There is a time for logic, a time for fact, a time for cold, hard analysis. I think that time is 2:30 on Tuesday afternoon.
But Sunday morning, well, that’s another story. Everyone is a dreamer on Sunday morning, at least until the kids wake you up, which is why I make no apologies for the following football predictions:
Lions 17, Falcons 6: Of course we win. Of course we surprise everybody. Of course people go, “Hey! Wow! The Lions! Whadya think?” Of course.
Dolphins 24, Oilers 13: Moon under Miami.
49ers 31, Vikings 3: But Joe Montana buys Bud Grant a Coke afterward.
Rams 2, Broncos 1: Dieter Brock goes for a two-point conversion, saying,
“Hey, that’s the way we did it in Canada.” John Elway responds with the NFL version, showing, once again, that he did not major in math at Stanford.
Cardinals 28, Browns 9: Ber-nie, Ber-nie, Ber-nie . . .
Bears 16, Bucs 0: Unlike Chicago, they don’t use brass knuckles in Tampa Bay. It ruins the tan line.
Raiders 50, Jets 10: Howie Long wraps up Ken O’Brien in something fitting, a roll. He then smears mustard on him and bites his head off.
Packers 14, Patriots 10: Naturally. What’s a new season without an upset of
Eagles 20, Giants 17: I’m sorry. New York has the Mets. New York has the Yankees. New York has Patrick Ewing. Can you imagine how obnoxious they’ll be if their football teams are any good? No. It’s unbearable. No. No way. Sorry.
Seahawks 24, Bengals 10: Warner smothers.
Chargers 28, Bills 3: Remember when Vince Ferragamo was the handsome hero of Los Angeles? Now he’s in Buffalo. As Fernando might say, “You look maaahvelous . . . but can you throw?”
Steelers 31, Colts 21: Exactly the point spread. Art Schlichter isn’t taking any chances.
Saints 20, Chiefs 17: No, wait . . . Chiefs 16, Saints 10: No, hold it .
. . Saints 3, Chiefs 3 . . . ah, who cares? MONDAY NIGHT
Redskins 28, Cowboys 16: The old gray cowpokes ain’t what they used to be. Even their cheerleaders have lost a step.