The father of a 15-year-old who lives in Chicago has asked me to help him convince his son that the boy is going down the wrong path in life and that if the young man doesn’t straighten up he will face a life of uncertainty and humiliation.

To be 15 is a tough age. You think you have things figured out. Fathers often don’t make sense, even when they have a child’s best interests at heart. Mark Twain famously wrote that when he was 14 his father was so ignorant he could hardly stand to have him around, but when Twain got to be 21 he was astonished at how much his father had learned in seven years.

“I can’t wait six or seven years,’’ the boy’s father told me. “He needs help now.’’

The kid is a Vikings fan.

The plea for help went out Thanksgiving afternoon after the Vikings were defeated 16-13 in Detroit.

It was explained to me that the affection for the Vikings stems from the boy having been born in Minnesota and raised here for the first 10 years or so of his life. He is only being loyal, he thinks. Plus, it was a giddy autumn in Chicago, what with the Cubs winning the World Series. I suppose if the Cubs can win a World Series, you think anything is possible. The world is a bowl of cherries if the Cubs can win the World Series.

Besides, it was easy back in September to put your money on a horse that broke out of the gate at 5-0. The young guy was told not to put much stock in a 5-0 start, but fathers don’t know anything. And then, sure enough, the Vikings lost four straight. The kid apparently hung in there rejecting all counsel.

Where to begin? Look, kid, the cloistered Hieronymite Monks will win a Super Bowl before the Vikings. For crying out loud, your Bears, which you seem so dismissive of, will win another title before the Vikings have anything to celebrate.

This goes back a long time, son. The Vikings were born in the back room of a chicken joint on Hennepin Avenue, Max Winter presiding, for a purchase price of considerably less than a million bucks, and they haven’t been worth much more since in terms of performance. That was 1961. They have left a trail of heartbreak and despair at every turn.

We are snake-bit, son. Hasn’t been a title here since 1991.

Earlier this year, back in January, I was watching the Vikings and Seattle in the playoffs. Two women were in the room. With 26 seconds left in the game Blair Walsh had a 27-yard field goal attempt to win the game, a chip shot.

“This is so the exciting,’’ the women said. “We’re going to win!’’

Combined they knew less about football than the average 3-year-old but they knew that 27-yarders are probably automatic.

“This isn’t exciting,’’ I said. “This is terrifying.’’

My exact words were, “Watch this. Anything could happen.’’

Walsh hooked it. Seattle advanced in the playoffs with a 10-9 win.

The gals thought I was terribly clairvoyant. I am not. I have a history of disappointment to draw from, including four Super Bowl losses.

On Dec. 28, 1975, the Vikings lost to Dallas in the playoffs at Metropolitan Stadium. They lost after Roger Staubach threw a Hail Mary pass caught by Drew Pearson at the 4-yard-line, and he stumbled in for the touchdown. Nate Wright of the Vikings claimed offensive pass interference. Everybody at the game thought Pearson pushed Wright. The field judge, the late Armen Terzian, which sounded that day like the name of a Greek mobster, was pelted with debris, including a half full bottle of Corby’s whiskey that conked him on the head. No call from Terzian. Dallas 17, Vikings 14.

It will never end. In fact, Dallas comes to town next for a Thursday night game. Good night Irene. Turn out the lights. The party is over.

Son, save yourself before it is too late. I wouldn’t even hold it against you if you became a Packers fan.

Joe Soucheray can be reached at jsoucheray@pioneerpress.com. Soucheray is heard from 1 to 4 p.m. weekdays on 1500ESPN.