To the Tennessee Titans, cellar dwellers in the AFC south for a long time. Thank you for a wonderful showing in 2017.
To Aaron Donald, a huge block in the Rams wall. You are the Defensive Player of the Year
To the Minnesota Vikings, like the 1992 Miami Dolphins, you came this close to playing in a Super Bowl in your home staduim. You'e almost over the hump. Keep it going.
To Alvin Kamara and Marshon Lattimore, offensive and defensive rookies of the year on the SAME TEAM. May you ride this wave of confidence into long and respectful careers.
To JJ Watt. Man of the Year, for raising all that money to help Hurricane Harvey victims in your city, I salute your service.
To the Jacksonville Jaguars, stuck being a sub .500 team all these years, you made it to the AFC Title game and came this close to knocking off a dynasty. Don't you dare hang your heads.
To Sean McVay, leading the woeful Rams out of suckitude to an NFC West Divisional Title. Welcome to the Coach of the Year Club.
To Matt Patricia. After all these years as an assistant, you finally get a chance to run the show. Make the most of itl.
To Ray Lewis, Brian Urlacher, and Randy Moss. You are the newest members of the Hall of Fame and you deserve it.
To Carson Palmer. You led teams to the playoffs in two different cities on bum knees. You were a warrior on the field and a class act off it. We will miss you tremendously.
To Doug Pederson, coaching a Super Bowl Champion. Soak this one in as it could be the first of many or your first and only.
To Nick Foles. You had a starting gig snatched away from you and came off the bench to help your team into the playoffs, then shined on the big stage. Super Bowl MVP. Nuff said.
To the Philadelphia Eagles. You've finally made it to the winner's circle and aint it so sweet??
I sit in my bedroom and look out the window. It is a dark, stormy night in St Petersburg, FL tonight. The skies are dark and pregnant. The rain streams down my window like tears. Team media guides lay unopened on my desk. The Detroit Lions, the New York Giants, my beloved Tampa Bay Buccaneers. A text message vibrates on my phone from one of my high school teammates, former Oakland Raiders safety Ted Watts. It says, "Great game. Six months till the Hall of Fame Game, right?"
Six months of nothing. All across America next Sunday will be empty NFL stadiums, stadiums that once held thousands of screaming rabid fans. No cheerleaders or officiating crews will be reporting to work on Sunday. Soon these stadiums will see the cold winds of winter blowing debris across the seats. Team pendants will be taken down, jerseys hung up in closets, and grills/coolers will be stored in garages. While the rest of the sports world tunes in to other things like MLB Spring Training, the NCAA Tournament and the NHL/NBA playoffs, the football diehards like myself will go into hibernation until August, coming out once in late April for the NFL Draft.
And so it's time to say goodbye to another NFL season. As the Eagles swarm the podium, basking in the joy of a Super Bowl win so richly deserved, I fight the same tears I have fought at this time of the year.
NFL Football. I live for this.
