Tomorrow I will don my authentic Adrian Peterson game jersey to attend a meaningless Vikings game in which Adrian Peterson will not be be playing due to injury.
This is my life.
Some of you readers may be rolling your eyes as if to say, “Hey Peter, snap out of it! You’ve got a loving wife and two beautiful children and a great job and a magnificent beard! You’ve got it all! Women love you and men want to be you!” Of course all these things are true, but they aren’t enough. What’s the point of having a hot wife and a sensible Hyundai Sonata if the Minnesota Vikings are 2-9?
To make matters worse, the Vikings will be facing Tim Tebow and the Denver Broncos. Tebow, as you are no doubt aware, is the buzz of the NFL – a balanced blend of Johnny Unitas’s moxie and guile with St. Francis of Assisi’s piety and throwing motion. Tebow and the Broncos have shown a remarkable ability to defeat miserable, lethargic teams like the Vikings after lulling them and the entire viewing audience to sleep through the first three and a half quarters. Odds are, I and the other fans in attendance will be fed a steady diet of punts, Toby Gerhart runs and wildly errant passes for three hours amidst the dreary, unnatural ambiance of the Metrodome.
I’d rather have horrible diarrhea in a mall bathroom than do this.
However, since I’m going on the occasion of my dad’s birthday with he and my brothers, it seems only right that I should tag along, albeit sullenly. After all, my dad has given me so much over the years, and my brothers each attended my wedding, so I suppose I owe them something.
Seriously you guys, nothing matters.