Most of the time, whether the 49ers win or lose, I enjoy waking up the next day and writing this post. Sure, there are mornings when I’m devastated and can barely speak aloud about the horrors and disappointments of the day before, but even if I shake my head and say, “I’m not ready to discuss it” when someone brings up a particularly poor performance, it’s usually cathartic to put a light-hearted spin on a game that affects my mood and well-being more than anything else on this planet. After yesterday’s 34-16 loss against the Green Bay Packers, however, today’s effort feels more like a homework assignment I’ve put off ‘til the last minute for a class I’ve been taking my whole adult life that, alas, I am never going to pass.
Wow, Daisy. Nothing like drawing your readers in by basically telling them you’d rather be at week-long gynecologist appointment than writing the post they’re currently reading. Anyway.
It's like this: I feel like I keep giving the 49ers everything I have and they give me nothing. I keep believing in them and they keep letting me down. I keep waking up every Sunday, putting my thong on backwards and cheering them on, and they keep acting like they don’t even want to be there. To be fair, they don’t ALWAYS act like they don’t want to be there; just often enough to ensure they remain absolutely and completely mediocre.
