Goddamn it I love football so much that it is killing me.
In my tender and sensitive heart I kind of took for granted THE PATS would defeat the broncos and slide right on in to Super Bowl 50.
It was destiny. It had to be.
I expected a tough game; Peyton has been taking a beating all year about his weak arm and failing faculties - he's a competitor - I knew he and the team would rise to the occasion.
But THE PATS are THE PATS, and after all the deflate gate bullshit and the ridiculous number of injuries they fought through to get to the AFC Championship game, I just knew they would win.
They didn't. And they tortured me right to the bitter end.
I don't understand some of Belichick's calls, just as I did not during the last two regular season games of the year. There was an un-PATRIOT-like vibe to those two games; there was an un-PATRIOT-like vibe to aspects of this game.
Still, who am I to question Belichick?
The man understands football at a level I can never approach. I have been loving football for 52 years - I think I understand the game - it has seeped into my bloodstream and my soul inevitably. I have watched thousands of games, listened to millions of hours of commentary and analysis, read books and revolved six months of every year around this game.
Still, we are talking about Bill Belichick here.
Still, there is a nagging feeling in my heart that he did not manage the game well.
I am always amazed at how deeply it affects me when THE PATS lose a critical game. Earlier in the day the plan was to watch THE PATS at Keith and Emily's home and then jet home to catch the panthers and the cardinals.
After THE PATS loss I did not give a damn about the second game.
I should have - it was the second to last game of the year. After the Super Bowl I will enter that no man's land of no football.
I am always uncomfortable there for a while until Carol rallies me around to digging on The Red Sox.
I wallowed in my depression yesterday. Listened to sports talk radio on the ride in to work and the return. Allowed my emotions to be shredded by the words I was hearing. Even Planet Mikey's show did not make me laugh very much.
I am still depressed today. Will be for a while longer.
The thing I love about football is the thing that kills me. The suddenness.
Baseball is more like life. If you live 70 or 80 years, in some respects your life drags on by. I know it flies but it also drags. It disappoints you and the disappointment you experience feels like 160 years worth.
162 games.. Minimum. That is a lot of goddamn games. Night after night, day after day. Relentlessly.
The playoffs are best of five, best of seven. If you lose a game you get another shot.
The most regular and post season games you can play in football is 20.
And if you lose in the post season you are out.
The worst thing they ever did was to adapt the sudden death overtime rule. Adding in that "But if you kick a field goal" thing.
I liked it the way it was. You score in OT, boom, you win.
Maybe football is the way I want life to be. Intense and exciting. Every game has meaning just as every day should have meaning in life.
Getting kind of deep in here. Strap on the hip boots.
Anyway, I am depressed and guaranteed to remain so for at least 5 more days; I don't have a day off until Sunday and my job is not conducive to promoting a cheery disposition.
But what the hell; it doesn't really matter does it?
The only thing that matters is that you eat your vegetables.