Annnnnnnnnnd, we're here. Yet another proctologist's appointment appearing before our eyes despite our firm belief that, no, this can't be right, we actually scheduled a pleasant $45 Chinatown rubdown, what the fuck happened?.
As if it was ever going to be different.
We Bills fans love storybook scenarios. Of course they always end up falling apart in a fiery blaze before our increasingly weary eyes, but we love them all the same. We love wins, but we won't be buying those wins dinner and some over-priced gelato unless the wins follow a pre-selected script and satisfy our need for that story at the same time they toss another game in the W column. Sometimes I wonder whether the win is secondary to the story; whether we like the story because we can live it out for a full week before kickoff and we can enjoy that week without remorse, regardless of outcome. Whether we like it most because it's more within our control; because we can live five or six days with the agency that we so lack when it actually comes time for Sunday afternoon.
Last week was one of those weeks - a week where fans were so convinced that the corner has been turned and is firmly in our rear view, where fans got the national media on board and some jamoke that even the #BillsMafia couldn't stand raised eight grand and got Guinness in the house because we weren't just convinced of our team's forthcoming success, but also of our own unflappable superiority as a gathered mass of frantic noise and endless, unceasing devotion.
And, of course, yesterday was one of those games - a game that stuck to the script for only a few fleeting minutes, that cultivated hope only briefly, and that left us to watch with bloodshot eyes that familiar dance of fire and metal and anger and fat, drunk men passing out at their seats as the Hindenburg of our hubris came crashing down, exploding the narrative for all the world to see.
The fact that we haven't realized that the only plausible story when this team of ours plays a Belichick-coached, Brady-quarterbacked Patriots team is a story of death and destruction is a curious bit of trivia destined to be the topic of a short segment in the History Channel's series Sports: The Lower Dose Opiate of the People, which is reportedly set for production in 2025.
Anything good we can take from the game gets snatched up and re-purposed for this week's story. Anything good we can take from the game had little utility to the game itself, so we recycle and reuse and manufacture hope that our Bills can reduce their unshakable, ongoing propensity for moments of moral victories and little else.
So, shall we?