It's Friday night...

In now 12 years of covering football, there seems to be one constant: The weather takes a turn south starting with Week 3.

When I was on the computer this afternoon, the Weatherbug temp seemed to be stuck around 74. This was in mid-afternoon when, in the not so recent past, we were much further up the thermometer.

I have long sleeves on for the first time since I don't know when. It's just a simple button-down shirt, but still.

I'm out in Manassas, and left the house at an appropriate time to be here. In order to avoid the frustration of Friday traffic, I took several back roads that - on more than one occasion - made me think I was back in Carbon County driving to a game. But such is the wonder of local knowledge and GPS.

On the way, I stopped in our Manassas office to take care of some quick office work, nothing major. As I walked outside, the sun was dying to the west, the air was cooler and the streets - normally much busier - were near silent.

I felt alone. It's a common feeling on days like this at a time of year like this.

The start of everyone else's weekend is simply a continuation of our workweek; obviously you know this when you sign up for this job, but the reminders, though infrequent, can be painful.

My wife's out at happy hour, getting just a little more visiting with our dear friends Andrew and Rebecca, who trek back to Phoenix tomorrow. Occasional commenter Donna says she's headed to Old Town.

And here I am.

I have no doubt that, some years down the line, young Drake will develop a love of Duck football and maybe he'll think he can cover them. I hope I'll be there to give him a lollipop and distract him from such silliness.

Eight minutes to kickoff. I guess I'd better start paying attention...