The beer: Founders All-Day India Pale Ale
The commentary: Good lord, is it time already? To post every week? These are the problems I create for myself. Instead of keeping the old bloggo muscles in shape—writing about, I don’t know, Captain Fucking Beefheart—I’m thrown into the white-hot cauldron of wordsmithing with no sign of a thesaurus-shaped bucket of ice. (See what I’m talking about?)

Instead I enjoyed my summer, so swiftly it flew! Newport, Ogunquit, North Attleborough. A horrid factory of bouncy structures and germs called Monkey Joe’s, where you must buy overpriced children’s socks if you forget to bring your own. L7 at the Paradise, reliving my first club show experience in the same venue with the same band. An evening at the Crane Estate with pizza, mosquitos and a Beatles cover band that shunned much of the post-Help! material. A daddy–daughter date to Canobie Lake Park. A party celebrating five years of my beautiful girl. And training camp, of course. With a new dress!

We went later this year, forgoing late-July heat for mid-August heat and a joint practice with the Bears (more on them in a bit). Yes, it’s the one where Gronk pulled his hamstring. And now he’s out tomorrow. Drag. G. wasn’t much into having her picture taken that afternoon so I’m left with several of the back of her head. But the curls! The curls.

Aside from Gronk’s injury, this session was notable for a brawl between the teams, stemming from some extracurricular activity between local hero Malcolm Butler and talented-exception-that-proves-the-rule Alshon Jeffery. My dad couldn’t get enough. G. just wanted more pretzels.

What is the team’s outlook? Can Jimmy Garoppolo keep us afloat? Will Brady seek further hairstyling tips from Zachery Ty Bryan?

Should I tempt fate by picking the Texans for week one of my knockout pool, seeking again the glory of my championship season? And also by picking against the Bears, which ended my runs in week one of 2013 and week four last year? What is it with me and the Bears, anyway? The Fridge’s touchdown didn’t bother me too much. I was eleven.

Why did the shot of her scratching her butt turn out the best? Admittedly I did not watch much of the all-important third preseason game. Instead I coughed up twenty bucks to subscribe to Patriots Football Daily on my iPad, hoping to be informed enough (between it and Mike Reiss’s coverage) going into the regular season. Those guys really liked Rufus Johnson. Huh. (I have an iPad. Huh.)

Two weeks ago I took a day off to bring G. to Canobie Lake Park in southern New Hampshire. It was the “big” amusement park of my youth (larger and farther away than the former Whalom Park, gone the way of the thirty-years-defunct Whalom Drive-In that should be the setting of the next horror franchise—eerie!) and will play a role in that Trout Mask Replica albatross one day. Shudder.

You bet we rode the carousel first! And second and third. G. was more interested in looking at the outside of the haunted “Mine of Lost Souls” ride than anything else, asking over and over if and how it was really scary. I spoke of animatronics, jump scares and strobe lights but needn’t have said so much—I had her at animatronics after a dancing Santa Claus scared the bejesus out of her a few Christmases ago. Still she was fascinated, and after awhile I suggested we move on, noting we could come back for the 3:30 magic show next door if she wanted. We retreated to the carousel for a couple more rides (four and five) and then I suggested the Ferris wheel, which was a big hit. She’ll be ready for those lost souls in no time.

Lunch was next, followed by a train ride around the park that took way too long. I begged her to hop off halfway through but she wasn’t having it. Eventually (mercifully) it ended in time to grab popcorn before catching the magic show in which I participated (and will reveal no secrets) to G’s delight. Though it might have been the popcorn. Another few loops on another purple Ferris wheel car and then three more rides on the carousel, on her own (!) on a stationary lion once because she really wanted to sit on that lion. Ups and downs are overrated sometimes.

Right, we got a blue Italian ice in there somewhere too. Happy birthday, monkey!

Up next: God help the NFL if Garoppolo can win two games, even if this isn’t one of them. Cheers!