I hate Tom Brady. I hate him with the fire of a thousand suns. Okay, maybe not that bad, but I still don't want to see his smirking face ever again.
Tonight was hard. We live next door to the biggest Chiefs fan in all of Colorado, and we have spent an awful lot of Sundays together over the last five years. We caught the bug, especially once Patrick Mahomes made his debut. We had high hopes that the game would go far differently than it did. More like last year. Alas, it was not to be. I could yell about the refs (and it wouldn't be totally uncalled for), but I would rather just accept that this was not the year to go all the way. Mahomes is young. There is a beautiful career ahead. I'll look forward to next year.
We even tried a socially distant watch party. Boulder County, along with most of the front range, has been moved to yellow covid conditions, meaning gatherings up to 10 people, with the usual cautions, were allowed. We had half of that, sitting far apart around the room. The mood darkened steadily, as the Chiefs struggled. T is the worst loser ever, and he gets as upset as an average middle school kid when his team loses. He turned off the game halfway through the fourth quarter, and got mad when A turned it back on after he left the room. So we sat in silence for a few minutes, until we came up with different topics of conversation than football, like animal stories off the internet. T and his sister started playing Crash Bandicoot (retro videogame) and we took that as an out to head home. He will bounce back, but he needs time to be cranky for a while.
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