SACO, Me. - Love is waking up and checking the Retired Orangemen yahoo
league page before even taking a piss or eating breakfast.
Love is being forced to live seven weeks away from your home and wearing
nothing but the ROFFL Draft T-shirt.
Love is texting in your picks from B.J. Surhoff day, knocking on the door
first, and "On the Road With the Ravens."
Love is winning the whole fucking thing. Twice.
Love is Tom Brady to Randy Moss.
Love is football in Central Park and New Year's at Bar East.
Love is doubling down on 11 when the dealer has a face card.
Love is StatTracker; the best $9.95 you've ever spent in your life.
Love is checking your team, posting messages and editing your smacktalk from another continent, where fantasy football is a menu item, not a way
of life.
Love is the afro.
Love is Orangepeel.
Love is wasting company dollars, company supplies and company postage.
Love is coming in second. Twice.
Love is ripping your own selections, your own team, your own decisions year after year and then flying off the handle when given credit.
Love is flying in from the West Coast for one night with your friends.
Love is announcing that you're getting married and then seconds later hunkering down for an afternoon in a disgusting hotel room on the Jersey
Shore.
Love is wishing every weekend was Draft Weekend.
Love is www.retiredorangemen.com.
Love is "Random Thoughts," even though there's nothing random about it; it's straight football, baby.
Love is picking nothing but winners, draft speeches and custom shirts.
Love is hating Mike Holmgren, Nate Burelson and Quentin Griffin.
Love is not being married.
Love is never spelling anything wrrightt, botched trades and being overrated.
Love is saying 'to hell with preparation.'
Love is driving four hours, not to be a part of the Draft but just to hang out.
Love is karaoke and building cities on rock and roll.
Love is Hooters, the House of Blues and rub-a-dub-dub.
Love is "What Good Looking People Think" even though most of us aren't anywhere near good looking.
Love is watching a player go down, going to pick him up, and finding out you're too late.
Love is taking 500 pictures and complaining about posing for 495 of them.
Love is surfing through said pictures a couple weeks later while at work with a huge smile on your face.
Love is the Atlantic Palace Suites and five dollar parking at Bally's.
Love is knowing that on any given Sunday there are 13 other people doing exactly the same thing you are.
Love is having clue what's going to happen next.
Love is sleeping on the floor in the clothes you wore the night prior.
Love is ending the streak, falling asleep on the beach, wearing pink socks and no fat chicks.
Love is the Colt .45s.
Love is preposterous stories about Bacardi girls and giant Coors Light cardboard cutouts that taunt us.
Love is bean dip, stale pizza and donuts.
Love is quoting the summer's chic movie until we're blue in the balls.
Love is the Toilet Bowl.
Love is drafting rookies, team names that don't make sense and owners who don't give a shit.
Love is the countdown to the playoffs.
Love is The Trophy.
Love is fantasy football. Retired Orangemen Fantasy Football.
league page before even taking a piss or eating breakfast.
Love is being forced to live seven weeks away from your home and wearing
nothing but the ROFFL Draft T-shirt.
Love is texting in your picks from B.J. Surhoff day, knocking on the door
first, and "On the Road With the Ravens."
Love is winning the whole fucking thing. Twice.
Love is Tom Brady to Randy Moss.
Love is football in Central Park and New Year's at Bar East.
Love is doubling down on 11 when the dealer has a face card.
Love is StatTracker; the best $9.95 you've ever spent in your life.
Love is checking your team, posting messages and editing your smacktalk from another continent, where fantasy football is a menu item, not a way
of life.
Love is the afro.
Love is Orangepeel.
Love is wasting company dollars, company supplies and company postage.
Love is coming in second. Twice.
Love is ripping your own selections, your own team, your own decisions year after year and then flying off the handle when given credit.
Love is flying in from the West Coast for one night with your friends.
Love is announcing that you're getting married and then seconds later hunkering down for an afternoon in a disgusting hotel room on the Jersey
Shore.
Love is wishing every weekend was Draft Weekend.
Love is www.retiredorangemen.com.
Love is "Random Thoughts," even though there's nothing random about it; it's straight football, baby.
Love is picking nothing but winners, draft speeches and custom shirts.
Love is hating Mike Holmgren, Nate Burelson and Quentin Griffin.
Love is not being married.
Love is never spelling anything wrrightt, botched trades and being overrated.
Love is saying 'to hell with preparation.'
Love is driving four hours, not to be a part of the Draft but just to hang out.
Love is karaoke and building cities on rock and roll.
Love is Hooters, the House of Blues and rub-a-dub-dub.
Love is "What Good Looking People Think" even though most of us aren't anywhere near good looking.
Love is watching a player go down, going to pick him up, and finding out you're too late.
Love is taking 500 pictures and complaining about posing for 495 of them.
Love is surfing through said pictures a couple weeks later while at work with a huge smile on your face.
Love is the Atlantic Palace Suites and five dollar parking at Bally's.
Love is knowing that on any given Sunday there are 13 other people doing exactly the same thing you are.
Love is having clue what's going to happen next.
Love is sleeping on the floor in the clothes you wore the night prior.
Love is ending the streak, falling asleep on the beach, wearing pink socks and no fat chicks.
Love is the Colt .45s.
Love is preposterous stories about Bacardi girls and giant Coors Light cardboard cutouts that taunt us.
Love is bean dip, stale pizza and donuts.
Love is quoting the summer's chic movie until we're blue in the balls.
Love is the Toilet Bowl.
Love is drafting rookies, team names that don't make sense and owners who don't give a shit.
Love is the countdown to the playoffs.
Love is The Trophy.
Love is fantasy football. Retired Orangemen Fantasy Football.
