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My Divisional Round Comedown

I think we can all agree that this past weekend of football was, quite simply, a work of art. Poetry in motion, if you will. Mozart, Picasso, and Shakespeare may be gone, but Patty Mahomes is doing his best to carry the torch.

The weekend started off red-hot on Saturday, with Joey Burrow’s Bengals and Jimmy G’s Niners eeking out last-second road victories in Nashville and Green Bay respectively, serving us a pair of elite appetizers that rival the likes of miso soup and calamari (the calamari dipping sauce of this weekend was Aaron Rodgers’ punk-ass tears). Then on Sunday, we were given some wagyu-caliber football for our entree as Tom Brady and Co. knocked on the door of a comeback for the history books before meeting their match in Cooper “How is the Best Receiver in the League a White Guy” Kupp and the Rams. And of course, how could we forget about that dessert? A crescendo that makes “Stairway to Heaven” sound like a nursery rhyme. A dessert so grand and so decadent, it doesn’t fit in the frame for your bullshit Instagram Story. A 7-layer cake with a chocolate fountain on top of it and an ice cream sundae on top of that and a creme brulee on top of that. Patty muthafuckin’ Mahomes and Josh muthafuckin’ Allen combined for a shootout of such earth-shattering proportions, the Afghanistan War had to call up to say, “Yo chill out, that’s our thing.”

This was a text exchange from the 4th quarter of that game:

Needless to say, it was a four-course meal for the ages. I’d give it a hundred Michelin Stars if I could.

For those of you who have dabbled with drugs at some point in your lives (which I definitely haven’t... Hi mom and dad.), you may be familiar with the state of a comedown. A comedown is essentially the drug version of a hangover. When your mind and body are feeling extreme levels of stimulation and bliss for an extended period of time, you will inherently be mentally and physically drained when the trip “comes down” and you make your return back to a more mundane reality. Think of it as post-nut clarity on steroids.

I am currently experiencing a massive comedown from the euphoric high that was this weekend of football. My dopamine levels have plummeted like it’s Peloton stock. There is a football-sized hole in my heart right now. Those games were not real life… they can’t be. I must have been dreaming. Instant classics don’t just grow on trees. I need to chill the fuck out.

I am fiending for more football. I am fiending for Patty Mahomes to do Patty Mahomes things again. I am Gollum, these playoff games are the One Ring, and of course, Roger Goodell is Dark Lord Sauron.


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