Laying down on the couch with beer du jour and maybe some Triscuits on a Sunday afternoon is my time.
Kids are asleep, wife is usually busy with a book or her scrapbooking, and on the electronic television is some form athletic competition. For most of the year, I'll watch a golf ball being struck towards impossible pin placements and envy those who manage to not bounce those Titleist off the roofs of the multi-million dollar homes that line the 11th hole fairways. And once the beer is 2/3rds gone I'll drift into a slumber fit for large grizzly bear.
With the Vikes on, I'll grab my #99 personalized jersey and yell at the TV for two hours regardless of their record at the time.
But good grief, how bad can an offense be before you just cash it in, and just watch the only thing worth spending a few brain cells viewing.
Much like watching golf and hoping that Tiger is near the top of the leaderboard to make it interesting to watch, if Peterson isn't catching a screen pass or running over a cornerback, I'll be catching up on my nap time.