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Letters

November 29, 2012

Confessions of a football addict

Truth be told, I have an addiction and it’s raging out of control.

It’s not a bad habit in the true sense like drugs or alcohol, but one that leaves me behind closed doors, sometimes isolated and severed from the rest of the world.

Football! Yes, the good, old gridiron where helmets clash and bodies mangle as thousands of boisterous fans turn into fanatics.

My cheering is done in the comfort of my home with my chips and salsa by my side and a beer or two as the game proceeds. To say I become comatose during these rapture sessions is putting it mildly.

Let’s see, Sunday afternoons the New England Patriots usually see action. And if they don’t, I try to follow the other contenders. Two games later, I usually get a quick bite for supper before a Sunday night game that takes me into the midnight hour, provided no overtime. Then it’s the wee hours of morning before I end my bug-eyed marathon.

Thank goodness for Monday because that evening ushers in another game. And now with Thursday night games entering the picture, that gives me nearly a full week in the NFL.

Not enough, especially if you also follow the college ranks. I’ve been known to overdose on Saturday football – day and night --- and that’s not the full story, either.

Ever hear of Fantasy Football? That’s where you enter a mock draft to pick players and teams for your own shot at the Super Bowl. Matter of fact, people pay more credence to the world of fantasy than they do to actual life.

It’s a chance to turn a modest entry fee into some serious cash, but it’s more fun than frenetic. There’s even a Hall of Fame and news bulletins to guide the way.

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