Stop all the clocks. Cut off the cellphone ringer. Mute all family chats. Program “Out-Of-Office” emails to run at lunchtime next Thursday, graffiti your church with C U in Fe  March, and make your fat clothes accessible in your closet and drawer because the time of sloth and rage and wings and ecstasy and undiscipline is pretty fucking nigh, mofos—it’s right there! I can sssmells it.

Tl dr; Week 1

Gone and buried are the memories of a most terrible summer–glaring exceptions: the Spanish National fútbol team and the Turkish Olympic shooter. And, at least for me, this preseason was a giant ball of blah. I do give props to #progress on one aspect.

It seems that “real” preseason action, pitting starters against starters, happened during teams’ joint practices. Back in the olden days, when sexual assault was romantic comedy fodder and children shut the fuck up routinely (some bad stuff, some good stuff, is all): you had to rely on written reports from practices to find out who’s out of shape, or whether a 3-INT day was the receivers’ fault. Now that Cam Newton retired, the media never blames the QB for interceptions, yes.

But my point is that, now, social media publishes videos from the preseason practices themselves. You can see players’ gasping and the waddling inside the extra layer of clothing, plus the odd coach shouts and AND videos of both fights and actual practice game drives. It’s a primary source–of fluff, but still primary.

The preseason games, though, have more scrubs than a hospital’s laundry room. It’s awful tape for any team fan seeking intellectually honest validations. By contrast, joint practice videos provide name-on-name fodder for source! webz wags, plus seeing in live action the player over whom you’ve been brooding all offseason–“Is Mayo guy a Drew Bledsoe?” to name a completely random example. Still, we’re talking about practice, preseason practice. How much useful information is there? I’d put the preseason chaff / information ratio at 97 / 3. Slim pickings cannot prop up delusions, that’s online dating crap!

Not. Worth. The disenchantment.

Preseason, every preseason, is a reminder that it is not yet time for football, no matter how ready we ARE FOR SOME FIIIIIITBAWWW!11!1 The only substance we can get from preseason is: who’s out, questionable, doubtful, disgruntled, struggling in Vic Fangio’s system, holding in, rehabbing, clubbing, retiring, in trade limbo, bringing veteran leadership to the practice squad, and cut. And up next, the real thing. Consider buried the preseason and August 2024, the longest freakin’ month in the Owl era.

Pending bidness for the season:

Side Piece Watch

As has been reported, a known surfer and patent maven invited me to last year’s Giants @ RAAAAAIIII DUUUURSSS in Las Vegas. Did I take pictures? Yes! Here’s the Al Davis Memorial Flame:

Via postimages / here

I’ve always had an affinity for the RAAAAIIIII DUUUUUURSSS. Their uniform design and logo are iconic in the way that overused adjective still means something. John Madden’s “Hey Wait a Minute! (I Wrote a Book!)” was the first fitbaw book I read and I loved it enough to overlook the title’s ghost writer erasure. Aside from that, I’m still mad about Tony Siragusa’s full body weight takedown that crippled Rich Gannon in that AFC Championship around the time The Heiress was a toddler, eventually giving the Ravens an easy Owl win against the Kerry Collins Jints. More recently, at their NFL start, TEN’s Marcus Mariota and OAK’s Derek Carr had sliding door careers. The WTF! moment was Xmas Eve 2016, Week 16: both Mariota and Carr suffered a gruesome leg injury that ended a very promising season for each QB.

Since the Apocalypse 0.5, I saw Maxx Crosby, the most incredible athlete I have ever seen live. And the Allegiant Stadium vibe was wonderful. Blax and I spent the whole game talking shit and about random shit and laughing loudly and no one complained… Audibly. Plus, mean margaritas at about $20 USD ea.—what’s not to love? Why can’t one root for two teams? Ah yes, the oppressive forces of fanhood.

The consensus is that being a Trü Fan entails a joyless Calvinism of persistent suffering through bad season after bad season, inept management, and years of drafting more big busts than at a Russ Meyer casting. Plus, the once in a generation season-ending injury to a key player whose prime ended right then and there (see, Mariota, M.). That’s the way of fandom for shitty outfits, I get it. And yet, I already get plenty of sunk-cost commitment disappointments IRL thankyouverymoosh. So I’ll treat the National Football Lee and the teams therein as what it is: a gift of violence, thee showroom of otherworldly athletics and baroque legalese, and unending ore of irresponsible bets—in short: the highest and therefore most necessary frivolity, to be enjoyed without guilt.*

* ‘xcept FF buyers’ remorse. I mean, duh.

So: if and when I wanna root for another team, whether forsaking or threeporkin’ Tennessee, I’ll do it in an instant. Hell, I’ve never even been to Nashville ffs. So let’s consider the 2024 RAAAAIIII DUUUUUURRRSSS. Gardner Minshew is the starting QB.

The Titans have been on the butt end of the several scattered team wins Minshew has mustered. Emphasis on team because the wins have followed a tested comedic template: protagonist fucks up, saves the day late from his own fuckery.

To be honest, it’s lonely out here on Minshew Hater island. Too small fry to deserve any scorn, too laid back to detest. Let me put it in terms I can explain with ease: if the RAAAAIIIIII DUUUUUURS are the over-44, accomplished professional lady who is not jealous (but is crazy into the Cold War, hey, it’s my fantasy), then Gardner Minshew is her overindulged 14-y.o. son who will never be babysat, interacts mostly through snide questions and door slams, and somehow hacks my phone to put hungstonergramps.com pics on my screensaver.

So no, I will not be rooting for the 2024 RAAAIII DUUURS, despite their name being the best drunk chant evah. Of course, as every non-antisocial adult, I’ll still keep an eye on them this season, along with checking their social media posts. Just to keep up, you know, nothing stalk-y I mean [muttering, trails off]…

And when Las Vegas switches QBs to Large Farva, maybe I’ll text a “hi”. Not creepy at all.

Season Bets

I’m not a gambler. Don’t get me wrong; I can splurge unreasonably with the worst of ’em–EXCEPT with betting. Tch, I have a manifesto and everything.

1. Quick money grabs are traps for the greedy or desperate. Betting odds are not a measure of probability, but an enticement for action either way. And, regarding odds and probability: improbable outcomes happen every damn day, everywhere, rendering seemingly impossible odds as proof-positive of the number crunchers’ arrogance. Yeah yeah this came out crustier than intended. DON’T CARE.
2. Casinos provide certainty. If you walk in and partake, you WILL lose money. My only wish, when I walk into a casino, is finding a blackjack table who doesn’t have one of the very worst humans out there: the Hindsight ‘Tard. This guy, because it’s always a male, shakes his head when you hold, “pshts” after you hit on anything higher than a 12, and by the 5th hand mutters “Croupier would’ve busted with your jack”. Listen asshole: judging MY bets with MY money is grounds for a Qué carajo te pasa huelebicho and force-feeding his chips foie-gras style. Though this is hardly the way I wanna behave [cough] sorry, in a place full of cameras. So I avoid the casino,
3. unless to place legal sports bets. For the allure of hawt NFL akshon, oh yeah I’ll de-recluse!

Thing is, I make terrible bets. Low payouts and small bets (for me), are not worth the effort. Howevah, high payout, low odds are totally my jam. NFL games are a factory of screwy results, which can render moron bettors into visionaries. I set aside a $100 USD budget and these are my nominees for NFL Visionary of the Year:

2024 Green Bay: NFC North Division Winner (+240)

The Lions are the favoUrites to win the division—hell, they’re 3rd of 4th in Owl win odds, the Loins! Before last season, I came around to the awesomeness of Dan Campbell, long may he reign, and Detroit is a great watch. Yet, chalk talk is a turnoff and, however much I would enjoy Jared Goff winning it all, best-laid NFL plans can come crashing down in a second through injury or leaked emails.

I’m high on the Packers this year, and am still fuzzy about how they lost to the 49ers in the Divisionals last year. I’m also high in the Iggles, given that Jalen Hurts was obviously limited before last season’s collapse. But I trust Matt LaFleur more than an essentially demoted Nick Sirianni–oooh, Iggles (-1.5) Friday Night in São Paolo is just askin’ for a $50 on the Pack. I’m also intrigued about how NFL Mediadom will work around Brazil’s ban of M*sk’s X. All I know is that particular billionaire is straight-up deplorable and I won’t grieve eventual the death of X—but I’m not rooting for its end either. If you become a mute / block ninja, you’ll get a Twitter timeline full of awesomeness

https://x.com/ignorethatdoor/status/1808927460899049533?s=46

2024 Donks Woo! Make the Playoffs (+500)

I had $10 left over, which is a perfectly decent throwaway bet. The RAAAAAIIII DURRRRS (+300, bet $25) seems like a better bet, but what’s with this making a commitment with Vegas dammit! Just stop. What’s the hurry? Jesus Christ.

Anyway, I remembered that last year, after the Broncos and Bears became the early season NFL tire fires, Denver stringed several consecutive wins. Can’t help but to credit fat Kevin James for that. He obviously has the coaching chops, despite being a snide interview who gets all throw-the-stone-and-hide-the-hand with the media. Additionally, nobody named “Bo Nix” can be bad at quarterbacking. Furthermore, Nix is a Pisces: “These mystical mermen are dreamy and romantic and, uh, they have a lot of feelings.” Winner at the gridiron and romance; solid prospect all around. Will support, less playoff room for the Titans be damned.

2024 Tennessee Titans – OVER 6.5 wins (+105).

I wanted to bet the dollar amount of this season’s numeral Owl, but I ended up adding an extra $X (sorry scotchnaut) because Imma dumbass whose classics education was totally wasted on me (glad you did not live to see this, Papa). But I’m feeling quite comfortable with TEN finishing with more than six wins. If they tie once, I’m fuckT.

Incidentally, I did not bet on the Titans getting to the playoffs. Like I said, I make bad bets, but not stupid ones. Except hitting on a 17 when a dealer has an 8 and hidden card. That’s how you smoke out and drive away Hindsight ‘Tards.

Don’t let anybody steal your joy. ‘Tis the season, dammit. May Gamblor bless us all.