It’s the countdown to the Super Bowl. I think. I guess it takes place in February these days (I remember because it was on Super Bowl Sunday seven years ago that Siggy died). There was a time when the Super Bowl was a big deal to me. Not because I was a “fan” of any team playing. I enjoyed it when the Giants with Joe Morris won back in 1987 (no, I didn’t remember the year off the top of my head – had to look it up). And I’ve never given a shit about Miami, other than not liking them, but I still enjoyed seeing Larry Csonka do well. I don’t like the Eagles, but of course I wanted to see Donovan McNabb win. But mostly I’ve never had any “skin” in the game, as they say.

But there was a time when I had friends and we’d get together and eat too much and drink even more and have what I seem to recall (to the extent that I can actually recall) was a good time. Back then, while I didn’t care all that much who won (assuming it wasn’t the Cowboys), I at least knew what city the teams were from. This year, it’s, what, the Rams? And I guess they’re back in LA again? I don’t know.

And while I don’t care much for them, I definitely don’t care for the Patriots, who used to be Boston before they got pretentious and annexed the entire New England area. I consider the Patriots to be the Cowboys of the Northeast – especially with their Friends-of-Trump owner and all-around asshole of a QB.

Mostly, though, I just don’t care either way. Besides, the damn game doesn’t even start until damn near bedtime (it was tough enough to get up for work the next day when the damn thing still started in the afternoon – I was young back then). So I’ll check the score on Monday morning, find out the fucking Patriots won again (probably after being down the whole game), and be glad I didn’t watch.

And then I’ll finish my coffee and oatmeal and head off to the job that I love so much.

Speaking of which….