An agonizing wait
So I did not watch the Browns loss to the Bengals. After performing my duties as Godfather at the baptism of my nephew Marcus- I was offered the choice of sitting on the couch with a bunch of little kids who were watching a new version of Frosty the Snowman where apparently the message is now strict parents who make rules are bad and stoned magic people who cover little kids in snow and shove them down mountains are good or sit in the kitchen and listen to neighbor women complain.
Making matters worse is the Dad from across the street would occasionally pop in his head with score updates. His six-year old son decided that day he was a Lions fan, a Bears fan and a Bengal fan. With every update he would shriek and scream and run around the house. Man I hated that kid.
So in the midst of a second viewing of Frosty, I asked my five-year old niece if Uncle could check the scores really quick. She agreed and we watched the final four or five plays of the Lions game- hoping it would end and they would switch to the final minute of the Browns game. When the Lions held on and won- the punk six year old screamed like he won the lottery and the network flipped just in time for us to see Kelly Holcomb... err ... Derek Anderson loft the ball in the end zone for the final play and the little kid who can't spell Cincinnati let alone name a Bengal jumps on the couch and gets in my face yelling how his team beat my team. I have never hated a six-year old more in my entire life. Here my heart is breaking and I have to take crap from a little kid. I wanted to punt him through the window. Disappointment never gets easier but why does it always seemed to get more and more humiliating.
And now to prolong my agony, NBC has decided to move the Colts-Titans game to prime time. Those bastards. I don't want to watch the game. I just wanted to know at 4:15 p.m. whether to to start drinking victory style with friends or locking myself in a room for the start of a long, slow private bender. If the game was at the same time as the Browns, I could peek at a score I could not control and prepare to accept our fate. Now I have to wait all day and inevitably find myself watching every play of a game as a faux Colt fan. Seriously in every possible scenario only Cleveland could find itself playing a meaningless game yet be forced to wait to watch Jim Sorge hold its fate on his shoulders.
I make no prediction but the pit in my stomach has remained since Sunday. I just want to know since as Tom Petty sang- the waiting is the hardest part.