I Hate Football

I hate football. I really do. There's nothing good about it. If you invited me to a football game with you, I'd laugh in your face. At best. At worst, I would quickly decline, then utter something derogatory, such as conjecturing that your mother is a prostitute.

I mention all of this because there was a Browns game today, and the Browns Stadium is right next door, so I have to wade through a sea of orange-wearing, domestic beer-swilling fucktards today just to get where I'm going.

An hour or so later, I see everybody filing into the stadium. A few more hours after that, I see them filing out.

Being borderline retarded myself, I generally don't pay much attention to the obvious emotional state of humans. Facial expressions, for instance, are like a code I don't even try to break. But it was obvious enough even to me from the quiet, orderly way in which fans were leaving that the Browns probably got bested by the Pittsburgh Steelers. I made a note to check NFL.com for the final score and promptly forgot all about it.

Now, I notice that the stadium is empty all but for a few shambling facilities staff. I immediately hit NFL.com to check so I don't forget. I want to know how badly the Browns have to get beaten in order to obtain that dreary death march of an evacuation. I tell you, folks: it was like a procession of librarians. Or nuns. A crowd of your average, obnoxious football hooligans that was somehow utterly devoid of all reverie. It could have been a funeral for a head of state there was so much solemnity in the crowd.

As it turns out, the Browns have to get trounced 41 to 0 in order to get a reaction like that. Damn, dudes. Why even bother showing up to play if you're going to suck that badly? And fans: why even bother showing up to watch?