As of now, I'm officially turning in my New Orleans Saints fan card. At least for this season.
It's not because I hate the team (though its current bastardized form is in several literal and tangible respects the worst ever). It's because sports is supposed to be a release, and watching such subpar "football" only serves to make me depressed. And I'm already depressed.
Depressed because the NFL has such a taint to it this year. It's bad enough as a Saints fan post-Bountygate; it's worse to see the Falcons be the best team in the league. It hurts to have snarling fans of other teams tell me things like, "Told you this would happen! You were naive to expect anything else." I never wanted the haters to be right. I wanted my increasingly selective optimism, not their smug pessimism, to rule the day.
Depressed because, on a more personal level, I'm struggling to get back on my feet. I've stayed busy and productive but have little to show for it. I'm not in the best place. It's mostly my fault, but that doesn't make it hurt any less. Sadly, this isn't the first time I've been here and it may not be the last. I'm hopeful for the future, but for now it's still the future.
This year's Saints remind me of myself. For both of us, 2012 is a mulligan year seemingly destined from the outset to bring disaster due to past mistakes and the questionable handling thereof. There's always next year, but it's a question of getting through the remaining months first. The fuel that will guide us back to success is what we learn from the hardship.
I feel that pain every time I look in the mirror. I don't need to see it on TV too.
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