Written by Daniel Krieg | 23 January 2010

"...Oh now feel it comin' back again...Forces pullin' from the center of the earth again...I can feel it..."

Ed Kowalczyk and the boys of Live likely did not have the Jets in mind when they penned the lyrics to that beautiful opus, but I totally know how they felt right now.

At my advanced age, I rarely get nervous a full day before a sporting event. But I'm a wreck today. I have that feeling in my stomach.

I haven't left my bed since waking up...at 3 p.m. (except for the addition and removal of waste from my body). You can attribute that to laziness, but more than anything, I don't think my brain would be able to process and complete mundane tasks. I'd drive my car into a tree thinking about whether or not Sanchez will get a good night's sleep. I'd forget the toaster oven was on worrying if Rex will get his 7,000 calorie fix before kickoff. And I'd likely just pass out during any physical activity imagining Shonn Greene stubbing his toe getting on the team bus.

So, in the setup of "Ideas to Fill an Empty Sunday," I give you, "Ideas to Brutally Murder the Next 20 Hours."

-Our last formal of the fall semester at school is "The Hawaiian." Pretty self-explanatory. Naturally, instead of just wearing my 4th grade-Hawaiian-button down, I decided to get a shirt with the Kool-Aid guy saying, "Oh, Yeah!." It seemed clever at the time, but then it was pointed out to me that he has no Hawaiian roots, only tropical. And now the shirt---made of very cheap material---has shrunken to the point where it's unwearable. It's all very upsetting.

(You may be wondering how that anecdote will help you kill time. Well, you just read it, didn't you? There ya go.)

-Just tuned into MLB Network. The classic Game Seven of the '91 World Series is airing. I decided to give the first inning a try. But then I heard a familiar voice. "Is that Tim McCarver?! No! It can't be! That was 19 years ago!" I tried to tell myself it wasn't. (Rather ironic the play-by-play guy was the late Jack Buck, Joe Buck's father.)

I convinced myself it wasn't him until the man uttered these words,"I feel like we've died and gone to Seven."

Yup, that's Tim McCarver.

-Ever realize sports announcers are like well-traveled prostitutes? Think about it. They go from city to city without questioning their employer, talk intimately with people they've never spoken to, do the job, get paid, then go to the next city.

Take Bob Wischusen, the Jets radio play-by-play announcer. He's in Orlando, Florida doing the East-West Shrine Game today. The what game? Exactly. As soon as that game ends he flies to Indianapolis for the AFC Championship game. And I'm sure he has some third-rate college basketball game to announce on Monday night. It's really disgusting.

-In case you weren't familiar with the Weasel Pete reference from my last Mad Men allusion, watch this (searching for right word), moving speech he delivers to Peggy hours after plowing her on the same couch.

That'd be wonderful.

-The clock reads 6:14. For any Rangers, that has to be a good sign for tomorrow.

-I was just looking at the Jets newspaper covers on my wall. My favorite cover (other than "The best Rex we ever had") has to be the picture of Coach having ice water poured on him after clinching the playoff spot. And on closer look, I found more reason to like it. If you look over Rex's left shoulder (on your right), you'll see the It's Time to Hunt Guy. He's everywhere!

-The flight I had ready from Rome to Miami on Friday, Feb. 5 is sold out. There are more confident Jets fans in Italy than me? I'm officially going to have to use every last penny of my West Hills Day Camp check to fund this trip.

-Buy a bottle of champagne. Show some confidence in your football team. Have it on ice and ready to imbibe at roughly this time tomorrow. (Oh wow. "This time tomorrow." Three words that send chills down your spine/make me want to vomit everywhere.)

-If all of these "ideas" have failed, you can always just get drunk or take prescription medications...for a horse. No pill for a human could get me to relax right now. And on second thought, if I got drunk tonight my eyes would probably just glass over, get the deer-in-the-headlights look, stare straight ahead, not talk to anyone and then puke. It all comes back to puking.

There's really no way to brutally murder the next 20 hours.

I lied.

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