The noted born-again Christian QB, famed for his practice of "Tebowing,' or publicly praising the Lord after a successful football play, was in a modest hotel room in the Southeast, holding a bag of ice wrapped in one of the hotel towels when he detected a faint odor of burning sulfur. Whirling, he saw the shadowy form of the Prince of Darkness materializing by the room refrigerator.
"Begone from me, Satan!" he shouted at the figure.
Satan, ignoring the command, sat down on a corner of the bed, brushing a bit of grayish powder from his robes onto the bedspread.
"You're getting dust on everything," Tim Tebow complained.
"It's not dust," Lucifer explained . "It's volcanic ash. It's kind of sooty in Hell today. Must have been a big disaster someplace. When we admit a bunch of souls all at once, we have to turn the heat up. Wouldn't want the place to freeze over. Hey, is that ice you're holding?"
"Pass a few cubes over here, would ya?" Tim Tebow, not really knowing whether giving ice to the Evil One was a sin or not, let him have a few pieces. Satan rubbed them over his horned brow. Steam came up from his forehead.
"Ahhh, that feels good," he said. "So, the Lingerie Football League. Been thinking about that offer?"
"No," Tim Tebow said. "I knew right away that was one of your temptations."
"Temptation is such an-old-fashioned word, Timbo. Nowadays I prefer to refer to them as recruitment calls. Being a coach in the Lingerie League, with all of those muscular, barely-clothed beauties at your beck and call—that doesn't make little Timbo start stirring?
"I've got a name for him, but it doesn't begin with 'little," Tim Tebow snapped.
"Naturally not," Satan said soothingly. "So huddling with eleven panting sex bombs doesn't float your boat, eh? Well, we'll find out what does, Timbo, because we really want you to play down in my place."
"They don't have football in Hell," Tim Tebow said confidently.
"On the contrary, it's our favorite sport. And some of the truly great ones play for me. A lot of the guys you played with are heading my way, too—linebackers who beat murder raps, quarterbacks who got away with raping waitresses, guys who knocked up one supermodel and then married another, anybody who took a few bucks to break somebody's leg—can't mention any names until the signing deadline, if you know what I mean—well, Bill Belichick, but everybody already knows he sold his soul to me. I just hope he doesn't figure out how to cheat his way out of the deal. All the top talent is gravitating to my league. Say, can I have some more of that ice? Unless you need it for your bruises?
Tim Tebow handed him the bag. "Go ahead. Can't figure out how to put it on my ego, anyway."
Satan slipped a few of the cubes under his armpits. "Nice. That NBA center who just came out, he's coming to my place, too. I mean, he's not a football player, but..."
"I'm not gay," Tim Tebow said.
"Okay, just checking. But there's nothing like the football season in Hell, Timmy. It's 52 weekends in a row, counting regular season and playoffs. Then I put the whole place in a temporal paradox so everybody can have the two weeks before the Satan Bowl off. And of course your playing career is much longer. All eternity. Some guys already have eleven or twelve Satan Bowl rings. I grow them additional fingers so they can wear them all. The linemen complain about the extra time it takes to tape up their hands, but the wide receivers are grateful for them."
"No thanks. I prefer to play football in front of people, not your imps."
"Hell has the greatest fans in the universe, Timbo. Philly fans, Giants fans, Raiders fans—nearly all of them go to my place. A majority of the rest of them, too. Some guys get tired of praying for their team to win the Super Bowl and turn to me. I make them wear black robes with their team emblem on them and sacrifice domestic animals and such. You'll find those guys in the corporate suites. And you'll be happy to know this, Timbo—only the Jets don't have any fans in Hell.
"Jets fans live in Hell already."
For more of Tim Tebow's spiritual experiences, read Tim Tebow Cut by Jesus.