While football teams have sweated in training camp, I've begun my own conditioning for the season. Coach John is unmerciful. "Even though the Steelers won it all last year," he tells himself, "They were more hot than good. They didn't even win their division. They had to win four games at the end of the year just to get into the playoffs. Hell, even at 11-5, they still needed Kansas City to lose. And then once they were there, they won two games on two plays—Carson Palmer's knee injury and Mike Vanderjagt's slice."
"You don't know that Carson Palmer would have helped. The Steelers thumped Cincinnati on the road earlier in the year. And Vanderjagt never should have been kicking that field goal."
"Shut up, Logical John. There is no room for you here. Anyway, like I was saying, with Kimo and El and Hope and Bettis all gone, this marginal team didn't exactly get better. And everyone else in the division did. Face it. There's no reason to expect the Steelers to even make the playoffs. Start lowering expectations. Way low. Brace for them to break your heart."
I told Katrina about my preseason thought process.
"You're psychotic," she snarled. I find that Seahawks fans, especially, aren't receptive to my whiney-assed kvetching.
So after spending Thursday night tossing and turning and mercilessly lowering my own expectations for my pro team's prospects, Friday morning I spied my alma mater on the cover of USA Today:
"OHIO STATE FAVORED TO WIN NATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP."
No. No no no no no no no. I can so not deal with this season. Paxil might help. Maybe striknyne. Yeah, striknyne.