Apparently the Tampa Bay Buccaneers aren't, if today is any indication. Jesus. And meanwhile the Broncos managed to eke out a 9-6 win, in a game that must have been so boring (I only saw the first half) that I've simultaneously converted to Christianity, Judaism and Islam to thank the various deities for not making me see more than the first half of the game.
There is no real way around it: I am drunk. Shitfaced, eleven-hours-of-drinking drunk. I met multiple lovely girls today: one was a Falcons fan who's appropriately insane and praised me for keeping my Buccaneers jersey on, much in the way one would praise a Special Olympics participant for a fourth place finish. One my friends didn't bother to introduce me to, even though she was lovely and I didn't have any line better than "how about Marty Straka?" One, later on, in another bar, apparently had a "boyfriend" already. Goddammit.
In the course of today's "action," if you can call it that, I called my old friend Kynan several times. Kynan is a Raiders fan, which makes him almost as sad-sack as a Bucs fan. The call cut off, apparently because God or Allah or Zoroaster or whatever can't stand the fans of two such shitty teams conversing, but I effectively made this bet: whichever of our two teams scores the most points this season, the correlating (?) fan wins something awesome. Kynan hasn't totally agreed to this, but I bet he will. (I would have invited Robb into this, but as a Saints fan, he's experienced both "touchdowns" and "victory" -- foreign concepts)
The score after week one (eventually I'll find some sort of tool that sorts this, but did I mention I'm drunk?):
Raiders 6, Bucs 3
We're in a hole, but I'm confident we can break out.
Now I just have to let Kynan know. Go Bucs.