Disclaimer: This article is based on actual news from the real world – honestly! However, it has been sprinkled with a healthy dose of satire.
The mass aquatic delusion reportedly began during team-building at a Maryland yurt commune, where each Ravens player unintentionally microdosed enough psilocybin to kill a medium-sized elk. Four hours later, the entire roster had a shared vision of Roger Goodell descending from the sky on a stingray and announcing that Super Bowl LX would be hosted in the Lost City of Atlantis. No one on the team or in management has questioned it since.
Did he fall or was he pushed? (ESPA/depositphotos)
“Lamar said the ocean talked to him through a glowing blob of plasma and asked if our two-minute drill could function under 8,000 PSI. Then he updated the cadence to include whale clicks. That’s leadership, man,” said Tyus Bowser, fighting back the tears of a real man.
Despite no official NFL confirmation or stadium renderings, Ravens management remains “110% sure” that Super Bowl LX will take place beneath the sea. It seems no one can convince them otherwise.
The problem was compounded, though, when the Baltimore Ravens discovered that roughly one-third of their players can’t swim.
“I thought I could swim until the pool started judging me,” said Charlie Kolar, who reportedly shouted “pass interference!” at a random lifeguard for no apparent reason.
“Water has no business being that wet,” muttered Kyle Hamilton, glaring at a kiddie pool like it had insulted his mom.
Faced with the watery apocalypse they think is coming, several players appeared in a social media video this week, pleading for help. But instead of Googling “how to not drown” like normal people, they summoned Michael Phelps, the Poseidon of Baltimore rec centers.
“Hey @MichaelPhelps, we need your help!” posted Marlon Humphrey in a video from the team’s training pool, surrounded by panicking teammates flailing like malfunctioning inflatable tube men in 4 feet of water.
Phelps, apparently intrigued by the request, accepted. “I got y’all!” he replied, unaware that the Ravens had already begun running 7-on-7 drills inside a giant inflatable orca borrowed from a SeaWorld bankruptcy auction.
Since discovering the mass hallucination, Phelps has tried multiple times without success to explain to head coach John Harbaugh that there are no NFL rules that allow actual dolphins in the huddle, not even in Miami, and that running a screen pass at the bottom of the Chesapeake Bay will mostly just get you incurable lead poisoning from all the medical waste down there. So far, Phelps says, his concerns have been heard but ignored.
Phelps says he even tried to appeal to management, but they were also all at the same retreat and can still see visible auras to this very day. Phelps says he told them, “I mean, I love the Ravens and all, but uh… you do know the Super Bowl is still in a stadium, right? On land?” He was promptly handed a trident and asked if he could teach blitzing while submerged. Then, Phelps said, one unnamed executive pointed to a puddle shaped like the Lombardi Trophy and whispered, “It’s happening.”
It's fine when you practice in skins, but once you get that uniform on, you're going to sink like the Browns' chances of winning a Super Bowl. (Abraham Essenmacher/Wikimedia)
Despite the confusion, the team continues to double down. Wide receiver Rashod Bateman has been taping snorkels to his knees “for better hydrodynamics” and claims it’s working. Rookie cornerbacks now must run 40-yard sprints directly into the team jacuzzi and exit with both socks still on. And the team has replaced Gatorade with brine, which was essentially the original recipe developed back in 1965 at the University of Florida. It’s true, look it up.
NFL insiders remain baffled. “I thought the Dolphins were the team with a lock on water gimmicks,” said one anonymous AFC coach. “But at least they didn’t try to trade up for Aquaman. This isn’t the dumbest thing I’ve ever seen, though, not like that one time the Browns drafted a quarterback based on his astrology chart and a dream a raccoon had. And by that one time, I mean April 2025.”
Still, confidence remains high within the locker room. “I don’t care what anyone says,” said Marlon Humphrey. “When the ref blows that seashell, we’ll be ready.” Meanwhile, this week, defensive coordinator Zach Orr reportedly presented his entire defensive playbook in whale song.
The halftime show is gonna be LIT! (londondeposit/depositphotos)
Michael Phelps, for his part, is trying to take it all in stride, though even he admits things have gotten, in his words, “beyond weird.”
“I thought I was just helping some guys learn basic strokes,” Phelps said, staring blankly at a whiteboard covered in dive formations and bubble-based audible signals. “But these guys are absolutely convinced that the next Super Bowl will be held underwater. Now I’m being referred to as ‘Coach Aquaforce,’ Ronnie Stanley won’t stop calling me ‘The Deep’ and making non-stop sexual octopus references. And there’s apparently a petition circulating through the locker room to rename two-point conversions as “the dorsal surge.” I didn’t sign it, but somehow I’m listed as the author. At this point, I’m just showing up to make sure nobody drowns during practice. Again.”
“I’ve spent decades making my body hydrodynamic,” Phelps added. “Might as well use it to get Marlon Humphrey out of the shallow end.”
This story is based on fully factual news, but if we got it wrong, blame these guys, we’re just here to make it funny.
