I Miss Football. And I Know I’m Not Alone.

-By Christopher Moore

Yeah, I know baseball’s happening. Basketball’s doing… whatever it does. Hockey players are out there skating in circles and punching each other. Golf is technically a sport. But let’s stop pretending.

I miss football.

And not just any football. I miss real football.

I miss waking up on Saturday mornings lying to myself—telling my heart, “This is the year, Husker Nation!” like I haven’t been emotionally curb-stomped since the Pelini days.

I miss the Arizona Cardinals somehow convincing me this might be our year… right before spontaneously combusting in Week 7. Then finish just mediocre enough to miss out on the good draft picks.

I miss talking trash in my fantasy football league. I mean “Leagues” (it’s an addiction) with real, vicious, soul-cutting banter. The kind that gets personal. The kind where someone might not show up to the draft party next year. If I can’t roast my best friend for drafting a kicker in the eighth round, is it even football season?

I miss yelling at my TV like the refs have had it out for me personally since 2003. And if the Cowboys or Browns are playing? I’m yelling just for fun.

I miss football like I miss that one truck I should’ve never sold—aggressively, irrationally, with anxiety and comfort food .

The Offseason is a Wasteland

Surviving the football offseason is like wandering a desert without a map, a compass, or a decent tight end on your roster. You try to pretend baseball matters, or that NBA trades are interesting, but deep down, you know you’re spiritually homeless.

I scroll through NFL news like I’m waiting for the weed guy to hit me back.

“Maybe there was a surprise trade.”

“Maybe somebody’s holding out.”

“Maybe Aaron Rodgers said something weird again.”

Anything. Just give me something.

At this point, I’d happily watch a preseason game between the Jaguars and the Jets. Four quarters of second-stringers and dudes who will be managing a Verizon store by October? Sign me up.

And I’d still yell at the refs like it’s the Super Bowl.

“HOW IS THAT NOT A HOLD, GARY?! YA BLIND FUGGIN DUMP TRUCK!”

It’s a replay from last season, Gary’s probably retired, a nice guy, and his name probably isn’t even “Gary,” but I still mean it.

Football is the Backbone of Life

Football isn’t just a sport. It’s the glue that holds my week together.

It gives me a schedule, an identity, and an excuse to:

Ignore mowing the lawn

Verbally abuse grown ass men from the safety of my couch

Consume FDA-defying amounts of junk food

Lie to myself and say, “this is the year” for both Nebraska and Arizona

Bombard my fantasy football league mates with memes and trash talk

Tell my kid, “Sorry, the Cardinals are about to blow another double-digit lead. This is important.”

Without football? I’m lost. I don’t know what day it is.

Here’s my finely tuned offseason calendar:

Saturday: Watch Husker heartbreak reruns while pretending past championships make it better.

Sunday: Deep dive into Cardinals rumors that will only end in a spectacular letdown

Monday: Attempt to engineer fantasy trades that require four teams and a blood oath to work

Tuesday: Tool Truck therapy followed by buying overpriced tools I don’t need

Wednesday: Sit in the garage, stare at a half-fixed projects, question my life choices

Thursday: Fantasize that it’s draft night and panic-draft a kicker in the 6th round

Friday: Joke about the Cowboys just on principle, even if they haven’t played in months

You Might Miss Football Too If…

You’ve been watching XFL or USFL highlights like they’re playoff games

You’ve joined way too many fantasy mock drafts in June

You’re already rehearsing trash talk for a draft that’s two months away

You’re refreshing your dynasty fantasy roster injury reports in May like it’s going to change anything

You’ve already started hating the Patriots and Bama in the middle of summer, just out of habit

You’ve got it too.

Seasonal Football Deficiency Syndrome (SFDS)

It’s real. I diagnosed it myself.

It’s listed right next to “Chronic Husker Disappointment Syndrome” and “Fantasy Football Delusion Disorder” in my garage medical journal.

The Cure?

There isn’t one! At least not until September. Until then, you can only treat the symptoms by waiting. Scrolling. Pretending you don’t care.

And then showing up like a rabid animal when preseason hits.

Until then? I’ll be here.

Yelling at YouTube highlights. Mock drafting like my life depends on it. Stockpiling Cardinals memes for my inevitable pain. Keeping my trash talk sharp and my nachos ready. Hell, I might even create a whole ass website so I can whine about how much I miss it, while analyzing statistics.

Football, I miss you. Hurry the hell up.

-The Gun Loving Hippie Dad … Who Fixes Stuff

#GBR #AZBIRDGANG

Rants, repairs, and realness