My first season as a Bills fan we made the playoffs and then let Blake Dumpster Diver Bortles ruins it. I was told to expect ups and downs and that we would lose to anyone. Well I guess it can’t get much better than letting Mr. Dump himself do it by posting yet another barely average pass performance.

At that point garbage becomes an understatement. Only refuse would have to be directed to pass to his own receivers. The Bills still had their first playoff berth in nearly two decades shut down by the garbage man who is worse than you remember him being the last time he played. This is a recurring déjà vu that feels more like a nightmare that you are stuck in for however many years it takes him to get the hint that literally no one likes him - not even his mom smiles when he drops by - and he finally retires or preferably he gets injured and then that way the team can make an excuse to never have his trash arm throw another garbage ball for the rest of time. Wouldn’t that be nice to never smell the garbage tuck backing into the showers ever again? Despite the stars aligning and their one chance to get rid of him, Jacksonville gives him another shot because why not he’s been solidly acceptable and satisfactory depending on who’s being asked? They come at him with a 5 year contract. It’s at this point that I finally let myself cry, I will cry every time the déjà vu plays itself through, each Sunday seeming worse than the other but the passer rating somehow stays in the low 80s and that’s Bortles comfort zone, everyone is satisfied with him even Blake Claptrap Bortles thinks he’s finally getting better. The tears are the only thing that feel real anymore, they provide me comfort because my life has gotten so terrible that crying is the one thing that I can identify with anymore, crying and Blake’s balding head which looks like he is starting his own private landfill on his head that only he can play with. There is one thing that keeps my head up high and my neck near but never noose: the fact that the Garbage man will most likely die before me. It’s the only way that my life could turnaround so that I don’t shame my parents by being buried near them. The one victory I might hold over the guy who kicked the Bills out the one year I allowed my ego to open itself up to the pain of rooting for the Bills in public. The one year I stand behind the Bills they turn around and let themselves get beaten by Blake “rubbish refuse remains” Bortles. His nickname is automatically cooler than him because it contains one more alliteration that’s the level of suck that’s standard here. It’s the one victory I get to hold over him and he will never know. Not unless I am the one to decide when that victory is granted. I don’t know if I’d have the strength, I’d be given the opportunity to fix everything and probably ask him how he stays relevant in the league after so long and then I wake up... or fall asleep... I’m confused as to where the metaphor ends. That’s the story of how Blake Bortles ruins the 2017 season singlehandedly and made everything that was once joyous now filled with pain and melancholy.