In a couple of days, the Olympics will be over. And soon after that, it will all be forgotten.

We will forget about Michael Phelps' redemption in the pool. We will forget Usain Bolt's lightning-fast feet. We will forget why we rooted for New Zealand's gold medalist sailor Jo Aleh. We will forget about Aly Raisman's gymnastics triumphs. (Well, maybe not Aly.)

The Olympics are funny like that, aren't they? For two weeks they throw us into this world of athletes and sports that we — for the other 206 weeks of the four-year calendar — couldn't care about.

And yet, during these two weeks we care. We watch (on tape delay! Oh, how much we care about that tape delay!), and look up results online, and root for Americans and those from our ancestral countries and Jews — always the Jews (THAT'S why we rooted for Aleh. Duh!) — and pretend that it all matters more to us than it really does.

And you know what? That's fine. For after the Olympic flame is extinguished (on tape delay!) and we, for a fleeting moment, think of how much we enjoyed these past two weeks, we'll go back to caring about something that really matters.

Professional football.