For those of you who don’t know, my name is NumbBono, and I’m a Detroit Lions fan.  My disease was passed down to me genetically from my father.  Over the years, I’ve been enabled by family and friends with Detroit Lion gifts including clothing, wind chimes, socks, underwear, coats, playing cards, and many other similar items.

The first car I bought when I graduated from college was a blue Ford Thunderbird, because the Ford family owns the Lions, and…well…it was blue.


Before this decade, I used to not be able to sleep on Saturdays before games, because I was too nervous.  Each game meant something.  We (and yes, I call my team we…and us…fuck you if you have a problem with that) were usually in the thick of a playoff race throughout the nineties, and each game actually meant something.

The solution for this gameday-eve insomnia (I have friends that shared the same problem), was copious amounts of alcohol consumed at many different establishments Saturday evening.  Drink enough, and you’ll fall asleep…somewhere.

But it never failed, on gameday, we’d be up at 7:30, still stinking drunk, but unable to sleep more than the couple of hours that our bodies had been forced to shut down.  That was the idea.

A greasy breakfast, a few urgent trips to the head, and pregame on in the background. Then we’d head to the bar to watch our teams play, and love every minute of it.

It was so much fun back then.


Turn the PageI have absolutely no reason to look forward to Sunday Football.  I know my team will lose, the only question is whether or not the Lion’s opponent will let their foot off their throat long enough to make it semi-exciting.

I pretend I don’t care about the 0-16 thing.  I joke about it. I laugh about it.  I put up a tough front.

But the truth is……

It fucking kills me.  I cried today. I was prepared though, I knew we weren’t gonna win for the first time in FudgePacker land in 17 years, so I prepared…and we lost…and I still cried.

I was alone at home with Numb Jr, who fortunately is just young enough to not let the site of his daddy shedding a tear about a sports team permanently scar his innermost “I Love Daddy” thoughts.

Now mind you, this crying thing wasn’t a big production…hell, I’m no Julia Roberts, it was just a couple of tears that trickled out of my already misty eyes as the final seconds rolled off the clock.  That’s all.

Today is my birthday now.  How great is that.