Those poor Boston bastards went over three months between championships. I feel sorry for the child born in Tewksbury around the New Year who had never gotten to enjoy a victory rally. Finally, the brat feels whole.
The Patriots tied the Steelers for Lombardis, and it only took uninspiring efforts by foes paired with a pair of rule-breaking scandals. Also, at least Terry Bradshaw is likable in a doltish sort of way. Why wouldn’t a particularly unpleasant cheating contributor be MVP? Julian Edelman’s reward is perfect in its disheartening way.
The supreme jerks slipped into yet another damn title. The Buffalo Bills helped by being one of three uniquely dysfunctional franchises in the same division. But every non-satanic club should feel a little guilty.
I ordered a good game. Is Pepsi okay? Everyone anticipated an explosive culmination to a sport that’s lately been thrilling only to endure the preseason of Super Bowls. Whit Stillman movies have more action and infinitely better delivery.
Escaped mental patients sick enough to have enjoyed that defensive struggle are why we have an electoral college.
The fun part begins one of these decades. Waiting for life to stop hurting sure is a blast. How many times have we said that’s enough? The Patriots succeeding was a tired story in 2002. One title for the face of smugness would’ve been an abomination. Welcome to our universe.
I didn’t jump on a bandwagon: I just happened to find three new favorite teams in a row. The Rams fittingly disappointed their newest fans, which is to say those who cheered for them a few weeks fewer than Angelenos.
Not being the Patriots apparently wasn’t enough motivation. I lost track of just how many Super Bowl appearances America’s least favorite entity has made, not to mention those I hoped would vanquish them. Did I really hope the Carolina Panthers would win a football game?
Cheering against evil creates purpose, we tell ourselves. Everyone on the Patriots should retire, please. Bart Simpson may have realized he missed Principal Skinner as a foil. Still, I cannot wait until the Patriots return to the depths of the AFC East where they once resided. Ask your parents, youngsters.
Contempt goes far beyond simple jealousy. Brady has been in pro football since the Rutherford Hayes administration but has yet to conduct himself like a pro. Nobody loathed, say, Peyton Manning like this, and not just because he won fewer titles. Television viewers might not appreciate his jingle career, but he’s at worst a doofus. By contrast, photos of Brady’s smirk are used by Poison Control professionals to induce vomiting.
Our experiences couldn’t contain less common ground. The Bills are the journalists of franchises, as they watch what others do instead of being interesting themselves. Sitting there as other teams have fun has been like settling for Star Trek: The Next Generation on Netflix instead of having adventures outside. We tell our nerdy selves we’ll appreciate one title more than New England does its full trophy case. Proof has been pending indefinitely.
It’s been awhile. Did anybody realize that? Like Burger King ad watchers not knowing who Andy Warhol is as we live in his world, Buffalo’s Super Bowl era was long enough ago that those who lived through it must reach for recollection. Meanwhile, a high percentage of the Mafia didn’t experience it at all. Most are old enough to learn the truth about Santa.
Even the buildings are disappearing. The last venue for a Bills Super Bowl is a memory next to where this last game took place. The Georgia Dome doesn’t exist if you were looking for a place to reflect on everything that went wrong during Super Bowl XXVIII.
Yes, Atlanta treats stadiums as disposable. But three-quarters of the locations where Buffalo fell short no longer exist, with the ancient Rose Bowl as the exception out of nostalgia. This particular drought is old enough that it can rent a car without restriction.
Step one is reminding ourselves success is possible. There’s no rule against the Bills advancing unless there’s a cosmic prohibition against us ever being happy. I’d never argue against its invisible existence.
But short of proving the universe conspires against Erie County, the belief that life can improve is a crucial mentality. Envisioning the possibility is more than hippie fulfillment claptrap. Expect more than one wild card appearance per century.
Imagine a greater goal than rooting for another to lose. Resentment seems ugly until looking at what team receives our wrath. Opposing the most joyless winners imaginable is not only justified but necessary.
The Bills might actually be capable of serving as more than a football road bump. If the most ungrateful fans in sports can have half a dozen parades, perhaps a playoff win isn’t asking for too much.
Wasn’t there just a football game in this time slot? Days of stockpiling dip and ale ended in momentary binge. Overindulging was a distraction. The worst Super Bowl ever will keep fans from missing the sport over the offseason. The upside of moving on instantly in our social media world is forgetting a wretched finale where teams shared a touchdown.
A months-long journey finished with a yawn. Of course, Bills fans are used to football concluding along with the year. It’s always sad when the game clock indicates the amount of football that’s left until after summer vacation. There wasn’t even much of a spectacle to distract from a pathetic imitation of competition. The Maroon 5 of games featured a sadly fitting result.
Thinking preposterously is one way to cope with a miserable result. Next year’s Super Bowl is in Miami, not to get ahead of ourselves. Actually, let’s do just that. We may as well daydream with delusion. To get through the NFL’s winder, imagine the process accelerating to the point where the Bills are finally a factor. Nobody expects Buffalo, which makes a sneak attack effective. Why not be unreasonable?
Tempering expectations hasn’t worked. It’s fine to get a little excited about an abundance of cap space and budding youngsters in order to get us through hibernation. At least football can’t disappoint us anymore. Was the season’s last game also the rottenest because of the play or result? Yes.
Editor’s babble: I’m used to spitting coffee all over my keyboard reading and laughing at Anthony’s posts. This one was no exception. The real winner for me was being able to insert Nurse Ratched’s picture in this post (my alter ego for years). Thanks once again to Anthony Bialy for helping us get through another nauseating season of NFL football. You can find Anthony on Twitter @AnthonyBialy.