The game: Patriots at Saints
The beer: Tree House Patient Rover Munich-Style Dunkel Lager
The result: Win, 25–19
The record: 4–2
The headline: “I turn and get by the other way around.” – The Jesus Lizard, “Pop Song”

The commentary: Congratulations, friends, on another four-win season! Football is fun again and it only took six years, with Sunday’s game the first time in the post-Brady era that I felt confident the team could score every time they had the ball, and maybe even when they didn’t. Unless, you know, Rhamondre Stevenson is within five yards of the thing—Vrabes, “Handy” Bob… I will scout other teams’ practice squads for you. Are you telling me someone named David Thompson or James Williams isn’t out there waiting to wear some rando twenty-, thirty- or forty-something jersey and rush for three and a half non-fumbling yards per carry? I will find the motherfucker, ride around in his Elantra listening to generic rock and R&B, eating Subway, debating favorite episodes of The Office. David/James will finish out the year, be boring as fuck, impress but also terrify no one and then get cut in June. Dave! Jim! I’ll never forget the good times. Listen, I bet I can even trade Stevenson and Kyle Dugger for a Red Robin gift certificate—the burgers aren’t great but the fries are bottomless, and the adequate beer options are practically so. Good luck in Cincy next year!

Speaking of trade value: head referee Adrian Hill is good for half a roll of soiled paper towels with which to open public bathroom doors. You fucked with the wrong delusional fanbase.

In the words of Fred Kirsch, “You’re talkin’ about Pop, now!” Gladly! Take away insane flag-less touchdowns all you want, I think DeMario Douglas and Drake Maye are finally on the same page. Gimme more!

Maye: Run that way, then cross back and shake the dude out of his cleats.

Douglas: Got it.

Thompson/Williams: I’ll block the pursuing linebacker but not in a flashy way.

Vederian Lowe: Coach, please don’t put me in.

Adrian Hill: There is no foul on the play, however it is impossible for a container of French fries to be bottomless. It’s just that they keep bringing more fries until you ask them to stop. Also, illegal formation, number fifty-nine.

Lowe: Dammit!

This is much better than whatever I was writing a year ago.

Enter Maye, about whom I really know nothing other than that I preferred Jayden Daniels, about whom I also knew nothing. Can he score more than sixteen, twenty (with extra time), three, thirteen or ten points? If not today then among a month’s worth of upcoming mediocre opponents? People around here are already scouting top left tackles in next year’s draft—the very same people who thought Tyquan Thornton was finally putting it together in training camp. Ergo: idiots.

First place goes right to your head.

Up next: Mike Vrabel seeks revenge for being fired by the Titans following seven- and six-win seasons. Cheers!