FOXBOROUGH, Mass. -- Is it kickoff yet?
Deflate it, hate it, feel about what's about to take to take place at Gillette Stadium however you will, but count me among the elated that, come 8:32 p.m., this sickening summer of NFL suspensions, substance abuse, court cases and emasculated commissioners will, at the very least, be paused by a ball being booted high into the New England night sky.
I'll love it. No lie. No apology.
For three hours and change, I'll focus on actual football. And it will be fantastic.
It'll take me back to childhood, when I fell in love with Mean Joe, with beating the Browns and Bengals, with Chuck Noll giving our city cause for pride as we watched our classmates and their families migrate toward more job-friendly climes, with the most complete athletes on our planet, with John Facenda narrating the script, with Montana and Marino, Terry and Troy, Earl and Emmitt, Jerome and Jerry, and countless other giants of the game.
It'll take me back to football.
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