How to ruin your Sundays in two easy steps — but wait, there's more!

My latest column, in which I explain and apologize for my recent absence from this platform, while providing some quick tips on how to make Sundays anything but fun days in the fall

ANKENY — Please allow me to get something out of the way before I offer you a handful of handy hints to ensure your Sundays drag you into the depths of despair this fall and for countless years to come.

Photo by Marcus Reubenstein on Unsplash

I know — the anticipation and exhilaration! —but I must offer you, my dear readers, a heartfelt apology before the ensuing fun and frivolity.

I screwed up. I went nearly three weeks between Substack posts after pledging to provide you with a column at least once a week. I failed you this month (so far) and I don’t take that letdown lightly.

Frankly, the past couple of weeks it took every ounce of my emotional and physical strength to merely keep up with my weekly duties pertaining to covering the Iowa State Cyclones.

Why’s that?

Exactly two weeks ago, my brother-in-law, Nicolaas Bertelsen, lost his father, Roger, after a long battle with cholangiocarcinoma. Roger, a longtime educator and advisor, was 71. He was also one of the warmest, most generous, and funniest men I have ever known. His funeral service fell on the Saturday that Iowa State’s football team traveled to Ohio and laid an egg in a 10-7 loss. For once on a Saturday in the fall, I didn’t pay any attention to the Cyclones while they played an important game. Saying goodbye to Roger was all that mattered and I want to offer further condolences to all the Bertelsens as they both simultaneously grieve his loss and fondly remember his inspiring life. I was honored to know him, mourn his death, and honor his impact on Ames and the greater world around us. We all miss you, Roger. Keep singing with the angels.

I could have gotten back on track with Substack last week, but a severe head cold took hold of me instead. I got through that, despite the painful pressure that spanned the back of my head to the tip of my nose, and feel like I produced some compelling stories about the Cyclones in advance of their much-needed Big 12 season-opening win Saturday over Oklahoma State.

So ISU’s football team is back. So am I. But I should not have been gone so long. It’s inexcusable and I’m back on a regular schedule now — and eager to share my tips on how to ensure your Sundays will stink for at least the next couple of months.

Take them as either a warning or an invitation. We’ve still likely got several days of nice weather to enjoy as fall tightens its grip on the season and leaves begin changing, then parachuting from our tree’s branches, so I’d encourage you to take the following as a warning — but, hey, you do you!

Never, ever, ever, ever, ever (I mean this) go to Costco on a Sunday. I’m aware that this is long-standing good advice; a cardinal rule in retail shopping if ever one existed.

But I bucked it, because of course I did, yesterday.

“Surely,” I thought, “if I could get into the cavernous warehouse filled with great deals and many items no one truly needs before 11 a.m., it won’t be that crazy-busy.”

That’s what I told myself. I’m not sure I believed it, but I chose to try to will it into existence.

Dumb, dumb, wishful thinking. Halfway there, the driver of a recent vintage Buick Regal chose to floor it alongside me as each light turned green. Tires squealed. I chuckled. He did it repeatedly, though, and I grew concerned. A few stop lights up, he clipped the curb and let it grind his front left tire for a bit. Then he dangerously weaved in and out to barely round a pickup truck. “What a fool,” I thought — and then I realized something: We were almost to Costco. This “fool” and I were likely going to the same place, and sure enough, he skidded into the parking lot as I gingerly steered far, far away to an adjacent lot.

My attempt to avoid mayhem proved to be fruitless. The place teemed with shoppers. “My God, I’m an idiot,” I muttered under my breath as I tried to make a beeline for the one thing I needed: A plump, juicy rotisserie chicken. I plucked it from the warming pad and quickly, but carefully, weaved around cart-saddled bargain hunters who seemed to be moving in slow motion. I did not strike anything. Nor did I squeal. I calmly took my place in the self-checkout line and that ordeal would soon be over.

But seriously, never go to a Costco on Sunday.

Now on to the next tip.

Unless you’re already encased in a trap of your own making like me, never, ever, ever, ever (I REALLY mean this) consider becoming a Minnesota Vikings fan. It’s self-flagellation. It’s borderline insane unless you enjoy being let down season after season in often hilarious, soul-crushing and utterly outlandish ways.

This is a serious admonition. Do not take it lightly. I’d go to Costco twice each Sunday and every Sunday before I’d ever decide to become a Vikings fan. For those who know, you know. I made that decision as a four- or five-year-old when the Purple People Eaters helped make the team a perennial Super Bowl contender. That ship has long since sailed. Minnesota last appeared in a Super Bowl in 1977. I was seven years old. I watched it at a friend’s house. My friend was a Denver Broncos fan. He laughed at me as John Madden’s Oakland Raiders crushed my Vikings, 32-14. The Broncos — who are 0-3 this season, just like Minnesota — didn’t play in their first Super Bowl until 1990. They’ve won three Super Bowls in the last 25 years. So my friend was right to laugh that day. Don’t let this happen to you, tough.

So, to sum up, once again, I’m very sorry for being neglectful recently. I, unlike the Vikings, however, am back. Thanks for reading and please drop me a line anytime you wish. Thanks so much to all of you who subscribe, whether that’s free or paid. I appreciate each and every one of you more than you could know.

Cheers, RG

Deplorably, I passed my Vikings fandom onto our son. I truly regret the error and fully support him if chooses to change course before it’s too late.