Forgiveness

Oh, Professional Football. I can't stay mad at you. All your off-season struggles and arguing over millions of dollars while I struggle to keep pace with the price of cable TV to watch your shenanigans, I just can't stay away. You show up with Aaron Rodgers and Drew Brees slinging the ball all over the field. Seventy-six points? How much more patriotic could it get? The world is a safer place when the National Football League is playing.
Of course I feel a little bit of shame about forgiving you so quickly. I know that there are plenty of things I could be doing on Sunday afternoons in the Fall. I could be taking a hike in the hills, watching the leaves turn in the annual symphony of color. I could be in the back yard, helping my son construct the Zombie Crisis Shelter he's been planning all summer. I could be volunteering at the local food bank. Except those activities might take me too far away from the nearest monitoring device. I need my updates. Even if I don't watch the whole game, I need to know how the day is transpiring. Will this finally be the year the Texans break into the playoffs? Are the Cowboys still America's team? Will Peyton Manning's surgery affect his ability to be a crazy fun commercial pitchman?
These are all questions that will answered over the next few months. And try as I might to avert my eyes when I hear that siren's call: "Da da DAT DAH," I find myself sitting in a Pavlovian stupor. What lockout? What hundred million dollar contract? I don't care. It's a double-header Monday Night. (unintelligible grunting sounds)