That's the sound of every man in America sitting his ass down on the couch, cracking a beer and turning on the tube to watch the NFL get underway. Yes, it's that time of year again. The NFL regular season has officially started with tonight's match between the Dallas Cowboys and New York Giants.
So it's time to frost your beer steins, warm up the grill and invite your fellow fans over for rockin' Sunday couch parties from now through December.
Yeah. Starting this Sunday, and for the following sixteen Sundays, the friends come over carrying their favorite potluck dish, the best six pack and their laptops.
The snack table is epic. A plate of buffalo wings. Some roasted weenies in bbq sauce. Thick, wet coleslaw. Guacamole. Cheese and crackers. Bagel Bites. The Taco Bell twelve taco box. Chili.
The fridge comes fully loaded with house beer and is stocked up with guest six packs as they arrive.
The football amigos hang out on the couch all day. We watch the games that matter and even the ones that don't. Hang on every play. Trash talk during commercial breaks. Critique the players' performance, the announcer's dictation and the commentator's analysis. Everyone brings over their laptop to keep tabs on their fantasy players. Women are invited but not encouraged to attend.
...or at least that's how it goes down in my head.
In the end, NFL Sundays become nothing more than a lazy day in my underwear. The friends don't come over. There's no snack table. Maybe some Taco Bell. The fridge is stocked with whatever hodgepodge leftover beer remains from Friday and Saturday night. Plays are missed in lieu of snoozing, scratching or picking at toenails. Commercials are a time for a new beer, a tasty snack, or a Sunday morning shit. Players are mocked. Announcers are mocked. Commentators are mocked. The laptop is ferried between the coffee table, the kitchen table and the porcelain thrown to keep tabs on the fantasy team. Women are invited and encouraged to attend, but rarely seen or heard from after doing so.
The reality sounds cold and harsh, but truthfully, it's not. Football season for me is really synonymous with lethargy and procrastination, but I enjoy the hell out of it. For seventeen regular season Sundays and for all the playoff Sundays that follow, I get to flip on the television and enjoy American athleticism at it's best. I get to marvel at the players. And most importantly, I get a free pass to do nothing.
For those who aren't fans and don't get it, NFL Sundays are akin to your addictive reality television or your Law & Order marathons. You so badly want to turn it off. You desperately want to be productive. Yet something holds you to the couch and keeps your eyes fixated on the TV. Sunday after Sunday, for seventeen Sundays of regular season and four weekends of playoffs, it's the same routine.
What is idealized as a golden opportunity to fraternize with my fellow fans is little more than a lazy Sunday. That's OK. I like it that way.
Welcome back, old friend.
xoxo,
ShavedGolf
