The 2025 NFL playoffs have a different look, and I’m here for it. Don’t bother me this weekend, or Monday night. I’m unavailable for comment. I don’t want to talk to anyone, but texts are OK.
That doesn’t apply to my beloved wife … actually it does.
A conversation from earlier today:
Her: “Hey, Bo, I want to go out for pancakes on Sunday morning.”
Me: “Well, the kickoff for the Sunday’s first game is 11 a.m., but I want to watch the pregame shows, and make some bets, so we ain’t going to a fancy brunch spot. We’re eating early. OK? Be ready to leave the house at 6:30 a.m.”
I’ll be watching seven NFL wild-card games. I’ll be transacting wagers on my phone to DraftKings sportsbook. I’ll consume piles of chicken wings. A bloody mary (or two) may be involved. My thirst for action will be quenched. My hunger will be tended to. My antacid tablets are standing by. I’ve put up a Blue Tent in my home office – you know, just like the ones you see behind the benches during football games – in case I require emergency treatment.