Dear Football Gods,

We, the people of Detroit, come before you with a simple question:

Why us?

What have we done? How have we angered you? What awful sin have we committed that makes you dangle a season of magnificent, gritty football promise in front of us, then yank it away like a fly on a fishing line?

Why would you abandon our Detroit Lions so quickly — and so cruelly? What is our crime? Out of the playoffs? No more games? What are we supposed to do with all these T-shirts?

Whatever our trespass, it must have been a whopper. Because your punishment just won’t stop. First you torture us with defeat and ineptitude, like 32 years without a playoff win, like an 0-16 season, like Matt Millen, Marty Mornhinweg, and wasted first-round draft picks such as Andre Ware and the Rogers and Rogers twins, Reggie and Charles.

That was bad enough. But this? This may be worse. Giving us a team for the ages, then making that “age” last four quarters? One game? That’s our Super Bowl run? A single, depressing, 45-31 drubbing by the upstart Washington Commanders?

How cruel can you get? Next you’ll be letting Ohio State play for the national championship.

Wait a minute…

Which Lions are these?

Why us, Lords? Why our team? Did you see the dejected faces of the Detroit players Saturday night?

“I’m just numb,” Alex Anzalone said.

“(It’ll) eat me alive all offseason,” Jared Goff said.

“It hurts,” Dan Campbell said.

And that guy chews nails.

Look at them, gods. They are broken, shell-shocked, wandering around as if run over by a bus on its way to D.C, wondering what happened and what to do with themselves next.

Had the Commanders lost, they’d have been OK. They’d have congratulated themselves on a surprisingly great season, their first playoff win in many years, and the promise of their new coach and rookie quarterback. You could have made that happen.

But no. Instead, you kiss them on the lips and throw a lightning bolt into the local guys. You make Goff, the picture of precision nearly the entire season, suddenly inaccurate, throwing two blinking interceptions at the worst of times. You make Amon-Ra St Brown fall down. You turn Jameson Williams into a quarterback, and then you make that quarterback Garo Yepremian.

You make the Lions defense, which rose to the occasion so many times, suddenly lead-footed, incapable of tackling, sacking, or stopping fourth down conversions.

You make the best coach the Lions have ever had somehow overlook 12 men on the field on a critical fourth down.

“It’s my fault,” Campbell rasped about that mistake, like a man weeping over a lover he drove away. “It’s my fault…”

Oh, the humanity.

Also, at the risk of incurring your fury, gods, what’s with all the injuries? You take away Hutch, and Barnes and McNeil and Davis. You give us Amik Robertson’s best game in the regular-season finale, then break his arm minutes into the playoffs?

You make David Montgomery forgo knee surgery, endure a grueling month-long rehab, just so he can come back and carry the ball seven times before going home?

You know what? The hell with your fury. What are you going to do to us now? Take away Ben Johnson or Aaron Glenn?

Wait a minute…

It’s not that bad …

Seriously, gods. In the immortal words of Ricky Ricardo, you got some ‘splaining to do. Or in the immortal words of Boy George, do you really want to hurt us?

Because in the immortal words of Dan Skipper on Saturday night: “This sucks.”

Fifteen wins, only two losses, the No. 1 seed, the best scoring offense in football — and we’re out? No more football? This is like that episode of “The Honeymooners,” when Ralph Kramden memorizes every obscure song for weeks, then goes on a game show and can’t remember “Suwannee River.”

One game? A two-touchdown loss? The biggest margin of defeat all year? That’s our playoffs? Do you know how stupid we feel? We canceled vacations for the month of January. We booked trips to New Orleans. Our parking lots tried charging $1,000 per spot! Jeff Daniels recorded an entire song “Say Goodbye to the Curse of Bobby Layne” — and now he’ll have to change the lyrics to “Say Hello.”

All that for a team that gets bounced in their first game?

It’s not fair. The whole country was behind us. We were, for once, America’s team, not America’s armpit. Now the nation is shaking its head, and likely believing that we are indeed cursed, fated like the Silver (and Blue) Surfer to ride his board around the universe, but never descend and say, “I’m going to Disneyland!”

Enough. We’ve had enough. We’ll walk away. We can do it, you know.

There’s always hockey. Although our team is rebuilding …

Or basketball. Although our team is rebuilding …

Or baseball. Although the season is months away …

OK. You win, gods. Just tell us what we need to do. A sacrifice? A pilgrimage? Do we make the guy at Ford Field sing a different song when the Lions score? Is that what you’re trying to tell us?

Whatever it is, please, stop this torture. Sports Illustrated picks Detroit to win the Super Bowl. ESPN picks Detroit to win the Super Bowl. Everybody in the state is finishing their sentences with “Go Lions!” — and just like that, it’s Monday morning, it’s freezing cold, football is over and everyone here feels like crying. The gods must be crazy.

Or we are.

Wait a minute …