NFL playoff time is always filled with mixed emotions for me. It's the exponentially steep slope at which the excitement of the season climaxes, which is nice, but I can't help but think about will happen come February 4. What follows the end of the football season is pretty much a month of meaningless basketball (during which time I will attempt to feign interest by gambling on the games and inevitably depleting a large portion of my bank account), then MARCH MADNESS (over-aggressively fervent gambling that, most likely, will yield the same damage to my net worth), another month of meaningless NBA action (no gambling because of Lent. Just kidding, I have no idea when Lent is, I'm Jewish), then NBA playoffs (excuse to grow facial hair and claim "playoff beard.").
This is my long-winded way of saying I want to hold onto the next month as tightly as possible. Like Will Smith when he love-suffocated his dog in I Am Legend.
See that? Are you crying yet? If not, you're about to...
HOCKEYSBACKHOCKEYSBACKHOCKEYSBACKMLBHALLOFFAMEBONDCLEMENSSTEROIDSLAZYBASEBALLWRITERSHOCKEYHOCKEY
This is what my day has been like. The MLB Hall of Fame vote has been at the forefront of every sportscast, and now I have to look forward to hockey highlights getting interspersed into what would otherwise be PERFECTLY GOOD EPISODES OF SPORTSCENTER.
Seriously, fuck off. I hope someone invents a cure for aging and/or death and gives it only to Gary Bettman and Bud Selig so they run their sports into nonexistence.
No comments:
Post a Comment