Opinion: I Don’t Know If It’s This Jets Game Or These Dick Pills But I’m Ready To Nap

Boy, I sure am tired. It feels like a wave of exhaustion is just washing over me. I don’t know if it’s this Jets game or these dick pills, but I sure am ready to nap.

That’s getting older for you, I guess. Back in the ‘70s, watching Namath and his tight end, I could last all four quarters—and that’s without supplements. Namath was all natural. Maybe I’ve lost my passion for the sport?

I thought the Cialis would last me the whole game, but I can’t seem to sustain any interest in this team even with chemical intervention. They’re a bunch of dogs. Watching them play defense makes me dizzy. Or maybe that’s the dick pills funneling blood from my brain to my shaft. Who knows? All I know is that I’m feeling lightheaded and not the least bit interested in what I’m watching.  

Now that I watch every Jets game, my wife is happier. I feel like a loser—as artificial as the Jets’ turf. Cheering for them feels forced, like it’s fourth and long, but my spark is all gone.

My wife surprised me on my birthday with a trip to MetLife Stadium. Seems like the only thing that gets me going these days is the excitement of being surrounded by thousands of strangers while watching enormous men in helmets get manhandled by some Bears. Then after watching them punch it in, it’s the two-minute warning, and I’m almost ready to go.

I’ve been watching this current Jets game for over four hours. I think I’m going to call a doctor.