- Associated Press - Friday, September 6, 2013

Well, it’s that time of year again, when Americans across the land take an extended break from being productive at work, paying attention to trouble spots overseas, or noticing they have a family.

Our long national nightmare is over.

Since early February, we’ve had to get by with such mundane pursuits as pretending we care about politics, spending quality time with the kids, or _ gasp! _ watching the occasional hockey game (a caveat: this usually occurred only when flipping through channels in a futile bid to find someone yelling about Tim Tebow).

Sure, there was the occasional respite in our joyless lives.

The draft. Free agency. Watching repeated repeats of the 1976 Super Bowl on NFL Network.

But now, we are truly whole again.

We get to spend six days a week working on our fantasy league roster, deciding how much of that mortgage check can be diverted to betting on the Giants, and listening to the talking heads chatter on endlessly about which teams need a third-string quarterback (why won’t they give Tebow a shot, for heaven’s sake?)

Then, comes Sunday.

Glorious, glorious Sunday.

No need for pews when you’ve got a Barcalounger. The 50-inch, hi-def screen is our pulpit. All is right with the world _ unless our team loses, of course. But that ain’t happening. No way. Seriously, we killed it in free agency, and our GM really likes the rookies he drafted, and at least we don’t have Tebow mucking up our roster.

What’s that you say?

It’s just a game. There’s no balance in our lives. We should spend more time worrying about a potential war in Syria than we do about Rex Ryan’s latest gaffe.

Well, clearly, you’re European or something.

This is what we live for.

This is all we live for.

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