For one week out of every year, somewhere between week four and ten of the NFL season, I find myself wallowing in sorrow and despair. áIt never fails.
I always spend countless weeksáperfecting the art of the game day ritual, scrutinizing over the piece of clothing to be anointed as this year's lucky relic, fixating over the preparation and timing of the refreshments, organizing the day's responsibilities around the exact moment of kick off, meticulously managing the people with whom I watch the game, so as not to pollute the viewing experience.
I think you get the idea. áIt's a painstaking and delicate process.
And every year, just when it seems like I have discovered the perfect balance, established the ultimate game day experience. Bam. The collectively dreaded bye w ...
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Article written by Courtney Zierk
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