Yesterday I tossed off a snarky observation about the NFL Preseason. Since then, it has gathered over 200 “likes” and notes, making it my biggest hit yet. This is a bittersweet development. While I’m excited that I was featured in the “sports” section of Tumblr, I kind of wish it has been for…. well, something good.

(I didn’t even merge a separate concept into it, or draw a correlation between football and a song lyric.)

I have been extremely busy as of late and spouted off a few pissy thoughts I have about Football for a few minutes during a lull at an office. I meant to go back and fatten it up, rearrange some stuff, and include a few points I forgot, but I forgot to do all of that. It remained an unfinished work, then became a minor hit. What am I supposed to do now? Add a part 2? Adopt the adage that “less is more?” Or just leave it alone?

I’m leaving it alone. It’s just a blog. Still, I know now that half-baked thoughts may play better than twice-baked. This may even become my new thing: unfinished works for the internet to chew on. Maybe if I just introduce an interesting idea then walk away from it unfinished, I’ll be a bigger success. It’s like my TV pilot about a minor league baseball team (although it’s really about hope; baseball is just the setting). Or my concept of a grocery store that arranges their food by meals: the spaghetti section, the sandwich section, and so on. Think about it: You want a sandwich, and all of the lunch meats, breads and mustards are in one zone. You would stop in and…

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.

I really have to tip my hat, Internet. It’s not often you see a noble and valiant effort in this day and age. When a person tries their hardest they will not fail. Well, except in this case.

(“See you in the Spring, boys.”)

It has come time for me to wave the white flag. I will not be making the Postseason in Fantasy Baseball. I have led the fans of Veeck’s Wooden Leg on for too long, teasing them with deadline trades to acquire Juan Pierre and half-price ticket Mondays. The fact is that this season has become as stale as the hotdogs my vendors sell for 6 bucks.

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I don’t know if there’s something special about today specifically, Internet, but it seems to be the day that advertising for the upcoming NFL season has officially kicked in. That always makes me very sad.

(I’m not really sure what this says, either.)

The reason the appearance of football always depresses me is because it means one simple thing: baseball is drawing to a close. I love baseball; I hate football.

I grew up in a house of baseball and basketball where football was never a going concern. We never watched Bears games except when visitors wanted to. The Superbowl was sometimes just a party, or when I was much younger a great night to go the movies. I never played Pee Wee football. In fact, I have never once in my life worn a pair of football shoulder pads. I have played in a bunch of playground 2-hand touch football games, but never with more than 3 people per team, and I only once played in some sort of Thanksgiving/Christmas morning snow game. I was 9 and was tackled by a 16 year old in the endzone. I didn’t have the ball.

Football is a guttural, animalistic display. I’m just not a fan of most of what comprises the football experience other than drinking. Spectators scream like Arnold Schwarzenegger calling out the Predator and players do 6 backflips to celebrate their unabashed ego after a 2 yard carry. I just don’t get it. Even the makeup of the game seems completely ridiculous. There has to be a more efficient way to play than with 11 guys, different ones for defense, special teams, and all of this stop, review, and challenge absurdity.

I am a creature of summer. Winter is fun to look at for about an hour, but then you get frostbite. The looming threat of football in August was a reminder that soon leaves will change, boats will come out of the water, and it will be dark at 5 o’clock. Well, not out here in California where we’ve still got a solid 3 months of summer to go, but you get the point:

I don’t care for football.