For twenty years, I went into every game assuming we'd win. This year, I go into every game assuming we'll lose. It's been hard to set aside either assumption, and neither conduces much to objectivity. Makes yer head spin.
So I assume they'll lose this week, but then the ghost of twenty years of giddy optimism starts yammering away and I begin to cast about for some rational basis - or handy delusion - which can get me back to my long-accustomed optimism. I thought they had a chance against Dallas, I assumed it was just some screw up on the part of God's bean counters that they didn't win at least one of their first two games. I sort of assumed they'd beat New Orleans, I thought the Jets win actually meant something. It hasn't gone well. I have been ill-served by optimism.
"Maybe," a ghostly voice says, "it'll be close."
Hamlet took counsel from ghosts: how'd that work out? (For those who managed to give the Bard the slip in high school: it was a bloodbath.)
I'm afraid this one is going to make the tanksters giddy.
The sideline:
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