Last time we won the division I had no wife, no kids. I had my whole life ahead of me and my dreams still smelt of roses instead of stale piss. I had hair, could drink all night and not feel a thing in the morning. I could get out of a chair without making a noise, listen to music at full volume without complaining it was too loud. I regularly spent the night with women whose names I didn't know in the morning and still don't know now. The week before I had scored four touchdowns in a single game. I was a hero. I was happy dammit.
Now here I am selling shoes for a living, wondering how the hell Jim Kelly and Thurman Thomas and Bruce Smith and Andre Reed suddenly got so old, just waiting for a young man who was barely out of his father's sack in 95 to lead us to another division triumph. And I know if they can do it I will remember once more what it's like to be young, to be free, to be a winner.