It’s a stoop night here in East Bay. Valley breeze & an incredible sundown from the west; Supermoon in the east. All things beautiful, but I’m trying to shake off the guilt over not watching either Sunday Night or Monday Night Football. It sounds a bit weird, but when sports is a primary way to relate to family and good friends, it’s painful not to stay in the loop. Otherwise, my sports-oriented friends and family don’t often keep up when I tell them I’m learning JavaScript and building a platform.

Still wading in the shallow end of my career.

Getting lost in my own work still scares me. I hate reading up on the last menial Google change despite my career but I still feel the overwhelming urge to know whether or not Detroit held their lead on the Giants last night. I love staying on top of sports stories, almost to my detriment. I don’t get paid by sports. I don’t have stock in a sports team. I still have 3 years of eligibility of college basketball, but I don’t have many callers these days for a two-guard 50 lbs. overweight and too-many-years-to-count since he last suited up. Katie had to pull me away from the TV on Sunday so I wouldn’t get so angsty over my fantasy football team while my JavaScript book sat there not-reading itself.

Putting effort into something which gives no reciprocity is a bit stupid.

The Chicago Bears didn’t listen when I said to fire defensive coordinator Mel Tucker and start Josh McCown over Jay Cutler. They kept Tucker, gave Cutler a huge raise and let McCown go to Lovie out in Tampa. Now, despite the overhaul of personel on Defense, the Bears have more holes in their D-Line than a gopher field. Jay Cutler still tries too hard to make a play, like he does every year. Josh McCown is starting in Tampa. And the Bears are 0-1 after not being able to hold down the vaulted Buffalo offensive surge. Good God.

It’s out of my control. I don’t get a say. I have to roll with the punches when being a fan. And I don’t want to do that any more.

I’m too old to watch someone else make all the decisions that can determine my joy. And I don’t have my friends around to enjoy the game with.

Hell, I didn’t even want to play fantasy football this year but then I moved 2,200 miles west. I wanted to do something stay in touch with my friends back home and they didn’t want to do coding – go fig.

And to my knowledge, I don’t have any kids that I could share the experience with and share their joy in their heros.

And let’s not even talk about Ray Rice & TMZ.

That shit’s not worth the mention but to say I’d be lying if I said it didn’t factor into my decision. And that story’s only going to get crazier-than-fiction before it’s done.

I can only sway back and forth in the pounding waves of manipulated news cycles before I throw up.

Kicking the football habit.

It’ll feel like overcoming an addiction, complete with shakes and swearing, but until I get my coding cross-training done, I will have to treat the training like Grad School. Which means either I give up time hanging out with my fiancee and dogs in the California sun, or I give up watching something of which I have no other involvement. There ain’t time for both.

And if my father taught me anything, it’s that only a fool ever considers giving up his family.

Now, how to tell my family, “No. I didn’t see that play, either…”

“But I did hardcode a parallax gallery from scratch and researched the history of an Amos Lee cover.”

I can hear the OldOld Man now,

“I’m not sure I follow, but so long as you’re happy.”

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