The only thing Hunter S. Thompson ever wrote that I got was his suicide note.
He titled it “Football Season Is Over” and began with “No more games.” Then he blew his head off.
I’m not in his league, but I look forward to the NFL season to an unhealthy degree, and the illness gets worse with every year.
I doubt a lie detector would let me answer “Yes!” if I was asked “Do you like pro football?” But I love the pro football season.
I know it’s gonna be there for me come the weekend, especially on Sundays at 1 p.m. It’s the only appointment television I’ve ever had.
Plus, the football season also holds the promise of seeing old friends I should see more often at Redskins tailgates or rec room viewings and eating their food. Fall Sundays are like so many Thanksgivings.
So tonight’s a big night. The games begin.
Football Season Is Starting.
I’m already dreading that day in February when Football Season Is Over, the day Thompson couldn’t handle.
There are no firearms in my house.