America vs. Columbus Crew. Who Gives a Shit?

So, "América - Columbus Crew" is a thing.

Great.

More goddamn soccer.

My kid probably watches it. My kid watches everything.

He watched me try to fix the leaky faucet yesterday. That was a real nail-biter.

Spoiler: I made it worse.

Anyway, these teams.

Who are they again?

Doesn't matter.

It's Monday morning.

My head feels like a damn bong hit from last night's 'research session' into why Lagavulin exists.

Spoiler: It exists to make Mondays hurt.

And now I'm supposed to care about some blokes kicking a ball.

Honestly, I'd rather watch paint dry. Or listen to my wife explain her dreams.

Equally thrilling.

Maybe I'm just old.

Maybe I'm just tired.

Definitely hungover.

My coffee tastes like despair.

My breakfast was a Pepto Bismol and a prayer.

Then a quick shot of something to take the edge off the prayer.

This is the kind of shit that pops up when you're trying to figure out if you have enough sick days left to just not.

But no. The grind calls.

And the internet, in its infinite wisdom, thinks I need to know about some football match.

I need to know where I left my fucking keys.

I need to know if the dog ate the last Pop-Tart.

I need to know how many more years until retirement.

This sportsball nonsense?

It can wait.

Or not.

Whatever.

Someone pour me another coffee. Or just a beer. It's 9 AM somewhere, right?