The leviathan of American sports is back — it’s football season, folks.

As the fresh flowers of a new season ooze scents of hope and optimism for teams far and wide, a contrasting reality of doom also looms.

Lockout.

Executive director of the NFL Gene Upshaw thinks it’s going to happen. President of the NFL Player’s Association Kevin Mawae thinks it’s going to happen. And unless we find a little selflessness from those with big pockets (players and owners alike), you should think it’s going to happen too.

Say this to yourself and see how it rolls off the tongue: no football next year.

Sundays in America will shrivel like private parts at the ocean. It’s going to be cold … very cold.

Because there are essentially no advantages to a lockout, other than perhaps much needed rest for some of the finer athletes our nation has to offer, let’s summarize a few of the negatives.

First things first, there will be nothing to root for on Sundays. No celebrating Drew Brees ousting Peyton Manning in a shootout. No hoo-hahs for every Dwayne Bowe pylon-pressing touchdown (or drop). No wondering when (not if) Brett Favre will come back. No ogling Darrelle Revis as the league’s best receivers get shipwrecked on Revis Island.

Then there’s the fate of the soon-to-be crippled businesses. There will be no more vendors selling peanuts and popcorn at games. ESPN, FOX, CBS and NBC will be deprived of regular prime time advertisers and viewers. With that and everything in between, the lockout will create a gargantuan snowball effect on America’s wallet.

Lifelong season ticket holders may riot. Shannon Sharpe may fall into a coma. Fantasy football nerds may enter deep states of depression and helplessness.

I could only imagine the sad state of a Pittsburgh Steelers fan without his or her football season. I picture a man, decked out in his Jack Lambert No. 58 jersey, Steelers hardhat and terrible towel, standing in the parking lot at Heinz Field (home of the Steelers) and no one is around him. No other black and gold fans to be seen. He fires up the grill like any tailgating day, throws a few Italian sausages down and talks to himself about the grit of Hines Ward and the monstrosity of Casey Hampton. “That defense with Polamalu … it’s something else,” he says. “This year … this year we’re getting the next ring.”

The smoke from his meat is the only smoke in the lot. Still no one is around.

To all the loyal football fans of the world: good luck and find a hobby.

If this truly goes down, you know, no football Sundays and all, life is going to be hard. I just strongly advise getting into crochet or maybe chess.

Hell, we might even do our homework early on Sunday.

Now there’s something to be afraid of.

— Edited by Abby Davenport