Beer and football VI — week two

The game: Patriots at Bills
The beer: Ipswich Route 101 India Pale Ale
The result: Win, 40–32; Saints lose, 26–19
The commentary: "You guys mind if I run back inside for the last minute of the game?" With my mom visiting we retired to the back yard, the Pats seemingly in control with eight minutes remaining and an eighteen-point lead. But then the noises—"Gah!" "Noooo!" "Fuuuuuuck!"—were heard from neighboring homes. What's their problem? Did they pick the Dolphins or something? Might as well check my phone to see if the Pats game is over yet. "Gah!" Five minutes left and the Bills down by five? Refresh! Refresh! I could barely stand it at the two-minute warning and eventually begged off, leaving A. and my mom to watch G. hop around the yard and climb all over her new jungle gym (which was not assembled in time for her birthday party because, I don't know, weeds).

Minutes earlier A. and I were mourning the Saints' loss and my resulting exit from this year's knockout pool. "Well," I told her, "if only one of my teams could win today I'm glad it was the Pats." Next thing I know I'm muttering to myself on my way up the steps, wondering how it's possible for both teams to lose. TV: on. Sole hope was for Tyrod Taylor to continue exposing himself as not the bearded droid—now winning games in Jersey—Bills fans are looking for. And… wait for it… interception! Rex Ryan's hubris can have a strong influence on the weak-minded.

And the Saints? The Saints! Apparently they suck this year, as they did last year despite my lucky week-three victory before the hopelessness set in. On Sunday they took down ten of us. Ten! Ten! Others went out on the Seahawks in Green Bay, the Ravens in Oakland, the Titans in Cleveland and the fucking Dolphins in Jacksonville. All away teams, you say? The first two I can understand, as it's hard to believe both the Seahawks and the Ravens are winless. Still too risky this early. And the Titans? Who impressed the world by beating the (mostly) godforsaken Bucs last week? They're worth a pick? No. But hats off to the guy who trusted the barely-beat-the-Redskins Dolphins. Come on, man. Just admit you can't smell what the Rock is cooking.

The Saints, though, were This Week's No-Brainer against the lowly, Titans-fearing Bucs. One hundred percent of "experts," as collated by the helpful NFL Pick Watch, confirmed my decision and favored the Saints. I figured I'd move on to week three with, say, nine other people who were fine to play it safe like Swapnil in Project Runway. (Listen, Swapnil, I've liked your stuff so far but if you don't win one of the next four challenges you're going home after Laurie, Merline, Lindsey and Lindsey's ironic granny glasses. God, I hate her.) It's hard to be angry over a fluke result. Drag. However, with only two people (two!) moving on to week three unscathed (Bruno is officially out, wishing he'd saved his ridiculous Bucs pick for Sunday), I figure now's as good a time as any to throw twenty-five more units on the fire and keep things rolling lest my superior tracking spreadsheet go to waste. I have A's permission and I'd already sketched out the next three weeks anyway. Hubris indeed.

Up next: Oh good, someone scheduled a kid's birthday party on Sunday afternoon. Cheers!