It’s that time of year again. It’s the time when everybody starts talking about the upcoming football season. Not me, though. I HATE football. All football means to me is that baseball is almost over, and that’s a sad thought.

A bunch of jackasses who love to dance line up in a row. They shout insults at each other while growling like animals, then most of them dance while the quarterback and the receiver run a play. 20 other guys sit around watching this happen. The clock keeps running for some reason. If the receiver caught the ball or made it more than 2 feet, he hoots and hollers and gives the finger to anybody near him. In football, the most menial accomplishments must be celebrated as if they were the Declaration of Independence. Then there’s more growling.

I remember when I was a kid my dad would take us places on Sundays, all the while declaring, “Look how uncrowded it is! Isn’t this great? And it’s all because everybody’s watching stupid football!” I’ve tried a number of times to get into it. I’ve bought a couple of Madden games and sometimes watch the Bears. It just doesn’t click for me. All this build up, all week long analyzing, comparing, and anticipating, just so a bunch of idiots can scream “RAIDERS!” in your face and flex. I like the drinking and I love the food, but I’d rather watch Braveheart and Gladiator on TNT, which happens every sunday during football.

Sundays are now for sailing, sleeping, or writing. The rest of y’all can enjoy your dumb game with a weird shaped ball and the most egotistical athletes in professional sports (not including boxing). The only unfortunate thing is that the Redhead loves football, so if I want to be with her, I have to put up with it. The things we do for love…. At least it justifies drinking at 10 AM.