I don't know if I've ever looked forward less to a football game than I am for this upcoming Pats game against the Bills. As in, I don't want to, but I can't look away. You know, like when there's a train wreck on a dumpster fire in a tornado spewing hornets' nests and rattlesnakes.
No, wait.
I would watch that.
You ever have that feeling like you just jumped out of an airplane without a parachute? Like you're falling, plummeting, accelerating to terminal velocity and there's absolutely nothing you can do about it but watch?
The New England Patriots were hard to watch on Sunday. They were horrible and all of its synonyms. They may have set the bar for how pigskin awfulness will be measured in the future.
Could this Sunday's game be the biggest, singularly important, most consequential, Western Civilization hangs in the balance with all life as we know it ending game of the post-Brady era Patriots?
You know, until the week after that, of course.
I am, as they say, all in my feels today. So many pigskin feels.
Let me start with this:
The New England Patriots are broken, literally and figuratively.
