Halftime: Cowboys 33 Rams 9. I suppose it was karma for being pleasantly amused on this very blog by fans of ‘Merica’s Team (grown men in most cases) crying on national television after a loss to the 49ers in last year’s playoffs. I regret nothing. Grown men shouldn’t cry over a football game. Period. One particular namby-pamby even became a living meme after whimpering in his girlfriend’s consoling arms.(Admittedly, I once shed a lonely tear after a playoff loss….except I was 12. freaking. years. old.)
Being the poor sport that I am, I cursed the crescendo of bullshit, turned off the TV, and decided to finish a book I’d been enjoying. I then chopped some vegetables and made a pretty hardy stew. (the secret is to cook it with hate instead of love, it really brings out the flavors. Also, add a dash of disdain and a dash of wine. Drink the rest.) I read later that the game was so out of hand that whoever was in charge of deciding such things nationally switched the game to Philly/Redskins (Commanders? Football team?) evoking memories of the “Heidi Bowl,” except that there was no amazing comeback in this one, just a whimper. And if you’ve never heard of the Heidi Bowl then congratulations, you’re probably not as old as dirt and if you want more information then you can summon the internet gods.
What can I say about this one? Putrid, rancid, debilitating, smelly, shitty, appalling and repugnant. Sunday Bloody Sunday. I’m rubbing up against the idea that this team just isn’t very good. But life continues on…the book was entertaining if you like surrealist short stories in the vein of Hitchcock and Kafka, and the stew was tasty if you like, well, stew. All was well in the world, I had a pleasant buzz, and the temperature outside was dipping rapidly amid a persistent, dull rain.
P.S. The S.F. Gold Diggers lost their 3rd in a row at the hands of the Bungles so all was not lost. Schadenfreude.
Jim Everett Table Toss 