Last week I missed the Titans game for the first time in over a decade — and we had PSLs to the Air McNair show, so I didn’t miss many, if any, then.
(Admitted, I dabbled in some resentment, protest boycott post-#9 trade, but finally accepted being a Titans fan means constantly waiting for the owners to do the shittiest thing conceivable and possible.)
But, no, I didn’t watch or listen to the Titans game at all last week. Intentionally. I did the same thing this week. And look what I missed, woo wee!
I’ll always love my Titans, but meh. For a minute. They just can’t hurt me anymore. Rob Bironas nailed the coffin lid shut. (No pun intended.) It’s not even that I’m tired of spending my noon Sundays watching bad football, because there’s really no one else to watch, reliably, in this market. I’m just taking a break. A year end chill. Or until I forget that I have a owner that tries to convince me how “involved” she has been and who fired the coach mid-season for not protecting the quarterback. When, come on now, if you were involved you should have known we can’t protect the quarterback — the rest of the league does! We went through three quarterbacks last year, and on the last game of the season, we got Charlie Whitehurst hurt. It was like, … hell Rusty Smith is coaching high school football now, who — anybody? — we got left back there! I just needed to breathe for a while. And I need something I can use, blue!