Too Much Time On My Hands

One of the many, many bad things about having the Pro Bowl the week before the Super Bowl is that the inevitable post-NFL hangover now starts a week early.  In the past, the Pro Bowl was the last gasp of football until August, so you desperately clung what amounts to a glorified flag football game because you knew that was it for six months.

But this year, the Super Bowl was it, the grand finale.  Which kind of makes sense, ending the season with the most important game.  But there’s a part of me still thinking there’ll be some kind of NFL product this weekend, and then I realize there isn’t and I come to the horrible realization I’ll have to start spending time with my wife again.

Actually, that’s her favorite line, “Now you can spend more time with me!”  But she usually works weekends, so it’s not like the time I spent watching football came away from time that could have been spent with her.  Granted, I was usually a surly angry mess by the time she got home, either from the Bucs shooting themselves in the foot or from my fantasy team being a bunch of dogs, but at least I was a surly angry mess towards her.

While it’s true that, with free agency and the draft and training camp, the NFL has become virtually a year-round thing, it’s not the same as having that six hour oasis on Sundays of guys knocking each other silly.  I do milk the draft for all it’s worth (and I HATE the idea of the first round being on a Friday night), but it’s not the same.

Oh well, I guess I’ll just have to talk to the wife.  As soon as I remember what her name is.


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