December, or as I call it, the month where I get to blissfully laugh at the New England Patriots, before strolling into work like Homer Simpsons warning of the rapture, declaring how there isn’t a hope in hell that New England are winning the Super Bowl this year.
The tradition almost supersedes the conviction at this point. It’s become a hobby, pastime and tradition all in one, and if I didn’t do it, it’s almost people would suspect that something is wrong.
But as I know well, I’ll be sat, drunk, in a bar at 4.30am come February as Tom Brady stands in front of me, in 4k definition, hoisting yet another Championship while I fall asleep into my pint.
Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to week 14.