The entire flubby clan is looking forward to football season.
I find myself more patient with idiot coworkers this week. I let people cut in traffic much more than I normally do. I’ve been doling out high-fives to strangers. The soundtrack to my life is awash with angelic choruses. I feel that we are all on the cusp of something magical and wondrous. After months staring at the television in utter disappointment, the wait is over. Real live football returns Sunday night on NBC when the Redskins and Colts meet in the less than meaningless, utterly pointless but oh-so-wonderful Hall of Fame Game. THANK YOU JEBUS AND ALL GLORY TO THE HYPNOTOAD FOR THE PRIVILEGE OF WATCHING JIM SORGI PLAY FOR TWO SERIES!!!
For me, more than most, the preseason arrives not a moment too soon. I had become so starved for football entertainment that I had begun working out a buddy-cop sitcom pilot based solely on this picture of Kellen Winslow:
One’s a slick-talking tight end who knows his way around a battlefield.
The other rocks the white man’s fro and has an invisible friend named Leon—together they solve crimes!!!