So. Sunday. 1 p.m. Eastern.
Forecast is for gray skies. Overcast. Chance of showers.
September. New England. Land of bed & breakfasts gearing up for fall foliage season.
Watching leaves. Change color. Fall.
Y'know. Paul Daugherty's kind of place.
Plenty of raking action.
Especially if you're Bob Kraft. Tom Brady? Well, maybe we can squeeze out a few bucks. Randy Moss? Not so much. And Logan Mankins? We don't need no stinkin' o-line anyhow, right? And even the Pats' own site is down on the defense.
Wasn't it the Mike Browns and not the Krafts who were supposed to be taking a victory lap in the uncapped year?
Anyhow.
It's almost that time. Cleats have been sharpened. Sunday, pads will be lashed onto hulking shoulders. Colors donned. Helmets raised. Chinstraps tightened. The season beckons. And we will march on a road of bones.
Who Freakin' Dey!