A Dream Sunday (Inspired by the NFL)

A dream Sunday means different things to different people.

Yours goes something like this.

 

Morning

You sleep in a bit, but not too much.

You got a lot to do after all.

First things first—the fantasy football lineup.

It’s the perfect week. No injuries. No start ’em, sit ’em debates.

You’re happy but a little anxious. The fact that no further fantasy research is required means a longer-than-usual wait for kickoff.

But the London game!

And the London game pregame!

You still have a little time to kill, so you peruse the New York Times headlines.

You stumble across one of those wellness articles. It turns out that binge drinking is healthy—but only when coupled with high fat foods.

To start your new diet, you run to the Tim Hortons drive-thru for a sausage, egg, and cheese. That’ll pair well with the breakfast of champions—Guinness.

You vow to stay under 1000 steps for the day.

You can’t remember if there are any kid activities today—actually, you can never remember.

Kickoff!

You don’t care who wins, but you have a running back on each team.

 

Afternoon

Aside from a few refills on the breakfast, you haven’t strayed too far.

The family’s awake, and the kids say that they want to watch football all day.

Your wife asks if she can make chicken wings and nachos.

Based on the wellness article, you approve.

Your buddy stops by with a few growlers.

“The perfectly balanced IPA,” he says.

You’re ready for lunch anyway, and you dive in.

The next set of games gets going.

Your team is playing, and you happen to have their quarterback.

They both blow up.

The wings are amazing. You secretly wonder what it would be like if someone took the meat off and spooned it into your mouth with blue cheese dressing.

Your buddy has to take off—something to do with his family. You’re not really listening, but you make sure he leaves the growlers.

There’s a small gap between games, and everyone asks you to blast some music.

“Play that song you’ve been listening to every day for the past 30 years,” your wife requests. “And turn it up the way you do when you’ve been drinking too much.”

You oblige.

You’re so pumped that you yell, “Let’s order pizza!”

You pretend you’re busy so someone else does the ordering.

 

Evening

Your wife indicates that she doesn’t want to watch 60 Minutes today.

“I’d rather watch the highlights of the games you’ve already watched and listen to some dudes talk about them over and over,” she says.

You’ve won your fantasy game, and you still have a couple players going tonight to pad the points.

Your friends and family text to congratulate you on a job well done and remind you just how competent you are.

To celebrate, you dip into another growler.

Then your boss texts.

No need to come in to work tomorrow. Things are looking really light.

You’ll probably be hungover anyway, he adds with one of those smiley face emojis.

We’ll talk about the raise on Tuesday.

 

Night

The kids are asleep, and the couch has taken the shape of your backside.

You hold off on the sixth slice of pizza to save room for dessert—pigs in a blanket.

And just so the IPA doesn’t go flat, you finish it off.

You realize you’ve been watching football for 14 hours, and the exhaustion of a dream Sunday starts to set in.

Rather than exert yourself even more, you decide to fall asleep on the couch in lieu of walking up the stairs.

As you start to drift off, your wife looks at you adoringly.

“I’m so lucky to have met you,” she says.