With the Cardinals playing the Panthers tonight in the Pro Football Hall of Fame Game at Tom Benson Hall of Fame Stadium in Canton, Ohio, I consulted the cosmic litter box. The vibes were undeniable. Mercury is in retrograde, Saturn is side-eyeing Glendale, and somewhere an abandoned Rams fan just sneezed. The universe has delivered a message.
The Arizona Cardinals should move back to St. Louis.
Not because it makes football sense. Not because the NFL would ever admit to making a mistake. But because the football spirits have become increasingly passive-aggressive.
I lit three candles, shuffled a deck of football tarot cards, and pulled “The Tower,” “The Wheel of Fortune,” and somehow, inexplicably, a faded ticket stub from the Edward Jones Dome. If that’s not destiny, I don’t know what is.
The Cardinals have spent decades in Arizona collecting memorable moments, respectable players, and enough heartbreaking fourth quarters to power an entire therapy industry. Every season begins with hope. Every season ends with fans Googling mock drafts before Halloween.
Coincidence? The spirits hissed. No.
St. Louis, meanwhile, has been sitting there like someone whose ex borrowed their favorite hoodie and never gave it back. First the Cardinals left. Then the Rams left. At this point, St. Louis football fans have trust issues so profound they won’t even get emotionally attached to fantasy football teams.
The solution is obvious, return the Cardinals.
“But Psychic Meow Meow,” skeptics ask, “what about Arizona?”
Excellent question, imaginary skeptic. Expansion. A brand-new franchise.
Fresh colors. Fresh logo. Fresh hopes that haven’t yet been crushed by decades of improbable interceptions and bizarre special teams mishaps.
You don’t inherit history. You build it. Maybe they’re the Arizona Scorpions. Maybe the Arizona Roadrunners. Maybe the Arizona Traffic Cones. They’d still probably cover the middle of the field better.
The point is that expansion offers something priceless: optimism unburdened by historical baggage. New fans get to dream big instead of arguing whether this year’s collapse was more painful than their Super Bowl XLIII loss to the Pittsburgh Steelers or the 2016 collapse or whichever collapse currently occupies the premium shelf in the emotional warehouse.
And imagine the symmetry.
The Cardinals originated in Chicago, spent decades in St. Louis, then moved to Arizona. They’re basically the NFL’s version of that one relative who keeps moving every few years because “this time it’s going to be different.” Sometimes the sequel belongs where the story actually makes sense.
The football cosmos also presented another vision.
Larry Fitzgerald appeared—not literally, because that would have been totally awesome, but spiritually. He looked disappointed that I was using my mystical abilities for sports takes instead of something more productive, like predicting lottery numbers.
He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. The silence was profound. The message was clear.
Look, I’m just translating what the universe tells me. Will any of this happen? Almost certainly not.
Does the NFL enjoy stability, billion-dollar stadium deals, and ignoring unsolicited advice from psychic cat? Absolutely. But the football spirits are persistent.
They’ve already started knocking over tiny symbolic goalposts in my Castillo de Gatos.
Until next time, trust your instincts, pet your cat, and remember: if your franchise has changed cities multiple times, perhaps it’s the franchise that’s lost—not the map.
Psychic Meow Meow is 14% accurate, 86% entertaining, and has never apologized for a sports prediction.
