I long for the days when I watched the NFL for the love of the game. There was a time before this sickness overcame me that watching football was a release; a way to relax. Now I watch games agitated and anxious, cursing Joe Gibbs for pulling out my guy, Clinton Portis, at the goal line and allowing Rock Cartwright to score the TD.
I used to root for great teams, great players, great plays. Now I jump out of my recliner and pump my fist whenever T.J. Duckett scores on a 1-yard plunge. I used to be more interested in watching the game itself. Now I sit in a daze watching the individual stats scroll by on ESPN2.