I write to you with sore fingers from trying to buy Taylor Swift concert tickets under many aliases…hey, the fan club code only let’s you get so many at a time. And, honestly, I’m up to my ears in football-related thoughts. This is the point in the year where all the teams start to run together, to seem so similar that I can’t tell a Titan from a Buccaneer, Jordan Cameron from Cameron Jordan and a Romeo from a Lovie.

With all of the devastating injuries to first-stringers, Fantasy Football is such hard work that I’m considering letting my seven-year-old take over some of the decisions.

The dog could probably help, too.

Now that the Broncos have saddled me with a second strike in my suicide pool (damn you Jeff Fisher and your creepy defensive coordinator Gregg Williams) and my Colts getting bested yet again by the hated Patriots (I know, enough already), it’s exhausting to be a fan. It’s getting difficult to even muster up much hatred for evil owners these days, what with Dan Snyder’s Rdskns imploding under RGIIIs leadership and the hot Mara daughters not even showing up to root on their family’s ailing Giants.

Yes, their family owns the Giants. Embarrassment of riches.

And yet, when I feel weary and just want a nice cup of tea and a backrub from the likes of Aryan Foster, I remember that there are people who are probably much more tired then I am. I’m talking about the old guys of the NFL. And by old, I mean much younger than most of us of course, but since a football career is like dog years, they are ancient.

Take time out from planning your spring break trip with Johnny Manziel and break out the Ben Gay with some of these old guys. And P.S. – most of em are pretty easy on the eyes!

Continue reading →