The beer: Riverwalk Stonehenge Session Lager
The playoffs: 3–0
The headline: “There’s so many things to do!” – The Creation, “Life Is Just Beginning”

The commentary: The Super Bowl is in two days so let’s stick to football, alright? No politics. (OK.) No music. (Um.) No Guardian copy-paste other than this wonderful headline and lede:

Butler did it: eleven years on, was the NFL’s most criticized call actually the right decision?

The last time the Seahawks and Patriots met in a Super Bowl, a dramatic interception by an undrafted rookie changed the history of both franchises.

Ah, good times in two parts. But the Pats’ fourth of six championships is so eleven years ago.

Today, the fact that the good guys are playing meaningful football in February still hasn’t hit me. It’s a long way back from what I wrote at the draft—choosing Pere Ubu’s “Life Stinks” to kick off the season says it all, especially since its only competition was Rocket From the Tombs’ earlier demo of the same song. Drag. How does a common blog-maker overcome such negativity and malaise? Why, with humor and perseverance!

Your mama got two feet growin’ out her titties—
Bitch fell down and kept runnin’.

I and everyone could already see the potential in a fucking one-win team, even Ice‑T from three thousand miles and thirty-five years away. “We gotta clean it up cuz it’s so dope.” Are you kidding me? “Fried Chicken” foretold a bright future and therefore is the song of the season, all sixty seconds of it, regardless of Sunday’s outcome. It’s good to be a Patriots fan.

Still, “Life Stinks” is a Crocus Behemoth-sized albatross to string around one’s own neck and still have the nerve to return to the blogosphere game after game. “That dude blogged every goddamn week of the season”—you’re goddamn right he did! But, yeah, life stinks. It stinks one day and then the next, and the next, and the next. It stinks for what feels like forever. That doesn’t mean it has to, or will indefinitely, and “Life Is Just Beginning” can also be true.

Prediction time: my heart tells me (again) that the Seahawks are the better team. Non-MVP Drake Maye hasn’t played his best in a month, Rhamondre Stevenson is overdue for a fumble and Christian Gonzalez has quietly given up some humongous receptions. However…

Milton Williams is a man possessed, and Christian Barmore is similarly fired up. TreVeyon Henderson is projected to be Super Bowl MVP. And Marcus Jones can swing the contest all by himself on defense or special teams.

The key player, though, is Sam Darnold. Let’s check the archives:

Beer and football X, week three
October 21, 2019

“As Jets’ hopes shrink, they hope the same for Sam Darnold’s spleen.”

This comment is looking ahead to the week seven game (see below) but, boy, I really don’t write much about actual football. Nowadays I would have at least fair-used the shit out of that Rich Cimini gift that keeps giving.

Beer and football X, week seven
December 21, 2019

Undefeated-season talk was at an all-time high but I have no memory of the Jets game other than “I’m seeing ghosts,” which is what I also see after not writing for two months.

Short of victory on Sunday, this will remain Darnold’s legacy whether or not it’s fair… and I didn’t even name the guy in the post.

Beer and football XII, week seven
October 25, 2021

Understand that I relied on Sam Darnold in my two remaining legal and legitimate knockout pools and put another spreadsheet out of its misery. I know nothing about football.

I miss when I used to win knockout pools.

Beer and football XVI, week five
October 11, 2025

“Darnold, Mayfield and Sagapolutele: who will be the NFL’s next first-time MVP?” Two retreads and a college player. Illustrious company!

Of course my man Oliver “Ollie” Connelly had Maye all the way. If we learned nothing else in the past few days it’s that the process behind professional sports leagues celebrating themselves is as transparent as debates about what is and isn’t a catch.

Beer and football XVI, week twelve
November 27, 2025

Maye ranks second in yards per completion at 8.8 (to Sam Darnold) and passer rating of 110.7 (to Matthew Stafford).

It’s a good thing I don’t care about advanced metrics and prefer, you know, elaborate full-scale dioramas to tell me what to think. Unfortunately my commute no longer takes me past Danilchuk Auto Body in East Boston—my commute no longer takes me anywhere because I’m freelancing from home, thank you very much, Trump economy—and I can’t help but wonder what they’ve set up for this edition of Pats–Seahawks. Super Brady’s 2015 dumpster (below) is hard to top but I imagine they’re still feeling pretty good—anyone need a ride to the airport?

How did NOT IN SERVICE not scare the shit out of me? Speaking of outrageous public confidence:

Overwhelmed reporter: So tell me, you were inside there–

Amazing Seahawks fan: We’re gonna beat the fuckin Patriots. Redo.

Reporter: Whoa! Whoa! Try to say that again without the F-bomb.

Fan: We’re about to fuckin redo this shit. We’re about to beat the fuckin Patriots.

Reporter: Alright, that’s too bad.

If the Pats make Malcolm Butler the honorary captain—and they better make Malcolm Butler the honorary goddamn captain—this woman should be automatic for the Seahawks, right? She can even wear her Marshawn Lynch jersey and spend the rest of her life knowing she could have made a difference, given more opportunity. Anyway, I think Maye will play well because, you know, it’ll be almost sixty degrees at kickoff. (Maye’s offseason assignment: study how winter Olympics athletes keep warm.) Look for Henderson, Hunter Henry and Kayshon Boutte to have nice games, and for Jones to score a touchdown on defense, special teams… or offense. The Pats’ D will put a lot into stopping the run, holding a slight lead and seeing if Darnold can win it with his arm—talk about being overdue for a bad performance. MVP: Henderson (natch). And the score? And the score! Let’s repurpose XLIX’s pick and flip that shit around: Patriots 21–20 Seahawks. Count it!

Up next: Super Bowl LX in the year XVI. Go Pats!