It's late afternoon on Sunday. The weekend hourglass is trickling down to its last bit of sand and you feel a pervasive sadness cascading over you. As the afternoon wanes into evening, the intensity of the "Sunday blues" gets worse.
It's a time-honored NYC tradition that, in its most basic form, involves Bloody Mary's and Eggs Benedict. While I was in London, it became obvious real quick that on Sundays the English either have breakfast, lunch, dinner or a Roast -- with a capital R.
Patriots at Bills. The Bills are looking good through week 2. Guess we'll find out how good this week. Bills. (Yes, I seriously just called the Bills to beat the Patriots. I'm either crazy, or I'm going to look like an f-ing genius Sunday.)