How it works is, they start to talk:

“Sooo, Mister David–”
“You’ve got, you’ve got a couple of games lined up?”
“Well I looked at it from a couple of different angles, is what I did…”

And god knows I respect their right to talk football, but I just don’t care. I more than don’t care. I anti-care.

“…but, I mean, maybe I’m way–”
“–well I know what you–”
“–way off, but, I mean, Cleveland stinks…”

And so I grab the head phones and cue up the loudest songs on Factory Showroom and let John and John drown it out. And then curse myself for not picking an album with fewer quiet bits.