And as the sun faded, they knew it was FOOTBALL.

It’s here.

I can smell it.

There’s no better time of the year than the spring. The birds chirping. The dew on the leaves. The warm sun in the sky. There’s a certain smell to spring. When you lie awake in bed at night, it permeates your nostrils. It envelopes your mind. And when the rain comes, the smell of pollen and fresh grass is everywhere.

But now its fall. The heat of the summer having killed the last of the fresh grass, turning it brown, all the charm of spring is miles behind us.

And I can smell it. Just like I smell spring. Its not as pleasant a smell. Its sharp; its the cool breeze you haven’t spoken to in 5 months, coming back into your life, to let you know that he’s still alive, and he’s actually doing pretty well.

Fall is not bad, as long as you know how to embrace it. The smells of spring are gone, but the grass is still around, and the sun is still bright.

Once upon a time, fall meant one thing: school. And after being dragged helplessly along by gleeful parents to buy shirts, pencils, and notebooks, the summer was over. But that was ONCE UPON A TIME. There is no more school for Greg.

And so, at this point in my life, as I look onto the next horizon, to see where my mid-twenties will bring me, Fall means but one thing:

(Drum roll)…………………………………(Silence).

FOOTBALL.

It’s back. After a summer of avoiding ESPN at all costs (which has become something we as sports fans are forced to watch, not something we enjoy to watch), its time to start tuning back into Channel 26 on RCN in Boston (soon to be Comcast…screw RCN). Because as the daylight fades, a rider approaches on the ridge…….and his name is Football.

Football has always been my sport. Any true sports fan will tell you that he has a sport that he simply knows and loves better than others: plays it better, enjoys more, understands it more thouroughly (somone get me dictionary, I’m not going to websters.com right now!). I understand the game, and love the strategies behind it; fun for me is poring through playbooks of offensive and defensive sets. I play it better than others; I love all aspects of playing on the defensive and offensive side of the ball, and have always been able to throw a good spiral. Most importantly, I truly love and enjoy it. And that’s why, as the days shorten, and we harken to our homes as the darkness falls from the sky at 4pm Eastern, I will feel a little bit of warmth in my heart.

My good friend is home, and will be staying on my couch through the month of January.

Let’s talk:

Stories that Greg saw on Monday morning, but didn’t have time to right about until Tuesday night: Yes, that’s the way of a blogger…..never has the time to write at the time. But a couple of stories I need to talk about right now, as if they didn’t happen almost 48 hours ago.

  • The Giants lost like 4 starters the other night in a preseason game. This is why I refuse to watch any Pats preseason games……I know they have to play them, I just don’t want to have anything to do with them as a fan. Ofcourse, the NFL milks its TV deals as much as possible: there’s no way in Hell there should be 4 preseaon games. Three is plenty, thank you. But as long as there’s a market (drunken morons who claim to be diehards cause they watch every play of a preseason game on a Friday night), there will be four games. Oh well.
  • On the bright side for the Giants: now that they’ve lost all these starters, maybe Tom Coughlin won’t subject his players to full pad practices during the week (asshole). Seriously…..why does this guy still have his job?
  • Warning: not football related. I also saw on Monday morning that Johann Santana struck out 17 batters in 8 innings for the Minnesota Twins the other night. In a sport that has been horribly twisted and scarred by steriod use and allegations, brilliant pitching is still one thing that stands un-touched. If the likes of Pedro Martinez, Johann Santana, and Randy Johnson can be dominant, all small and/or lanky guys, its obvious that steriods don’t really play a part. To strike out 17 professional baseball hitters in 8 innings….that’s phenomenal. Way to go, Santana.
  • Memo to ESPN: Hey ESPN, if you’re reading this, see if you can help me out. Every Monday morning during the football season, I watch Sportscenter. Sure, its an hour and a half, and I never know exactly what point of the show I’m at cause I don’t have digital cable, but whatever, I can deal with that. But here’s my beef: there’s this thing called The Ultimate Highlight. You’ve been playing it every Monday morning for, ohh, I don’t know, the last four years. Can you do me a favor? Can it. Seriously. Get rid of it. This way, I don’t have to change the channel in disgust for 30 seconds. Not only would you be doing anyone with half a brain a favor, you’d be doing us all a favor. We don’t like it. Neither do you. So please….get rid of the Ultimate Highlight.

For now, I am putting this piece on hold: I can’t write when fatigued. But I’ll post it anyway. Before I go, a shout-out:
I talked to my man Jim Wood tonight, and he told me what its like to run with the bulls. First, as you stand on the street, a door is opened. Then, from the distance, a rocket is fired. This signifies that the bulls have been released. Once a second rocket is fired, it means that all of the bulls are loose (six bulls total). They run down the street at you. As you run, they either run by you or into you. Then, you all empty into the bull ring, where more bulls are released. And everyone runs around like to survive for as long as they want. And that’s it. That’s the running of the bulls.

Alright, I’m beat. I’ll be back to talk soon. For now, I’m gonna chill, watch an episode of The Wire, Season 2, and be happy, knowing that my friend, Football, is walking back into town.

Until Next Time,

Greg

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