Kickass and the football purge
Kickass, the doorstop dog, says the keeper anticipated some sort of adjustment period with his divorce from football last season, perhaps a recognition of something missing that had just been there so long it was part of the furniture. There had been that perverse epiphany when at the end of a Badgers or Packers game, the keeper looked at himself in the great mirror of time and asked, “What the hell did I just do? Did I actually just sit on my ass for four hours and watch young men I do not know bang their heads together as part of an empire of billionaire team owners who don’t give a rat’s ass about fractured skulls in elementary schools, and did I really give a rat’s ass as to which team won?”
When the keeper gets wound up like that it can lead to life-bending u-turns that might leave embarrassing questions: If not sitting on your ass watching football, what? What, indeed? The keeper has no idea what he has done with those hours he heretofore spent watching football, but it was not something that had been woven into his existence by a feckless commercial entity.
He feels better about that, which is to say the keeper is most comfortable in a state of completely undirected and unmanaged mental suspension. He might like to think of this as wisdom, when it is actually nothing more than recognizing the grand confusing bull crap of life.