This will be the last time I write something about the Buffalo Bills. At least until 2010. If all goes well, I won’t do it then, either.

Not that I ever have anything insightful to say about the assholes.

I should have known our relationship was on thin ice on Christmas Eve day when my dad e-mailed an offer to buy tickets to the upcoming Bills-Falcons game in Atlanta, and I very nearly turned it down. Since Sept. 14, my spectrum of emotions triggered by the Bills has resembled that of a pregnant teenager: There have been highs, for sure, but it’s the lows I tend to remember.

Bills sign T.O. Bills are going to be all right, especially since Trent Edwards looked like a respectable quarterback after last season. Marshawn Lynch is an animal. Fred Jackson’s a more than capable complement. And that defense? A group of no-namers whose names would be known after the 2009 season.

At least we all thought as much.

Turned out Trent Edwards is a moron. Terrell Owens isn’t any good when no one gets him the ball. Marshawn Lynch gets arrested, Fred Jackson can’t carry an offense by himself and the defense endured more injuries than Ireland during its 1845 potato famine.

I no longer keep track of the Bills record. I let it go after they lost to New England last week. Actually, since I did know it was 5-8 coming into last Sunday’s 17-10 loss to the Pats, I guess it’s 5-10 now. Oh well. At least they didn’t go 7-9 again.

As I walked out of the Georgia Dome this afternoon, there was a new sensation over me. Indifference. Did I care that Falcon fans were making fun of the Bills faithful? Nah. Nothing to play for at this point in the season – losing is losing, even if it did come to the tune of a 31-3 spanking.

Besides, come playoffs, Atlanta fans aren’t going to be watching their team play either.

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