And then there’s me. Sitting here watching the New York Jets and New York Mets and the New York Knicks, riding a never ending merry go round of misery. Like an absolute schmuck. It all starts a few months back with the slim possibility of drafting Zion Williamson, and the never-actually-existed-possibility of landing Kevin Durant. Never once did I actually allow myself to believe that was going to happen. I was the asshole pointing out that there was an 86% chance of NOT landing Zion and that there is a 100% chance that no major free agent will ever sign with the Knicks because of James Dolan. But there I was…writing the blogs and live streaming the lottery, lying to myself in order to have some sort of hope and some sort of excitement.

I’m turning 35 this upcoming year. March 6th, word to Shaquille O’Neal and Michelangelo. The painter, not the turtle. Both March 6th guys. And let’s just say if we’re doing the Olympic podium, I’d be standing on the lowest block with a Bronze medal. Shaq is the Most Dominant of All Time. Michelangelo probably is too. Da Vinci might like a word but if you’re talking any and all mediums – oil, Wood, Stone, etc – he’s the GOAT.

Fast forward a couple months to the Mets season…after underachieving for months and earning themselves a June Cuncel, the Mets rattle off 15 of 16 and come storming back into the picture. And there I was, full well knowing that this team never had any intentions of winning this year, didn’t make the necessary moves at the deadline to be a real winner, and were only building up our confidence and passion to tear us right the fuck down. In my head I knew that the 65% chance to make the playoffs and the 35% chance to win the World Series and all those made up, pipe dream numbers were complete nonsense. But there I was…7:10pm watching every night, pouring my heart and soul back into this godforsaken team, knowing that this train was about to go over a cliff and still riding on it full speed ahead. I thought to myself “well how bad could it possibly get? I’ve seen it all. Been through it all. This team can’t hurt me worse than they already have.” Then the 7 Run 9th Inning happened and I went further beyond rock bottom than ever before.

Which brings us to Sunday. Brings us to football season. I made a promise to myself. I told myself to be positive about the Jets. I had just suffered through this Double Cuncel debacle with the Mets and I’ve spent weeks arguing with other fans about fandom and how to root for your team, I said fuck it. Have some confidence, get your hopes up and believe in your quarterback and have some fun. And then what happens? Basically the equivalent of the 7 Run 9th Inning. The Jets lose an IMPOSSIBLE game to one of the worst franchises in football. 4 turnovers somehow only resulting in 6 points, and blow a 16 point lead in the 3rd and 4th quarter to quickly dash any dreams of these guys being an easy, fun, reliable team. Of course it’s only week 1 and it’s not like the season is over, but it was a QUICK and RUTHLESS reminder that some things will never change, and that getting your hopes up if you live the life I live is STUPID.

Watch: The Goddamn Jets – Season 3, Episode 1: https://twitter.com/kfcbarstool/status/1170824490378510339?s=21

And it’s not just my bad teams, it’s the other side of the coin too. Week 1 the Jets go out there and do what the Jets do- find an impossible way to redefine losing. And what do the Patriots do? Eradicate one of the crown jewel franchises in football by 30 fucking points. The 20th fucking season with Tom Brady, 18th year of him going out there doing Tom Brady things. Run their opponent off the field while they wait for a Hall of Fame receiver to join the squad next week, and a Hall of Fame TE to join in a few months. Feitelberg doing what Feitelberg does – cackle in my face while thinking about how easy his life is. Dave doing what Dave does – laugh all the way to the bank and continue to make millions off Boston teams winning. So I pose this question to you. It’s the question I woke up to, burning into my cerebrum. I woke up like a modern day philosopher, pondering one simple yet extremely complex question – what’s the point? What. Is. The. Fucking. Point? I’m 35 years old. Been living as a conscious, aware human being of my own for 25-30 years. And NOTHING has changed in that time. Why the fuck do I continue to live this way? It is the literal definition of insanity. For the last 3 decades I have been seeking happiness and satisfaction in something that I should consume as nothing more than entertainment. Seeking some sort of stable source of joy from something you have ZERO control over. Expecting to see change in something that will NEVER FUCKING CHANGE. What is even the point Of watching another single fucking second of this? I’ve seen the script. I’ve read it like 3 times a year for three decades. THUREE. THRICE.

And it’s not just sports, man. It’s just life in general. What’s the point of any of this? Like I’m 10 years in to my career now and making more money than I used to. Like everybody else, right? But for every additional dollar I’ve earned in my salary, I’ve added 2 dollars in bills and costs. I had wayyyyyy more money when I was making about 5 times less money. So whats the goddam point there? I added podcasts to blogging, and radio to podcasts, and video to all of it. Create show after show after show, all to make more money. Just to turn around and to give away to other people. My oldest kid is 3.5 and I’ve been paying “Tuition” for 2 years now. Tuition! The T Word! Life as a parent is so goddam expensive it’s just as bad as owning a horse or a boat. I got 2 living, breathing money pits. They say the 2 best days of your life as a parent are the day you get your kids and the day you get rid of em. College graduation can’t come soon enough. Maybe by then I’ll get to enjoy some of the money I make. At this point I’d rather just go back to blogging 12x per day for 50K. Whats the point of the money if it all goes to someone else?

And how about my love life? Whats the fucking POINT of that one? I tried the marriage thing. Really didnt work out for me and thats putting it lightly. So now where do you go? When you think about it, almost every relationship you ever get involved in ends in disaster. 99.9% of relationships you engage in end with someone getting dumped. Someone getting hurt. Someone feeling guilty and someone feeling rejected. But you keep trying because you hold out hope you’re gonna find that special someone. Well, like I said I already tried that. Its not for me. So if you dont wanna get married again, then you can rest assured that 100% of relationships now…not just 99.9%…will end poorly. Whats the point of entering into ANY of those if you know, with certainty, that it only leads to a messy, confusing, stressful situation? When you think about it, my love life now is exactly like rooting for the Mets and Jets. I’m looking for happiness in a situation that I know is doomed from the jump. Trying to enjoy something in the moment when I KNOW it’s inevitably going to lead to heartache long term. Boy oh boy, that’s bleak. Q: “How would you describe your love life?” A: the Mets blowing a 6 run lead in the 9th.” Christ.

So if I’m not focusing on my money and I’m not focusing on romance, what then? Friends? HA. Yea, sure. Let me just go hang out with my friends as a 35 year old dude. Everyone is wifed up and drowning in kids and bills. The hangovers are 10 times as crippling as they used to be. Everyone has a curfew imposed by a spouse or their own bodies. The repercussions of going out – all the various forms – just make it not even worth it.

So to recap – my only “hobby” is completely pointless, fruitless, and detrimental to my happiness. My professional life is nothing more than 24/7 ridicule in order to earn a paycheck, of which the vast majority goes to bills, things/experiences my kids are too young to even understand, remember or appreciate. And my love life is an awkward exercise of trying to find happiness which I know is absolutely impossible because I have an ex wife, 2 kids, and a completely overbearing job that affords me zero time or privacy.

I know one of you assholes is gonna say “you should travel!” Oh yea, sure thing, Peter Pan! Can you reserve me a room for zero days, negative nights in fucking Never Neverland! I got no money and even less time to stop everything and go play pretend in a foreign country for 2 weeks. Maybe when I’m like 65 I can travel. That’s if I’m even still alive.

Oh, and I had to give up my dog a few years back and he lives with my parents now. Nice.

But hey the Mets beat the D’Backs last night! LFGM!

PS – a 50 year old woman basically tried to fuck me in the elevator at work yesterday and I was getting HEAVY sugar mama/sugar baby vibes. Listen to the podcast for the full story but I think after writing this blog I have no choice but to pursue that life, no? Go be an Instathot traveling with my Silver Fox slampiece on the Almafi Coast while she pays for my kids Pre-K “tuition.” Call Her Mommy! Let’s fucking go!