To continue Football Week on Kempt, our DC correspondent pens a Dear John letter to the NFL.
Itâ€™s over between us. Iâ€™m moving on.
You probably thought Iâ€™d never leave. Not after 29 years together. But I just canâ€™t do it anymore. Yeah, we may have a backslide or twoâ€”a stolen glance at a scoreboard, a drunken tryst on the occasional Monday nightâ€”but as a relationship, weâ€™re deader than pigskin.
I know what youâ€™re thinking: this is probably about the parade of concussions and other grisly injuries. Or the slap-on-the-wrist suspensions for wife beating. Or the maybe-racist team nickname. Or the byzantine set of rules.