Doesn't football usually happen in the dead of night, like car thefts and lucid moments of self-awareness? But now it's happening in the morning, before brunch? Everything is topsy-turvy.
Teams named after imaginary birds are battling teams named after real birds! And the fate of the world lies in the balance. Or something. I don't know anything about football, but I have learned not to argue with Nate Silver.
Someone let me know what happens, please; I'm going to be too busy painting my fingernails and getting some writing done for next week's paper to watch the game. (Or is it called a match? Whatever.)