By disposition, I despise Mondays (excepting holidays). After all, Monday is the first day of the workweek that stands between me and the next weekend. In my view, I work to live, not vice versa, so I set considerable store by what I do with me and mine between 4:30 Friday afternoon and bedtime Sunday, that dread overnight when sweet dreams, haunted by the prospect of awakening to Monday’s blue, turn dark and drear.
But during football season, one variable plays with how I’m going to bear Monday: If the Saints win, Monday is less blue and bearable; if the Saints lose, Monday is more blue and unearable.
When the Saints win, I can take a break from work (like I’m doing now) to see what’s posting on the latest ESPN blogs. After work, I tune in the WWL radio Second Guess talk-show and listen to the colorful commentary on why there’s no need to second-guess what happened, because we won. Then when the radio show ends, it’s time for another dose of Monday Night Football kickoff. The world is rosey, even Mondays when the stock market tumbles or it rains all day.
Thankfully, the Saints are good in this season of my life, as they win considerably more than they lose.
If they really stunk week after week, I’d probably have to give up watching them, lest I be given over to depression, lethargy, or madness.