Two Monday Night Football games, folks. Double the action, double the excuses to call in sick Tuesday. Here’s what went down while I was busy turning my living room into a recycling plant.
Dolphins 27, Jets 21: Miami finally got its first win, and Jets fans got another reason to say “maybe next year.” Tyreek Hill left with a knee injury, which means my fantasy season also left on a stretcher. Thanks, universe. The Jets are now 0–4, which is the same number of beers I crushed per quarter. Coincidence? I think not.
Broncos 20, Bengals 17: Out in Denver, the Broncos squeaked out a victory against Cincinnati. I don’t know how they did it — probably witchcraft, or the Bengals just forgot how football works. Either way, I cheered so loud my neighbor knocked on the door. I offered him a beer. He declined. Rude.
The real winner of the night? The bar down the street where I racked up a tab bigger than Russell Wilson’s contract. The real losers? My liver, my dignity, and anyone who drafted Hill, Joe Burrow, or, heaven forbid, a Jets player.
So, two games, two stories: the Dolphins remembered how to play, the Jets remembered they can’t, the Broncos got lucky, and the Bengals proved misery loves company. Me? I’ll be sleeping this one off until Thursday Night Football.
