(any gilded sunday)

My brain is a sleeping switch grown rusty in the fresh days of fall when we sit back to the gridiron and i learn some fucking love of the game. learn tradition. the great american couch life of cheap food and cheaper beer. learn to scream for any given hulking monolith to break through a wall of sinew and steel to make a dash for glory and that thousand decibel cheer.

I can't say i don't love it.

Which is strange, i must admit seeing as i've spent my life a city rat loving pursuits antithetical to games of physical strength and agility. defensive lines and wide receivers. playmakers and sacks on the mvp.

A rote nerd, of sorts, beat down by the likes we all admire for being faggy or arty or just plain fucking weird and embittered for years because of it.

But now...now, i think i should really give a shit how many thugs took a crack at my skull and my pride and just enjoy a day in time with these rambling friends of mine. free of accomplishments and the aspirations that always keep me up at night.

Relish the chance to be lazy and give a day up to the game.