“Watching the Bills every year is like bearing witness to an isolated tribe living in the Aleutian island chain, where kids trek to school in snowshoes and their parents swill paint thinner while carving tally marks into a nearby wooden plank with a bowie knife to count down the days until it’s time to reconvene with the Lord. The Bills are a portrait of despair. I don’t even like thinking about them. I was in coma for two weeks last winter and the nicest thing about it was that I never once thought of the Bills. Now I’m alive again and just the IDEA of the Bills still existing makes me yearn to be eaten by a frost bear and sent back into the great blackness, where all is quiet and Cole Beasley doesn’t exist.”