By a football fan left alone with his thoughts.
The NFL free Sunday, when your team has played on Thursday Night Football.
Also known as “The Great Darkness.” A time when your favourite team does not play, and you are left to confront the gaping void where football should be.
I always thought I would use the time productively – maybe read a book, learn Italian, or at least clean something.
Instead, I spent some of it staring at my TV, whispering: “At least the Jets still suck!”
Family time
You would think I would enjoy the break. A chance to relax! No stress, no heartbreak, no screaming at a coach I will never meet. But no.
The (mini)bye week is like being ghosted by the one true love who usually texts every Sunday at 1:00pm sharp.
One minute you are shouting about third down efficiency, the next you are talking to your significant other, about the latest offerings at IKEA, wondering when your soul died.
I tried watching other games, sure. “Just pick another team for the week,” they said. I did.
It felt like cheating on my team… with someone boring. Like having dinner with an Accountant, who keeps explaining how “this offense is very efficient.”
Where is the emotional trauma? Where is the wild, irrational hope followed by crushing defeat?
Out of desperation, I attempted to reconnect with my family. Turns out, I have children!
One is 17, a year into her journey into the elite end of professional sport, who knew? The noises I heard from upstairs, turned out to be a son, almost 16 and big enough to play middle linebacker at Notre Dame…
Other options
My wife – God bless her – seemed happy to see me upright and not clinging to a Dorito-stained jersey.
“We should go for a walk,” she said, eyes alight. Walking? Do I look like someone who voluntarily touches nature during football season?
But alas, we went. I stood among the trees, refreshing ESPN for injury updates, pretending to admire the leaves.
And let me tell you something: Sundays without football are long. I mean prehistoric long. I caught myself cleaning the garage. I organised screws by size. I made eye contact with my neighbour and even waved.
I fear I am becoming… social.
There is always next week
Just as I considered subscribing to another Miami Dolphins podcast, I remembered, my team plays next week.
Tears filled my eyes. I ran to the wardrobe, hugged my jersey, and whispered: “I’m sorry for doubting you.”
So here is to the NFL bye week – a confusing, existential detour into normalcy. I survived. Barely.
And next week? I will be back on the couch, emotionally unstable, and yelling at referees like God intended.
And if anyone mentions walking again, I am faking a hamstring injury.
