You know what I hate? The offseason

There are certain things that will happen over the next few months that will be fun. There's the NFL draft, and there will be talk of free agents and trades that will, from time to time, bring joy.

But let's not kid ourselves ... it's no substitute. It's like giving O'Doul's to a alcoholic and asking him to be happy.

Today just feels so ... grim. I feel like one of those people in Alaska on the first day of about three months of constant darkness. I know it's not going to kill me, and that I'll eventually be fine, but things feel pretty bleak right now. I'm saying goodbye to the sunshine, and I'm not happy about it.

Really, what am I supposed to do on Sundays now, go to church? I would, but Dana Jacobson opened my eyes about religion. Maybe I'll restore a '54 Corvette, despite knowing nothing about cars. Maybe I'll start to "read" these things called "books." Maybe I'll backpack across Europe and find myself. Maybe I'll get a bunch of sheep, and I'll herd them about town until people start calling me "MJD the Kind-hearted Sheepherder." Maybe I'll just sit around in my underwear, eat Cheetos until at least a few of my body parts turn orange, and watch the NFL Network 'round the clock. I don't know what I'll do (that last one seems most likely, though).

I'll try to entertain myself--and possibly you--in the meantime with some college basketball (more on that soon), but right now, my spirits are low. For the next week or two, I'll be crying myself to sleep. Goodbye, sweet NFL.