It was dark. The wounds still fresh. Sunday morning had finally rolled around and you knew there was no football to watch. 5 month’s worth of beer and chicken wings and queso dip start to resurface and settled in the back of your throat. A feeling of nausea and sadness wash over your body as you try to drag yourself out of bed. It’s as if you yourself had just completely a full season. Knees creaked, back ached, head cloudy from standing up too fast; the likely by-product of repeated blows to the head, but by no means enough to stop you from passing CTE protocol.
Early football withdrawls
You make your way to the kitchen and pull open the fridge. The leftovers from last weekend’s watch party still sit there covered in tin foil. A bit soggy, but a friendly reminder of happier times. You grab a Gatorade off the door and pre-heat the oven for some breakfast taquitos and mozzarella sticks.
While you wait, you sit down on the couch and turn on the television.
Figure skating is on.
A single tear streams down your face.
You convince yourself it’s not that bad. There’s something soothing about the announcer’s voice. You open Twitter in hopes of finding some football news. Instead, all you find is that #WhatIWouldSendInARocket is trending. You think about how much better life would be if you just strapped yourself to a rocket to escape the misery.
This thought is brought to a screeching halt by the smell of burning cheese. Somewhat salvageable, but not particularly good, you wolf down the frozen treats; a fitting metaphor for such a somber occasion.
At some point after breakfast, you drift off into a deep slumber with your phone on your chest and your hand down your pants. For a brief moment, you escape. It’s 65 degrees and the sun is shining. It’s early October again and a crisp breeze makes its way through the window. You’ve just cracked your first beer in anticipation of the 1 o’clock games. All is right in the world.
When suddenly, a repeated buzzing jolts you awake. You groggily peer at your phone and it’s a text thread from work asking if you can come in early tomorrow. You toss your phone to the other end of the couch in disgust and turn your attention back to the television where you mindlessly flip through the channels for a few hours. Watching something, but really watching nothing at all.
Midday football withdrawls
Around the start of the 4 o’clock games you decided maybe it’s best to go outside and get your mind off things. You go for a “walk.” Something typically only reserved for after the Thanksgiving Day games, it feels a bit awkward. You’re not really sure where to go or what to do, so you just walk. People smile and wave as they walk by with their dogs. You’re confused. Why are they smiling? You press forward.
On your way home you decide to stop at the grocery store to pick up a few things. A green vegetable somehow makes its way into your basket. It seems out of place, but you leave it, thinking maybe this is all part of the healing process.
Evening football withdrawls
When you walk back into your house the television is still on. As you do every Sunday, you’ve left it on NFL Red Zone. Only this time, it’s just a red back drop with the message, “See you next season.” There is no Scott Hanson.
With nothing to distract you, you make your way into the kitchen and start cooking. Similar to walking, the concept is very foreign. You make too much food. Fortunately, there are still a few Chinese containers kicking around in the recycling. You rinse them out and fill them for lunch the next day. An accidental meal prep.
Night time football withdrawls
You finish eating dinner and call your parents. They immediately assume something is wrong because you haven’t called them on a Sunday in months. They appreciate the check-in, but are admittedly worried, saying you sound depressed and unstable. You assure them everything is okay, but they’re having none of it.
“Maybe you should go see a doctor.”
“Or a therapist…”
“Guys, I’m fine,” you insist.
“This happened to an old client of mine. He started getting super moody and sleeping all day and his work suffered and next thing you know he was getting involved with the wrong crowd and doing drugs.
Losing patience, you once again assure them that you are “fine.”
“I’m just saying, this is how it starts. One minute, you’re a little depressed because football is over. Next thing you know, the police are kicking down your door.”
Fed up, you responde, “Ma, I gotta go. The game’s on.”
There was no game on…