Ray Rice failed to get into the endzone on a two yard draw play that cost my fantasy team what would have been a fourth straight victory. Don’t even get me started on Steve Smith or Brandon Pettigrew. Trade bait? Maybe. The day had started out so promising, but like the fire in the fireplace, it spit to an end, leaving some good wood charred but not fully burnt.
Monday, October 1st:
Ray Rice weighed heavy on my mind over a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios. The hot dark roast failed to comfort the sting of the loss, as I double checked the scores to make sure they hadn’t changed. The dry toast went half eaten, before it was tossed angrily into the trash.
Tuesday, October 2nd:
Ray Rice better score this weekend. His production is good, but that’s only if you look at the numbers. Three happy meals were passed through the window into the waiting white SUV in front of me. I wonder if they still get toys in the box. I hope the kids don’t choke. Goddamned Ray Rice.
Wednesday, October 3rd:
Ray Rice didn’t participate fully in practice today. What the fuck does that mean? Is he hurt? I do not want to start Cedric Benson. CiCi is looking at me like I’m crazy. I don’t think I swore out loud.
Thursday, October 4th:
Ray Rice is probable. Relief.
Friday, October 5th:
Ray Rice is projected to score 14 points this weekend against KC. I took one last look at my phone to make sure he was in the line-up for Sunday. Bridget glared at me. I put the phone back in my pocket before grabbing the bourbon that was three fingers deep, wrapped around some ice cubes shaped like canoes.
Saturday, October 6th:
Ray Rice, I assume, made it to Kansas City without getting hurt. I turned on the computer, reaching for the Advil on the nightstand. The beginnings of a headache pressed tightly at the bridge of my nose. No news on the Ravens flight.
Sunday, October 7th:
Ray Rice is in the starting line-up. Rex takes his position on the chaise lounge, already snoring before the pregame show ended, oblivious to the tense shoulders on the other side of the couch. The bottle twisted open with a crisp snap. Vortex bottles and vested interest. Let's go Ray Rice...