NFL: Good. American. Football.

Football season is over. Sad, yes. But it’s also time to wash all those pairs of panties you tangled while officiating from your armchair. Yes, college needs a D-1A playoff system. Yes, Utah got passed over like a homely “middle” bride. But quit whining about football not having playoffs, ’cause you know what had playoffs this year? Football. That’s right, zealots: I’m talking about the NFL.

Seriously, come off the college game for a minute. You should get three credit hours just for devoting time to it! Don’t get me wrong – some people can do it, like that guy who rings up your live bait and/or coleslaw at the country gas station.

How does he do this, you ask? How does he propagate the 40 begats it takes to figure out how Pope Urban University (PUU, the “Legends”) affects Mississippi State’s strength of schedule? It’s simple:

•He keeps all schedules memorized, in lieu of, say, his wife’s name. That information is written in his “church” underwear.
•The computer ranking is based on schedule points, sh–tty weather points, number of virgins on the cheerleading squad (“pure” points), and whether or not you are Notre Dame.
•Add these to the two human1 polls, divide by Avogadro’s number, and A+B+C usually equals … USC and some other team. The champions* are crowned again!

So then, as college football ended for another year, what did you do? Did you just give up? Did you mail dog poop to The Associated Press? OK, after that. Admit it: You watched the NFL playoffs and the Super Bowl! And you liked it, you naughty, naughty person!

But you shouldn’t see this as an admission. THE NFL IS NOT A GUILTY PLEASURE. You shouldn’t be ashamed to love it. You should love it … because it is great f–king football. (No degree required!)

And even if you wouldn’t admit it at the water cooler, you did love it. You were pulling for the Cardinals like they fell from a nest onto your porch. Hell, you cried when Larry Fitzgerald caught for 152 yards and 3 touchdowns to recover the lead and beat the Eagles. (’Course, you’d also downed a 6-pack of Tecate by then, and you were wiping your tears on the pizza…)

A shout-out to our other stars: take Kurt Warner, the veteran who was run out of St. Louis on a rail (more because of his propensity for finger injuries than anything else)! But this year, Warner amassed 770 postseason yards at a completion percentage of 66.3. What’s more is that these numbers only cap the career of a man who carried the Rams and the Cardinals to Super Bowls like a white school bus carries Christians to camp. The next stop for Warner? Canton!

And Pittsburgh, the Steel City, home to Heinz ketchup and “Gotchoo” vehicle impoundment. Never has there been a year when Pittsburgh missed Plaxico so little … hell, the man’s name sounds like a dental supply company! It’s true that Ben Roethlisberger’s beard made him look like the love child of Han Solo and a female Wookiee. But did you see the AFC championship? As in Santonio Holmes’ 65-yard, first-quarter touchdown reception? Baltimore had set up the blitz, but Big Ben had the time. He connected with Holmes, who ran with the speed the pros get from carrying a football. It was like puttin’ brown sugar on a toad3!

That game was like watching a movie where the irony wrote itself. What else could you call it when Clark knocked the Gatorade out of McGahee, and the PA at Heinz field never killed the pop soundtrack? McGahee got a neck injury, the benches looked like funeral homes, and all you heard was Matchbox 20. But maybe that’s what made the Steeler defense so tough this year. You saw LaMarr Woodley dancing around like a Rockette…

Friends, fans, paste-eaters – I don’t know who you rooted for this year. For some of you it was the Steelers, for some of you it was the Cardinals, and for some of you it was John McCain (it’s over and he lost; hope that helps). But either way, I hope you stood up for your fanship and took the year by its inaugural balls, because enjoying the NFL doesn’t mean you paint your chest or eat Chunky Soup. You don’t have to change your ring tone to “America – F–k Yeah!” And best of all, you don’t have to feel like an idiot every time you tune into ESPN on a Thursday night and don’t recognize PUU.

All you have to do is tune in on a Sunday for the action and drama that only the pros can supply. No, genius, not Desperate Housewives. I’m saying that, next fall, you can watch the NFL without shame4!

1 May or may not actually mean “chimpanzee.2”

2 Not to be confused with “delegate.”

* May or may not have a *.

3 Not recommended.

4 You just have to re-adopt “pants.”