When Do I Leave This NFL Sunday Party?

“Hey, do you want to come over for the Bears game?”

“Absolutely!”

“Starts at noon! Bring chips!”

“Will do!”

12:00. Sunday, September 8th. Chicago. Southport & Wellington. Some guy’s apartment.

“You give Cutler time and he’s great!”

“The Bengals suck anyway!”

Halftime.

“Yikes. At least they’re still in it!”

“Lot of time left!”

“Robbie Gould’s career long field goal, you guys!”

“No one cares about the kicking game!”

7:52 left to go in the third. Bengals up 21-10.

“The defense can’t stop anything!”

“I wish Urlacher was still here!”

Bears rally, take the lead in the fourth.

“Brandon Marshall is a god!”

“Cutler is the future Super Bowl MVP!”

“Um, guys? Robbie Gould?!”

“Will you shut up?”

Game over, Bears win, 24-21.

“Super Bowl, baby!”

“No doubt!”

Whoo! Oh my God, Bears! Thanks for giving me something to talk about with the co-workers tomorrow! I didn’t want to have to say how great Andy Dalton was anymore.

Jesus, what the hell is this now. No one’s leaving? Maybe we’re just winding down for a few minutes. Finish some open beers, then out the door, right? Okay.

Wait a minute, they’re opening new beers. Holy shit, someone just ordered a pizza. What’s going on here? This is going to go on? There’s only two games at 3:30, it doesn’t even make sense. Bears won, let’s move on with our lives.

Well, shit. I can’t go if no one is going. I’ve got laundry up to the goddamn ceiling, but what am I supposed to do? Bail? Plus, no one ate the chips I brought. I better get them in a bowl, stat. They’re even eating those gross Spicy Sweet Chili Doritos, for Chrissakes. I thought someone brought those as a joke. Everyone too good for Lay’s?!

The Packers game?! I don’t want to sit here and watch the Packers game! I don’t even know half these people. I swear to God, next time someone asks me to watch a game, it’s at the bar or nowhere! Fucking Aaron Rodgers. You know who’s a classless piece of shit? Clay Matthews. What am I doing here?

“What do you want on the pizza?”

“Pepperoni, idiot!”

“Better get that sausage, son!”

“Olives!”

“That’s disgusting!”

“Your face is disgusting!”

“Everybody throw in your five bucks, you cheap bastards!”

Oh Christ. This is the day then, I guess. This is my Sunday. I’ve gotta go to work tomorrow. Hell, Boardwalk Empire is back tonight, I don’t want to be drunk off my ass for it.

“Dude, beer?”

“Hell yeah!”

What am I doing? I should just go. I can just sneak out and text this guy later. That’s dumb, I should just say I’m going. But now I’ve got a full beer and pizza is on the way. I already paid! Well, shit. Okay, it’s only 4, lots of time, even if I can’t get out of here until halftime. 

“Aaron Rodgers sucks!”

“Yeah he does!”

“Kaepernick! My fantasy team is rolling today!”

“Robbie Gould got me 9 points!”

“You’re down by 70 though!”

Oh man. I need to pace myself better. Look at all those Kaepernicks. The Packers can’t stop five of that guy! Shit I’m drunk.

Game over. Niners beat Packers, 34-28.

“Whooooooo!”

“Yeeeeeeaaaaaah! Bears win, Packers lose, holy shit!”

“Awesome!”

“America!”

grrrrrrllllllllbbbbb. bus. bus track-urfh. 

“Dude, beer?”

“Ssshure.”

I’ve gotta go hlome. home. right now. my shoes. full beer. oops.

whoops. whups. where did i put…is that girl wearing my shoes? why is she wearing my shoes? oh oh, i’ve still got ’em on. we’re okay. it’s okay now. we – we’re leaving now…aren’t…football?

“Giants/Cowboys, assholes!”

Grrrbbbb flllbbb hrrrrrrr.

*ASLEEP*