Little Sleep with a Lack of Breath

little sleep with a lack of breath

Ye Gods.

Two more weeks?

I don't know if I can handle it.

Right now, I'm smoking my last cigarette, drinking one last whiskey, and trying to figure out what the hell I witnessed.

Things are getting ugly. There's only two games left.

Football does this to me. It makes me stupid. It shuts down my brain and makes me scream things like "grab the ball!", or
"GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!"

It's not just personal. The Eagles were in the championship game last season, after all (just to make things clear, that was not the first time Kurt Warner became a hateful figure. He was hated by the time he lost to New Orleans to end the Ram's 2001 season).

It's everything. Sure the Eagles won, but they need to play a hell of a lot better to make it to the big dance. That aside, this has been the wackiest football season I've ever seen.

Granted, a lot of you reading this may not give one god God damn about football, but if you do, you'll understand.

It's the small things. It's the Steelers digging a ball out from underneath an unconscious player. It's a helmet to helmet hit that you
can hear over the roar of the crowd. It's the come from behind victory. It's watching your team get the ball on their own 3 yard line and having the quarterback scramble for 19 yards. It's every penalty that may or may not cost you the game. It's that moment when the ball pops out of the quarterback's hands, an you don't breath again until it's recovered by your team.

It's war, and there are only five battles left.

Here in Philadelphia, things are different from other cities. We haven't been to the dance in over twenty years. Our venom and
desperation is through the roof. But was it any less so for Cleveland, who seemed to have Pittsburgh not only contained, but embarrassed before losing by a field goal? What about Pittsburgh, who knocked out Tennessee's star player and still lost?

The big dance is only two weeks away. There are no givens. Nothing is assured. Maybe the Eagles will make it, maybe they won't. One month ago, everyone was certain that the Raiders would be there, but I've got fifty bucks out there saying that they won't.

It's war time. This is when players come close to getting split in half in the end zone, then jump up to line up for the next play.

This is when 300+ pound men put hockey players to shame.

Nothing stops, nothing makes sense, and breathing is damn near impossible for two and a half hours.

It's only two more weeks. I like to think I can make it.