Whatever

I'll be honest--I don't understand football. I just don't. And it's not that I'm intellectually incapable of comprehending the rules of the game. I see the meatheads who play it (and, let's be fair, the ones who watch it) and I'm pretty sure if they can figure it out, I can. The difference is that I simply can't be bothered. I know some of the terms. I know there are downs and they have to do with yards or something and you only get so many of them before it's the other team's turn. I know what a field goal is, but not when you're allowed to kick one. And I know what a touchdown is. But I'm getting bored just thinking about it.

For the most part, I don't like people whose necks are as wide as their heads. I know it's wrong to pre-judge people based on a physical characteristic--particularly one over which they have no control. It's not as if it's a poorly chosen haircut, or those giant holes some people decide to punch in their ears, and then fill with what appear to be rubber stoppers. But in my experience, the whole neck-to-head ratio thing is generally a good way to separate the wheat from the chaff, if you will.

Additionally, neck-to-head ratio not withstanding, football fans are not typically my people. They're not the kind to laugh at my jokes (which is a sign of something seriously wrong with you, you know, in my opinion), they enjoy things like light beer, or kielbasa, and many are given to excessive displays of exuberance, at volume levels that are only appropriate if you're calling for help from the bottom of a well.

All that having been said, I am from New England, and if a New England team makes it into the final round of any sports competition, I'll pay at least half-assed attention. In this case my reward was watching the Patriots flounder around until Eeyore Manning, oops, I mean Eli Manning, managed to lead, sort of, his team to victory. The lesson in all of this? I was right all along (surprise, surprise): football sucks.