The game: Patriots at Chargers
The beer: Allagash Haunted House Dark Ale
The result: Win, 27–24
The method: NFL Game Pass
The headline: “I’m a mummay! I scahr people! Watch what happuns! When I walk up to someboday!” – The Fall, “The Mummy”

The commentary: Apologies to Bob McFadden and Rod “Dor” McKuen, whose 1959 novelty hit was covered and improperly retitled “I’m a Mummy” by the Fall in 1997, but Mark E. Smith owns Halloween in this household. At least when A. and G. are out trick-or-treating.

How did weeks of “fire Belichick” heat age? “Will the sun rise up tomorrow?” “I’m losin’ my mind!” All the negativity that’s in this town sucks! Not to mention a set of game-by-game predictions that is very specifically off the rails if generally in touch with truth—they still end up with seven (maybe eight now) wins, miss the playoffs and draft no higher than fifteen. Master of reality? Sure. And I’m nailing it with these beers.

Is it possible I underestimated the coach? It is. (Let’s ignore Sunday’s challenge flag. You know it’s a poor decision when everything is resolved with a “Yeah, no” during the commercial break.) Belichick made the most of the shit his GM saddled him with—JC Jackson and Jalen Mills as the B-level escape clause to protect against, you know, Stephon Gilmore’s own escape; Dont’a Hightower and Devin McCourty looking plainly foolish in pursuit of dynamic athletes; the rookie quarterback (whom I still like) playing mediocre enough down the stretch while an escape-claused Tom Brady would have dropped fifty with ease. Shudder. But the offense and defense (I’m not one to overrate special teams like many around here—“a third of the game,” my ass) played better than they should have and I put that on coaching. Nice job, Bill. Please get out of the way.

I voted this morning in a primary election that is much less important than, say, Virginia’s gubernatorial one. Am I to believe a state—pardon me, a “commonwealth”; we Massachusetts weirdos are with you—where Biden beat Trump by ten points is suddenly going to flip red? Is this a genuine possibility or more Democratic woe-mongering? Know that I’ll be glued to cord-cut CNN+ tonight for the results. What’s that you say? “Streaming in 2022”? Ah, shit.

You do what you can. Our (somehow) Republican state commonwealth representative is vacating his seat to bludgeon homeless children (or something) and today’s vote determines which of two Democrats will face off against the (aggressively pro-incest?) Republican at the end of the month. My five-minute drive from school to the polling station featured another internal principles-versus-electability debate: if the district is “conservative” (i.e., in favor of casual and/or terror-based racism) enough to re-elect a Republican in 2020 then is a Democrat’s victory more likely if she—both Democrats are women while, in a shocking development, the (eugenics-curious?) Republican is another man—leans slightly center and potentially appeals to “fiscally responsible” non-crazies? Or is “Fuck that” the answer as you observe signs all over town in support of the liberal candidate? Turning out a passionate, entitled base determined to do it right or not at all, during two off-year election days with literally nothing else on the ballot, is a tall order, and the fact that only one (soulless fascist; no question mark) Republican is running says everything—their party of monsters understands the importance of unity (see: Herschel Walker, three-time Super Bowl champion with the Minnesota Vikings). Meanwhile, shut two Democrats in a closet and they’ll politely murder each other… and both be right.

Democrats in Washington can’t agree and move forward on a single goddamn thing while “Let’s go, Brandon” effortlessly climbs the charts. This supposed party of progress needs to trust its constituents and swing some elbows, develop thicker skin and embrace theater, wear tan clothing and pass era-defining bills with such hubris that even walking vomit like Steve Bannon and Tucker Carlson take notes. Remember Obama’s columns in Denver? What the hell was that! Give us more, times a thousand!

Is this a period of American history in which to be safe? Fuck that. 🌊

Up next: Stephon Gilmore is really getting into Polvo’s first few records. Cheers!