Ihave enough to feel guilty about in this job. I’m not active enough on social media. I don’t catch enough typos in columns.

My hot takes are often warm takes.

And now football season is starting with its annually conflicted message such that my postgame walk through the locker room conjures the final scene of the classic movie “Patton.”

“I love it,’’ the imperial actor George C. Scott says, while looking over a charred World War II battlefield. “God help me, I do love it so.”

Football, of course, isn’t war. But God help us that the price of America’s favorite sport is torn bodies, mutilated minds and the probability of a player carted off with numb limbs on any given Sunday as fans solemnly applaud, Roman Colosseum-like, and move to the next play.

We love it so.

I love it so, too.

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