I love reading sports articles.  I read everything, especially the NFL. It has been nice to have a lot of extra coverage this off-season, but every time I see a blog, article or TV report about Brett Farve and Mike Vick, I get a sharp pain in the back of my neck and down my spin, and everything goes black.

I awaken on the  floor. There is dried vomit on my shirt.  I think to myself: I felt better from a crack binge. But just like that crackhead, I can't stop. Why is that? I already know what the bit of information coming me at me is going to say.

Brett consulting with doctors, or not, or is he? 

Vick is he going to find redemption, or is he going to start a Craig's List prostitution ring?

I can't look away. Like drunken Nascar fans, I have got to see a wreck.

Maybe in the olden days of the 1980s in '90s, when people read the sports section in the Newspaper and only got once a day up date. These fiascoes would of been a good read, but now it feels like tequila hangover.

I wish I could black out and it be September.

Go Falcons.

Matt Ryan is the truth.

In Dimitroff and Smith we trust.

A biased season ticket holder.