No you won't. Your team won't make it back to Seattle, won't even make it past the first round of the playoffs, nor would you come back here even if they did.
You're running out of here with your tail tucked because you realize what a supreme jackass you are, and you're embarrassed that you were exposed. You don't even lie well. You're not intelligent enough to fabricate a coherent and consistent story, or even use proper grammar.
And even if you came back in January, nobody would care because your lame story got boring after you started making up nonsense about your FBI buddies, your redheaded lawyer, ninja turtles, and all the other extraordinarily childish and dumb things you said. You sound like a 14 year old boy trying to brag about fights to his older brother's friends. You are actually an embarrassment to insecure teenage boys who make up grandiose stories about ninjas, federal agents, and redheads. At least the teenagers will grow up someday and grow out of that behavior. They'd look at you, shake their head, and then realize that's who they'll become if they never change.
You are the epitome of pathetic loser, the type of loser even low-bottom drunks laugh at when you're slugging cheap beer at some herpes-infested dive bar, trying to impress toothless meth hookers with your FBI stories, hoping one of them will come back to your van with you. You don't even have a wife, how lame is that? That picture was stolen from one of the redneck dating websites you frequent. The only woman you've ever dated got a restraining order when you threatened to have her sent to Gitmo and interrogated by your fed buddies after she refused to return your 14 phone calls, 16 text messages declaring your undying love, and the handful of rambling, inappropriately personal emails you sent her.
Someday, the full emptiness of your existence will hit you, suddenly and without warning, and you will either eat the business end of a shotgun or shoot 14 people in a mall. Since they don't have many malls out on that river where you parked your van and because of my eternal optimism, I'm willing to bet it's the former.
Goodbye and good riddance, troll.