I don’t care that the writers’ strike is ending. I don’t care about college basketball, baseball, hockey or the NBA. I don’t care that Mario Kart is coming out for the Wii packaged with an awesome wheel interface. I kinda care about the ScarJo-Penelope Cruz love scene, but not enough to compensate for the no-football induced softie.
I applaud the NFL for, unlike other sports, saving its meaningless superstar spectacle for the end of the season. Could you imagine the Pro Bowl happening after Week 8 and counting as every team’s bye week? The scary thing is if some large foreign country promised to hold it at that time, the Rog would totally make it happen.
But the Pro Bowl is a largely unwatchable tease of what we’ll all be missing between now and training camp. Free agent acquisitions and the draft are fine temporary divertisements, but it’s like reading erotic fiction to supplant your love life. Imagining how some rookie or signing might shape my team is about as fulfilling Mr. Garrison’s “Great American Romance Novel.”
No, football, nnnnnooooooo! Just stay a little longer. Please? Cmon, what’s the rush? You can have Emmitt say something incoherent. I don’t care!