It's Monday morning, and I've got some bones to pick. No, I'm not going to lament the Seahawks' narrow overtime loss to the Bears. I already posted heartfelt (well-written) pre-game hopes and heartfelt (cliché-ridden) post-game thoughts, and now my heart is back to being shriveled and black, and it feels a helluva lot better. So let's get on with the hate, shall we?
*Ahem*… Fuck the AFC.
The Colts-Ravens shitfest on Saturday afternoon was about as interesting as The English Patient. Except most Merchant-Ivory flicks have more touchdowns. What a waste of time.
And screw Marty Schottenheimer for giving me what may end up being the longest week of my life. I REFUSE to watch ESPN for the next seven days. Nobody can handle that much Dreamboat vs. Peyton. Listen, I secretly want to make gay milkshake love to Dreamboat as much as the next otherwise straight NFL fan, but I'm already depressed by the specter of a fourth Patriots championship. I have no choice from here on out but to root for the Saints…
…and for the execution of all commentators who make Ali-Frazier comparisons. I hope they get buried in shallow, unmarked graves. May the crows and coyotes feast on their rancid corpses with minimal digging.