The Barrister
Here we are. I dohwanna.
That said, the certainty of it all, a little less than twelve hours away from inevitable defeat and numbing heartbreak, may be the only bright side we have. Dare not hope because why fucking bother, right mom?
Existential crises put aside for a moment, I fucking hate the New England Patriots all the fucking same, and so do you. I hate their fans and their fans' stupid faces and their fans' stupid sense of superiority at having lucked into the best team in the modern NFL despite being a wretched collection of human beings that couldn't be bothered to show up for the better part of two decades when the team was trash with a side of cock chowdah. I hate all these godforsaken southern and central Mass accents and the fact that everyone comes from a town that makes you feel instantly stupider when you say it out loud. I hate their love of shitty Dunkin Donuts coffee and their claim to progressive social policies despite the fact that their sports teams were all basically governed under Jim Crow until Jimmy Carter was elected. I hate their interstate and their awful drivers and their stupid fucking bumper stickers and their insistence on showing up to MetLife for a Jets/Bills games shrouded in a jersey bearing the number of the biggest asshole who ever played the game so goddamn well. I hate how great this fucking team is and remains, against all odds, and how even when the NFL has them dead-to-rights on one thing or another, they skate by because the only law firm with more idiot lawyers than Paul Cambria's office is whoever the NFL hires to do their legal work. I hate how this fucking team and their fucking fans walk through football season like they own the place because - and this is what I hate the most - they fucking do. They've carved the Patriot Way out of a amalgamation of Boston Creme Donuts, liberal arts degrees, shitty beer, terrible grammar and poor personal hygiene, and the fact that it has happened to work is so fucking maddening I cannot stand it. It's not that they're trash or that they cheat (though they do enough) or that I think they're not that great. It's that THEY ARE THAT GREAT AND MORE.
Fuck.
They're the team that makes me more fucking butthurt than any team in any sport, and here we are.
Again, I dohwanna.
Here we are. I dohwanna.
That said, the certainty of it all, a little less than twelve hours away from inevitable defeat and numbing heartbreak, may be the only bright side we have. Dare not hope because why fucking bother, right mom?
Existential crises put aside for a moment, I fucking hate the New England Patriots all the fucking same, and so do you. I hate their fans and their fans' stupid faces and their fans' stupid sense of superiority at having lucked into the best team in the modern NFL despite being a wretched collection of human beings that couldn't be bothered to show up for the better part of two decades when the team was trash with a side of cock chowdah. I hate all these godforsaken southern and central Mass accents and the fact that everyone comes from a town that makes you feel instantly stupider when you say it out loud. I hate their love of shitty Dunkin Donuts coffee and their claim to progressive social policies despite the fact that their sports teams were all basically governed under Jim Crow until Jimmy Carter was elected. I hate their interstate and their awful drivers and their stupid fucking bumper stickers and their insistence on showing up to MetLife for a Jets/Bills games shrouded in a jersey bearing the number of the biggest asshole who ever played the game so goddamn well. I hate how great this fucking team is and remains, against all odds, and how even when the NFL has them dead-to-rights on one thing or another, they skate by because the only law firm with more idiot lawyers than Paul Cambria's office is whoever the NFL hires to do their legal work. I hate how this fucking team and their fucking fans walk through football season like they own the place because - and this is what I hate the most - they fucking do. They've carved the Patriot Way out of a amalgamation of Boston Creme Donuts, liberal arts degrees, shitty beer, terrible grammar and poor personal hygiene, and the fact that it has happened to work is so fucking maddening I cannot stand it. It's not that they're trash or that they cheat (though they do enough) or that I think they're not that great. It's that THEY ARE THAT GREAT AND MORE.
Fuck.
They're the team that makes me more fucking butthurt than any team in any sport, and here we are.
Again, I dohwanna.
Oh, Bills, yeah I have your number right here. I've had it for well over a decade, yeah.
THREE THINGS TO BE TERRIFIED OF:
1. Gronk. Obviously. 100%. The Bills have not had an answer for this guy ever. Edelman being out is largely irrelevant because we still have no answer for the primary weapon at Tommy's disposal. Gronk will score a million points and I will smoke a million weed, wait what?
2. A Quasi-Theocratic Hyper-Nationalist State under Donald Trump. This scares me way more than the Patriots so I figure it's best to confront this one head on. TERRIFYING, fam.
3. Dying alone. Think about it.
THREE THINGS TO ACCEPT WITH OPEN, LOVING ARMS:
1. That new Missy Elliot video. Shit is fire. There are a lot of hip hop acts from my younger years getting a reboot these days and that's a fantastic thing. Missy, Black Star, Tribe was just on Fallon. 19 year old me is fat, an idiot, and also high as shit right now, but also pretty pumped.
2. Family. Christ, y'all. It's Thanksgiving this week. That's insane and also pretty rad. Drink some whiskey, eat some fowl and some pies, and maybe try to convince your mom to smoke a joint with you. Don't think too much about the Bills.
3. On the off-chance that the Bills win, well, we'll all feel better than we have in months. Don't worry that this is sad and extremely pathetic. Roll with it. Just don't get too blue if the result goes as it's likely to go ... lotta season left for the Bills to build us back up and then lose in Week 17, missing out on the Wild Card on a tiebreaker. Talk about silver linings.
DRINK OF THE WEEK:
1. Gronk. Obviously. 100%. The Bills have not had an answer for this guy ever. Edelman being out is largely irrelevant because we still have no answer for the primary weapon at Tommy's disposal. Gronk will score a million points and I will smoke a million weed, wait what?
2. A Quasi-Theocratic Hyper-Nationalist State under Donald Trump. This scares me way more than the Patriots so I figure it's best to confront this one head on. TERRIFYING, fam.
3. Dying alone. Think about it.
THREE THINGS TO ACCEPT WITH OPEN, LOVING ARMS:
1. That new Missy Elliot video. Shit is fire. There are a lot of hip hop acts from my younger years getting a reboot these days and that's a fantastic thing. Missy, Black Star, Tribe was just on Fallon. 19 year old me is fat, an idiot, and also high as shit right now, but also pretty pumped.
2. Family. Christ, y'all. It's Thanksgiving this week. That's insane and also pretty rad. Drink some whiskey, eat some fowl and some pies, and maybe try to convince your mom to smoke a joint with you. Don't think too much about the Bills.
3. On the off-chance that the Bills win, well, we'll all feel better than we have in months. Don't worry that this is sad and extremely pathetic. Roll with it. Just don't get too blue if the result goes as it's likely to go ... lotta season left for the Bills to build us back up and then lose in Week 17, missing out on the Wild Card on a tiebreaker. Talk about silver linings.
DRINK OF THE WEEK:
This ish just won Whisky of the Year in the Whisky Bible's ranking and I intend to find and drink a considerable amount of it between Thursday and Sunday morning. Good job, Canada. Your whisky is tasty AF and so is your new Prime Minister. Me-ow.
Apropos of Nothing:
Apropos of Nothing:
If the Patriots were a social movement they'd be Men's Rights Activists. You can print that.
— Dubs (@theycallmedubs) November 23, 2015
My Prediction:
Pats 46, Bills 17.
This is not going to be pretty, so least we can do is have a nice little evening with a hoppy beer or six at our side, a dutch rolled for halftime sadz, and knowledge that it'll all be over soon at the ready.
Go Bills.
Pats 46, Bills 17.
This is not going to be pretty, so least we can do is have a nice little evening with a hoppy beer or six at our side, a dutch rolled for halftime sadz, and knowledge that it'll all be over soon at the ready.
Go Bills.
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