Doxy, it’s almost football season, already.
How the fuck did that happen?
Pre-season starts next Saturday, august 6 with an unimportant Indianapolis vs. Atlanta game (Interesting only because it’s in Japan); your team kicks off preseason that monday, august 8.
My guys, the 49ers, get into it against Oakland on the following saturday, august 13. Hell, I wonder if I can get tickets to that one?
I’m starting to miss my season tickets. Last year it was easy to have them gone, the worst year to be a 49ers fan since the late 1970s. But I’m watching a new coach – and it seems, a coach with a clue – build a new team around a new quarterback. New defensive, offensive co-ordinators, new defensive scheme. Lots of new players, for once, where they’re need, on the O-line.
I’m cautiously optimistic about my team’s chances, for the first time in a couple years.
I’m looking at my calendar. Wow, it’s been a long year since last I sat here thinking about the start of football season. A year ago today I was getting ready to go to Fiji. I was thinking about how I was missing my first football season in years with my season tickets gone.
A long, long year. I have not been in the ocean since then; I’ve not been on vacation since then, not really (well, a short trip to Florida, too short, and a day here or there).
I don’t feel like the same person I was a year ago; in some ways I’m better, in some ways not. I feel as if that summer was the start of some rebirth for me, a process that maybe is still only beginning.
It’s almost fall, already, summer past it’s peak and on the down-slide. The year is past it’s halfway point. For many years, where the summer begins to ebb, I’ve looked forward to football season as the consolation prize for the loss of my favorite season. Sundays, monday nights, become the high point in my week. Last year, it felt deeply strange to not care about it, to look forward to friday, the end of my week, more than I looked forward to monday nights and the game.
I’m hoping for a better season, this year. Doxy, I’m hoping our teams, with our first and second draft picks, can crawl back outta the pit and make us proud.
Let’s make us a date, ok? Some year, I’ll take you to the superbowl. And maybe this time your guys will win.
[made with ecto]