The game: Falcons at Patriots
The beer: Nonesuch River Irish Red Ale
The result: Win, 24–23
The record: 7–2
The headline: “Automatic, systematic.” – Digable Planets, “The Art of Easing”

The commentary: Listen. The Patriots are not going to win the Super Bowl. They’re not going to get by the Bills in the postseason, the Chiefs, the Colts (?), whomever. They’re not going to win the Super Bowl. However, it is starting to feel like they’re going to win the Super Bowl. Huzzah!

This is the kind of lunacy that springs from the Pats basically playing like shit, Maye having an off day (statistics be damned), players going down with injuries, etc., and still finding a way to another heart-racing win. Tom Brady, enemy of dog-rescuing decency, did this better than anyone—he lost so few games that most of those were earned, and if things came down to one play or moment then he usually came out on top. Are we there yet? Will Maye win his seventh Super Bowl title in February? No. (Maybe?)

In-game notes according to Google Keep:

Multiple back-from-commercial foliage shots of what must be the Connecticut River? Around the French King Bridge?

The Connecticut River, at its closest point, can’t be within eighty miles of Foxborough.

Parker Romo missed PAT: sleeper agent/long con.

Ignore the evidence at your peril!

Jake Mathews [fourth-quarter] false start: longer con.

Ultimately meaningless—you can’t win them all. (15–2 record is still in play.)

Up next: Let Baker bake! But, like, it ends up burnt on the outside, raw on the inside and in the compost bin by morning. Cheers!