Sometime earlier this week, the world came to an end at least the NFL as we know it today. Folks in the national media speculated that Travis Kelce played his last NFL game in Kansas City. Aside from being engaged to Taylor Swift, we’ve been led to believe that this should matter to most of us.

I mean the Kelce’s or the coosome twosome any ill will, but his retirement has no impact on my life or enjoyment of the NFL. People were even marking where they were when he played that last game. Crap, I don’t remember where I was for the last games of baseball players I actually care about. I can recite specific games and highlights to the dismay of family and friends, but final games don’t register in my book.

I admit to rooting for the Chiefs when they won their second Super Bowl (and first of this era), but I am more a fan of The Nigerian Nightmare, Derrick Thomas, Joe Montana, Len Dawson, Otis Taylor Chiefs. I feel that Kelce and his brother have been foisted upon the world like ramen. I’m probably the only one in the world that has absolutely no interest in ramen and tire of hearing about the newest ramen joint in Greater Chicago. I have no connection with the overly salty broth with odd textures floating about. Ramen was not a thing when I was a captive of dorm food or off-campus dining. Rather, my comfort food from that era was Choco Taco. Anyone can enumerate the fads that never caught their attention no matter how much the media dictates we care. I know thousands of NFL fans are not bemoaning the absence of the Chiefs in this year’s postseason nor Bill Belichick’s recent failures.

If things work out, I’ll be watching the Bears and enjoying a bowl of Tom Yum or Hot and Sour soup in the coming weeks.