I came home from school today, slathered some peanut butter and jelly on wheat, grabbed some Cheetos and a Pepsi and plopped down in front of my television ready to see what daytime TV would offer a lad looking to kill time.

My natural instinct is to flip it to the four-letter network. (Yes, THAT one.) It was, to my dismay, "NFL Live."

With a mouth full of sandwich, I checked my phone (Who uses calendars anyway?). Just as I suspected, it said May 15. My brain began to wonder. Was the NFL season starting early this season? Was the preseason a month around the corner? I thought the camps were in June or July, one of those hot months. A quick search online proved that everything was still the same. The season still starts in September, the preseason is in August, and the camps are being held during the summer.

"The rookie minicamps!" I exclaimed. That must be why I'm being subjected to the NFL in the middle of May. Another search online showed that those were over. I racked my brain trying to think of a logical solution, but nothing came to me. That's when it hit me out of nowhere:

There is no logical solution.

We all love the NFL. It provides great theater each and every week. The parity is out-of-this-world good, and you never know who could be the next '99 Rams. (Still miss ya!)

But it's time to cut back. I don't know if the NFL and "NFL Live" are working partners, and frankly, I don't care. But what I do care about is seeing this great sport become oversaturated. My interest has already begun waning. I'm paying less and less attention every year because it's being rammed down our throats during the offseason. I don't need 20 pre-draft analysis' every day for three weeks. I don't need 10 post-draft analysis' and I certainly don't need to be updated on the period between rookie camp and minicamp.

Ask yourself this, did you wake up this morning needing to know what Mark Schlereth or anybody else thinks about Reggie Bush getting the No. 5? And more importantly, is that debate even necessary when we're in the middle of the NBA Playoffs, NHL Playoffs and the early goings of the MLB season? The NFL gets more face time than any other sport during the regular season, why not shine a spotlight on the crazy foreigners taking slapshots to the head every night? Or how about cutting back on Part 45 of T.O. vs. Bill Parcells and give us a complete breakdown of the NBA Playoffs without guys that scream at the top of their lungs? Perhaps we could have a real baseball show that talks about players not named Barry Bonds, Alex Rodriguez or Randy Johnson.

All I ask is that I be able to wake up at the crack of noon, turn on the television and watch sports that are currently relevant. Tom Brady's chin dimple, T.O.'s whine and Reggie donning No. 5 can wait.

Hello, kids.

Let me paint a picture for you. It's a bleak one.

It's 12:39 a.m. I'm laying on my bed in front of my laptop watching the FSN Baseball Report. I have a movie review due for class in less than 24 hours, and I'm writing the whole thing from memory. I have a psychology final in less than 72 hours. I have an art final a few hours before that, but is that really important? Plus, I have a nagging finance final due before 3 p.m. on Monday. There's probably something else to do still, but I'm putting it off for as long as I can. Besides, I have a district baseball game to cover tomorrow.

I'm tired, I'm thirsty and I'm stressed out. It's a terrible combination. I wasted an hour of my life at a sports banquet tonight. Thrilling isn't it?

So where are we at? I have a lot of schoolwork, a lot of work work and I'm in a nasty mood because I'm feeling dehydrated and I spent time with kids who I thought I had gotten away from two years ago. But there was a shiny sliver of hope that burst through the gray clouds that have become a permanent resident in the state of Missouri. They were two beautiful words, perhaps the simplest and most maginificent words that man has put together in the English language. Two words that are synonymous with each other and have blended together to make poetry:

Cubs lose.

That's right, the Chicago Cubs lost. It wasn't just a tiny loss, it was a blowout. Those are my favorites. Seeing Cub fan twist in the wind and beat him/herself up over an agonizing loss is just what I needed to perk my evening. For a moment, I forgot that I have a long weekend ahead. I forgot all my troubles for just one second when that beautiful ticker flashed  "SD 10 CHI 5." It was as if God was saying "Cheer up, buddy, there's still the Cubs."

There's still the Cubs indeed. Any time I'm feeling down about the Cardinals losing, or just upset at one of life's great swerves, a Cubs loss cheers me up, if only for a second. Sure it doesn't sound good that I derive happiness from seeing fans of another team down in the dumps about their own team, but before you judge, ask yourself if you don't get just an extra spring in that step when you see your hated rival lose. I do, and I'm not ashamed to admit it.

"But, Ryan," you say, "the Cardinals won! Can't you just be happy with that?"

Well, yeah, but it was another unflattering start by Mark Mulder, Albert Pujols only got one hit, John Rodriguez's average sunk below .400, Jason Isringhausen allowed a run after tossing back-to-back perfect innings and Scott Rolen did not have a hit. There were some bright spots. Jim Edmonds cranked a home run, Brad Thompson continued to defy MLB rules and pitch at the age of 13 (and brilliantly I might add). But it was the Diamondbacks, and here's the big one: Jason Marquis throws tomorrow. That's enough to make a Cardinal fan completely skip the game and immerse him/herself in something way more exciting like watching a "Real World" marathon. In fact, I slept through his last start. That was a blast. Here's what he has done in his last four starts:

22.2 IP, 33 H, 22 ER, 13 BB, 8 K, 7 HR

8.91 ERA, 2.07 WHIP, 3.24 K/9, 13.37 H/9

This is why the Cubs losing puts me from a bad mood to a semi-bad mood. Yes, the Cardinals won tonight, but they are not going to tomorrow. Reading "Cubs lose 12 out of past 14" and seeing Glendon Rusch's ERA reach Rick Helling heights is enough to make me forget the pesky homework and heartbreaking loss that is sure to cloudy up my Saturday.