The Giants. They gave up 80 points in their first two games. We manhandled them in week two. The Vikings ran all over them. Even last week, the Cowboys outplayed them.
It was there to be taken. The Super Bowl. We could have broken the Pats' streak.
The team is good but you have to be good and lucky to get this far. The team is young but its quarterback has got one foot in The Villages.
A small fortune for tickets. 40 pounds of outerwear. Ice on the seats. My diet coke froze while I was drinking it. There were two Giants fans in front of us and they were so fricking nice. (I think they called Charlie's show this morning.) Couldn't throw things at them. Couldn't hate them.
It is my son's birthday. Couldn't the Packers win for him? (Ok, so he's 24. The principle still applies.)
Last night, as we arrived in home, got in bed and turned out the lights, the Reddess said the following:
Noooooooooooooo ! (Tasteless comments will be deleted.)
There is a banality in watching the other team win in overtime. Their celebration seems so normal as it perverts the moral order.
Hell is other people when the Packers lose.
The future is a cleat grinding into Driver's face ... forever.
Life is a bitch and then you can't convert third downs.
Smiling faces I can see/but not for me/I sit and watch ...