What an off-season it has been! A lot of very notable and very important and not at all forgettable things happened, but tragically the only thing I can remember is Brett Favre dying, coming back to life and trying to steal the Lombardi from New Orleans. When that failed, he came to the very difficult decision to just play and try to win one the normal way. So, he unretired and had Brad Childress carry him from his home to the stadium on bare feet while feeding him grapes. Once at the stadium, he would play a single series and then go back home and take a nap. A riveting return, if you ask me.
Oh, and of course, Tom Brady did get himself into a rather messy car accident that killed several thousand New England residents with heart conditions. But enough with all that; the time has come...
No more about the off-season; that is behind us now! Why worry about yesterday when football, in all it's hyper-manly and sweaty glory, begins tonight! Zombie Favre and the Viking square off in the Superdome against the Saints at 8:30 tonight, by which time I should be nearly dead from excessive nacho consumption. Thankfully, my heart will be shocked back to life by the tender voice of Taylor Swift, the musical epitome of all that is football, just in time to watch kickoff.
I can't help but keep most of my enthusiasm inside, however, preferably somewhere near my liver. I must store it up, saving it for the explosion of awesome that is to come on Sunday. That is when my beloved Brady will crash his car into Gillette Stadium at roughly seventy miles per hour. Then, he will dust himself off, hand a hundred dollar bill to the families of each fan he killed, and proceed to utterly obliterate the Bengals, who somehow managed to win the AFC North last year using only sheer will, valiantly soldiering on in the loving memory of the late and great Brett Favre.
Brady will have plenty of assistance in his destruction of Cincinnati, of course: $58 million. Thanks to Belichick's team-focused philosophy, only about $30 million will actually see playing time, especially after half-time, but that will still be more than enough to help Brady do his thing and take home a "W." I'm forecasting somewhere between 2 and 500 passing yards and at least a few dozen beautiful close-ups of his award-winning smile and adorable dimples.
Wes Welker will probably do something, too; perhaps catch seven or eight touchdown passes and perform open-heart surgery on a heart attack patient in the fifth row. Nothing out of the ordinary, a standard Welker afternoon. If he has time, he might even smile. Moss, meanwhile, will wander around for a while before accidentally scoring three touchdowns while trying to catch a butterfly. All in all, it should be a splendid day for the Pats, assuming, of course, that they don't somehow manage to lose.
I'll check back in after the game on Sunday and give a full report, one that has some actual facts. Assuming Favre doesn't eat my brain before then, anyway.
Bring on the football!