The Cruel Curse of (Fantasy) Football Sundays and the Redemption of Flavor Flav, PART I: The NFL is Back or Why My Hair is Falling Out

I woke up this morning (the first Monday of football season) with a painful, sinking feeling in my heart and a horrendous poopy taste in my mouth. It should be noted that this weird taste, along with a medically serious case of bad breath, occurs every morning and it's something that I'm taking up with my dentist. The heart pangs were a direct result of yesterday's football action, actual football (of the NFL variety), while the metaphoric poopy taste in my mouth was a result of the lunacy that is fantasy football. I got killed in my two fantasy football leagues- one was a literal shellacking and the other was a symbolic loss (I have the second fewest points in the league and I'm 1-0, you do the math).

The heartache that I feel each and every NFL season is a direct result from the bludgeoning despair that comes every time my beloved New York Giants lose a football game. And last night was as bad as it gets. I had to sit through the ridiculous, meaningless crap that was the Manning vs. Manning or Manning Bowl I hype. I understood that this was a media wet dream as soon as it was scheduled, but I never thought it would snowball into the full on cultural event that it became. When the final whistle blew and the vultures descended on the inevitable Manning on Manning midfield embrace, I totally lost mind.

Resisting the urge to break a lamp or throw my empty pint glass against the wall (both of which are things that I've done in the past), I had this to say to my defenseless TV and a home audience that included my parents, friends and girlfriend (and probably several neighbors):

"This is not football! (pointing at Peyton hugging Eli) No one who cares about football gives a shit about this crap! (fighting back tears at this point) [EDIT] you Peyton Manning! Good luck in the second round of the playoffs, asshole! I can't wait till the Patriots rip you apart! (literally crying now) [EDIT]!"

This is when I stormed out of the house and had a cigarette, clinically depressed.