So commoners, your meager World Series was a four game sweep and the long, arduous stickball season is finally over, leaving sports fans plenty of time to fret over the most interesting baseball statistic, how many days until pitchers and catchers report. No, no. Don’t tell me the answer. It wasn’t a question.

I suppose I should commend our San Francisco neighbors on their victory. Congratulations Giants, to show you how much the NFL cares about your pennant — do they still raise those up flag poles or did that go out with flappers and Poirot novels? — we’ve scheduled a game for your own 49ers that will certainly be watched by more fine Americans than any other sporting event today.

Because we’re the only game today.

That’s right. Baseball is finished, the NBA season doesn’t start until tomorrow and by the time the NHL figures out their labor dispute there won’t be enough ice on the planet to host a single hockey game south of Moosetrapbeaverskinmountietown.

Savor this day, fans. Take a picture of yourself with your cellphone and email it to yourself for later so you can remember how happy you looked on this very special day. Suck the marrow out of Monday, October 29, 2012; let the juice run down your chin and lick its fatty richness off of your fingers. Today is only for football and today is for us to feel like gods.

Oh, I’ve been dreaming about this day for years, but something always gets in the way. LeBron this, Jeter that, Ovechinwolosky-Bond villain daring to skate on Super Bowl Sunday, the disrespectful MAC conference daring to schedule games during my — MY — Thursday night matches. They know the NFL crushes them on a regular basis and yet they continue with their insolent insistence of playing in their lesser leagues when we are the true rulers of the land. I know their days are numbered. Baseball will eventually die off like boxing, the NBA will contract to six teams trading the same twelve players back and forth until they’ve bankrupted that shoe-shilling whore Mark Cuban. Probably for the best, it’s so unseemly for the man signing the checks to have to sell himself like that to make ends meet. Imagine the disgrace if Arthur Blank started doing commercials for Travelodges or Zantac. How would he be able shake Roddy White’s hand like a man on Sunday? We only let Jerry do the pizza ads just to make sure he’s got enough dough to stay even with Yankee money, and even then he just blows his endorsement money on Thomas Kincaid Christmas figurines. Just look at that Forbes list, though. It’s the very definition of power. The majority of the top 50 valued sports franchises in the whole world belong to the NFL. The Lakers aren’t even worth as much as the Kansas City Chiefs and they’re located in a city a tenth of the size of Los Angeles, not to mention the fact we only allow them to have a winning season every three or four years. Pathetic.

This shouldn’t be about the failures of other leagues though, this should be about our triumph. The taste of today’s solitary ownership of the nation’s sports cycle should inspire the NFL to grow even bigger so we can vanquish our foes and have even more NFL-only days. No one yammering on about the WAR, the plus-minus, or player efficiency. Just running yardage, interceptions and 3-down conversion percentage, just as God and nature intended. ESPN can evacuate Bristol and broadcast the NFL Network feed from our hurricane-safe Culver City studio and no one will know the difference.

Yes, it’s glorious. The NFL owns today.

Now kneel down and enjoy it.