Football season's over. Again. The same ledge on the same roof in the same city. It's not the same as last year. Alcon's clean and sober and not suicidal this time. It's not that he's used to it or that he expected it, but he's not stunned by it either. It just wasn't our time. It wasn't delusion or illusion this year. Merely hope. The eternal hope that the energy we put into it every day every week for 17 weeks will result in glory. Now it's the off-season and there's no lockout to ruin it but potentially Armageddon. Satan's forces are working away and all Alcon wants is for the evil bastards to be kept at bay long enough for the Falcons to win a Superbowl.