot because I'm that kind of buddy - plus Wife would fillet me from nuts to neck if she heard that's what the Bolts organization gave me).

If it sounds like I'm taking credit for (sh)Eli Manning's older brother throwing 6 picks - three to the latest Charger to make General Manager AJ Smith look like a draft genius - I am. And while I'm at it, I opened up the holes that freed Darren Sproles to dash through the Ponies' special teams for a kick return TD and a punt return TD. It's all due to me and my foresight to set the volume for every talking appliance in the house at 14. The way the Bolts have been playing this season, it has to be something than their actual play on the field.

My efforts were nearly thwarted by one Norv Turner, though. The Charger head coach nearly bungled and botched his way into a loss. He mismanaged the clock with less than three minutes to go, calling timeouts before the 2-minute warning. The only time I saw worse clock management was when I threw a baseball inside my grandma's house and smashed the cuckoo clock (that's when I knew I wouldn't be the next Sandy Koufax). He also pissed away both coach's challenges on plays Ray Charles could have called - and he's blind, plus dead.

So, as I see it, LT and Merriman and Jamaal and the Antonios needed my golf course undies and for the Wife to stay away from the TV.

And since it all worked yesterday, I don't plan to take any of the clothes off all week, skivvies and all.

So, who's up for a 4-day car ride across the country to Jacksonville for Sunday's game? Y'all can wear what you want, I'll still be in my unwashed game wear, and well-fermented body.

Go Bolts!