I went for a walk at half time and smoked a cigar.
It wasn’t a victory cigar.
It was a cigar of reflection.
I kept telling myself it’s only a game. It’s only a game. It’s only a game.
When I was good and cold, I walked back into my neighbors’ house to take a peek into that crystal ball and see what the future held.
The future still looks bleak.
It looks big and physical. Not pretty, just tough and gritty and textbook playbook. The way football has been played for more than a century.
Maybe that’s the way it’s supposed to be.