Oh boy oh boy oh boy, on Sunday the Patriots are playing in an interesting game for the first time since the leaves were alive, and the timing couldn't be better. The Pats are playing the Broncos in Denver on the very same late afternoon that I've chosen as the start date for my emergency last-minute backslide into low-level confusion and dysfunction, lest I be too highly evolved come January.
Every year I make the same limp, vague, and deathly essential New Year's resolution to get my shit together. Of course I'm much too wordy and grandiose to just write GYST on the inside of all my underwear as a morning reminder that there are serious lifestyle matters that need tending to. Instead I write myself a 2,500 word tough love/tender hate letter detailing all of the various ways in which the next year's version of me can be a little bit better than the current model.
Last year I think I must have been more modest in the specifics of the GYST plan, because a happy and productive fall has put me perilously close to exceeding my goals. For example, I mastered the art of black bean soup-making by mid-February after a scant six weeks of single-minded focus and determination, which put me nearly a month ahead of the game since I hadn't planned to start working on my telephone manners until St. Patrick's Day (bad habit of hanging up without any prior hint of intention to do so; sometimes it's apparently unclear to the other, yappier party that a conversation has run its course).
I won't thrill you with the rest of the list, but suffice it to say that I'm on a new laundry regimen and have a friendlier attitude toward the strangers in my building away from being fresh out of ideas for self-improvement in 2012. That would be cause for celebration if I intended to die or stop setting goals, but I like to live and scheme, so I need to dial back the newfound competence for the next couple weeks so I have more to work toward next year. And it looks like the NFL schedule-makers have seen fit to elect Tim Tebow as the honorary captain of the first day of my late-2011 self-deprovment bender.
You're familiar with this Tebow character, yes? He's the Broncos fascinating-as-athletes go new quarterback. He's a famously pleasant and charming young man who is also a vocal evangelical Christian, so people have all SORTS of opinions about him.
He seems like a nice enough guy to me, but I'm mostly interested in the very strange way he plays his position. About 90 percent of a quarterback's job is to throw the ball well, and he does not do this. He runs around fairly well, but plenty of other QBs run around better. Yet somehow the Broncos keep winning in weird ways. So that makes him worth watching on Sunday under any circumstances, and doubly so under circumstances that will have me drinking pitchered beer and yelling for his demise. Thanks, Tim!
For the Deviled Eggs
Of course any reasonable chef's first instinct when honoring Denver via deviled eggs would be to somehow incorporate the Rocky Mountain oyster, but I couldn't find the requisite testicles or courage, so instead we're going to acknowledge Denver's status as the birthplace of the Chipotle chain. Make your deviled eggs per the Bittman recipe, then throw a burrito on top. Or stir a little bit of the adobo sauce from a can of chipotles.
For the Bloody Mary
This was also a tough assignment. Denver's most notable contribution to the national drinking imagination is as the American headquarters of Molson Coors, but yuck and no way to that. So I let my mind wander instead to Denver's other major cultural phenomenon, the aforementioned Mr. Tebow.
I gather he's not much of a drinker, so great, more for the rest of us. I also understand that he was home-schooled. Now let me say that despite being a liberal atheist elitist etc. etc., I think home-schooling seems like a perfectly good option depending on your circumstances and priorities.
The one thing that worries me about home-schooled kids, though, is their lack of school cafeteria experience. How do the rest of the Broncos feel about being led by a man who is quite likely to have never eaten a tater tot? And oh by the way, he's a virgin. Also a perfectly good option depending on your circumstances and priorities, but it is also the reason that this week's Bloody Mary is going to be sans alcohol. Thanks, Tim!