January 1st is considered to bring in a new year, but for avid, or should I say rabid sports fans such as me; the start of the NFL regular season marks a new year. There are no great proclamations about exercise and the like, just wings, pizza, sub sandwiches and all things gluten and unhealthy. And there is hope, the hope that this will be the year and Super Bowl Sunday (the newest national holiday) will be yours.
Your own private party and only your family cloaked in the same team colors are invited. Then you dream impossible dreams. Dreams about your favorite baseball team making an ‘amazing’ run to greatness and Hurricanes and Hoyas doin’ the damn thing! But all of that will be a prelude to that Sunday in February. The dream doesn’t stop there, oh no! Heck, in February, the year is only about half finished. So, you want the party to last and you wish to also celebrate in April and see The King’s coronation in June. The perfect year…I wonder what that feels like. Well, I would settle for any part of the year being a success.
But, most of all you are just thankful. Thankful to see another year and that the heatwave of summer hyperbole and conjecture are over. There will be no more filler for now; there will be no spy movies nor deflating sagas, no more rap beefs or ghostwriters. I hope I never have to hear how the greatest player of this generation would fare in a pickup game against the greatest player of all-time or how this team would do against that team. I have scores now, OMG….yes tangible markings that provide results, hypotheticals be gone, well at least until next summer.
But for now I will take my hopes, dreams and bad food and pray for Jet life.
Wheels up and Happy New Year, enjoy the season.