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Life is good again. The perma-grey skies on Lake Erie have parted for our brief summer. Fireworks season has come and gone with only a few second degree burns reported on some rednecks in Lorain County. And in Berea, highly paid football players wearing pads and wearing orange helmets have already injured themselves for the season. Now it's truly football season in Cleveland.
But unless John Madden is on my TV waxing nostalgia at Lambeau Field on a crisp autumn day, who really gives a flip about the games? I mean, don't get me wrong, I always prefer watching the Browns get smothered every Sunday to the Bataan Death March of a day at the mall with the wife. What makes Sunday significant again is our time of worship in The Cult Of Fantasy Football. It's the easiest way to get our mojo back during our weekdays under the corporate fluorescent lights in cubicleville; we have a budget meeting at nine AM sharp, but glory, halleluiah, my Gangsta's' Of Love edged the Westlake Wooly Mammoths by three this weekend on a field goal by my back up kicker. It's great to be alive...from September to January. [complete story]
Life is good again. The perma-grey skies on Lake Erie have parted for our brief summer. Fireworks season has come and gone with only a few second degree burns reported on some rednecks in Lorain County. And in Berea, highly paid football players wearing pads and wearing orange helmets have already injured themselves for the season. Now it's truly football season in Cleveland.
