Beer and football VII — week thirteen

The game: Rams at Patriots
The beer: Ipswich Riverbend Pilsner
The result: Win, 26–10
The commentary: Last week, before the sad talk, I really got into it with potential tiebreaker scenarios for my ex-knockout pool. The raving led to a "Rooting for ties!" ecstasy that betrayed its improvised roots earlier in the same sentence. You see, I defined "a loss or a tie" as one point deducted, not added (opposing two added for a win), and this fact went out the memory hole twenty-five words later. Old age is a bastard.

The realization hit when introducing my "perfect" plan to A. later in the week during a conversation that, since it would decide nothing in our favor, interested her not at all. She twice told me "I don't get it"—she had a point—and misinterpreted everything as "So you assign different points to each game?" And there it is: genius! Indeed, should I be approached for ideas that do not crumble under minimal review, I will volunteer a confidence-pool solution, which I love even more than I did my heralded (by me) attempt before its unraveling.

Let's revise: "Some games would sort of cancel each other out so let's award two points for a win and minus one for a loss or a tie—if I'd lasted, I'd assign the fewest points to those—as things stand now, if I'd lasted, both sides of week seventeen games Baltimore at Cincinnati [another fuck-up: I played Cincinnati in week four] New Orleans at Atlanta, Dallas at Philadelphia and others other low-tier affairs would be in play and I'd root for ties in each case to earn two points instead of one assign the fewest points to these. Rooting for against ties! I fucking love this idea. Enacting it and dissolving the golden ticket are my special-interest issues next season, if President Trump hasn't killed us all in the meantime."

Much better. That is, unless Trump does his Trump thing.

Up next: Tonight! Patriots! Ravens! Deer antler spray! Deeecepppshunnn! Cheers!