I don't know about you, but I really needed that.
Say, "It was only the Jets." Go ahead.
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I don't know about you, but I really needed that.
Say, "It was only the Jets." Go ahead.
"You just need to relax," Alison said. "I'm going for a run. Why don't you take a break and come along?" She smiled. "I'll pace myself so you can keep up."
Every so often, I forget that I don't know as much about football as Bill Belichick does.
I'm not the only one.
I was surprised by how much this one hurt.
It hurt bad. Wicked bad.
This is one of those times where the phrase "there's still a lot of football left" doesn't make me feel better. It makes me wonder how much more of it I can take.
Captain Jane Shackleton, commanding the container ship Miranda, no longer needed her binoculars to track the phenomena approaching her ship. "Captain," Ensign Tom Waterman said, "We're picking up something big in that squall. On a direct intercept course at… 40 knots."
It's big enough to hide a battleship, Shackleton thought.
The Patriots are 2-3-0. They absolutely could be 3-2-0. They should've won the opener against Miami. I mean, you've seen the Dolphins, right? They're 1-4-0 with a -75 point differential. That's worse than the Jets. (The Jets! Always good for perspective on the Fujita Sucking Scale.) In fact, (well, okay, fan fiction), the Patriots could be 4-1-0 if Nick Folk's 56-yard field goal attempt had been just about 8" to the left. Instead, they lost by just two points to the defending Super Bowl champions and some guy named Tom.
It's never a good sign when you're thinking, if they're losing this one, then maybe they should just tank; maybe a Top 5 draft pick would be worth the confusion, sadness, and pain I'm feeling right now.
I know, I know. Twenty years of unprecedented, sustained success I need to get over myself but this regressing to the mean stuff, I mean, am I going to get nineteen more years of this?