I feel it coming on. My guts are tight, my mind flashes on and off the upcoming game.
The Houston Texans vs THE NEW ENGLAND PATRIOTS.
Sunday, January 13th, 4:30 p.m. in the AFC Divisional playoffs.
I'm tempted to call Keith to ask him how I should feel. He knows so much more about sports than I do. I know a lot about whiskey, and rich, dark semi sweet chocolate.
I feel confidant. Like there is nothing to worry about. Then again we spanked Houston a few weeks ago when everybody thought they were a powerhouse. Embarrassed them.
I know when people embarrass me I want to destroy them. Banish them to hell for longer than eternity.
But THE PATS are magic, baby. They are not invincible as they once were but they are goddamn impressive.
It's been five decades now yet I am still amazed at what football does to me. Especially when THE PATS are brawling their way towards a shot at another ring.
It will be a long week. It will be a short week.
We will gather at Paula and Bill's, as is the tradition. Fabulous time always. There will be laughter, conversation, YELLING, intensity, excitement, food, booze, illegalities, and, hopefully, a celebration.
I can not wait. There is a chance my sons will be there, possibly their magical mystical women. That would be the icing on a very tasty cake.
But no promises. The negotiations have begun. They are complicated.
Either way, it will be a day of FEELING. I like to feel.
You want me to be grateful for something? All right I will give in this one time.
I am grateful for football. I am grateful for THE NEW ENGLAND PATRIOTS.
Because they make me feel alive.
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