In a couple of days, our long, national nightmare will be over. No, not the Democratic and Republican national conventions. I’m talking about the NFL preseason.

I have to admit, as a child growing up in Green Bay, I went to any preseason game I could. One, I didn’t know any better, and two, kids tickets at Lambeau Field in the mid and late 1970s were $3.50 — which is still too much to pay to watch the back-ups and have-no-chances play make-believe. I also still sneak a glance every now and then, but once the starters are gone, so am I.
A long time ago on a bar stool far, far away, a wise old man told me something I still believe today. Between sips, he said: “Preseason games are good for two things, injuries and football pools.”

Don’t believe him? Just ask Osi Umenyiora, Chad Johnson or Jason Taylor — oh yeah, and that guy celebrating over there because that missed field goal by the camp fodder kicker nobody ever heard of just preserved his victory in the office pool.

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