Doing My Part For Victory

I’ve learned over the years that I’m a sports team jinx, especially during playoffs. It's because of my upbringing, and my fair-weathered-fanaticism. Peyton Manning’s losing streak was no accident – it was due to my watching. Matt and I went to our local pub last night and watched the first half of the AFC Championship game. Shut up, I know: 21 to 6 at the half, because of me. I told Matt that all we needed to do was high-tail it out of there, go home and lock me in a closet.

So we went home and locked me in the bedroom where I suffered through yet another bad Netflix choice – Memoirs of a Geisha. Complete rotter. I’d turn down the volume from time to time, listening for Matt’s cheers or yelling. With about 6 minutes to go I tiptoed into the living room. The game was tied. Matt said, “We’ll see how this play goes before I determine if you can stay or not.”

Massive sack; back to the Geishas.

I finally heard Matt screaming, “We won…we actually won!” I ran to the living room to watch the last 10 seconds of glory – it was fantastic!

After the win, Matt was outside smoking his victory smoke and one of the neighbors, also outside, held out a huge firework and asked Matt to light it. I said, “Um, um…that’s the kind that you’re supposed to put down on the ground.” He was a large African American guy. I continued, "Hee hee... I think..."

With my logical advice, he threw it. It began shooting extremely loud blasts of flames and sparks all over the courtyard, hitting people’s windows and doors, and undoubtedly waking the neighborhood. Matt and I stood there, our mouths agape saying Matt’s favorite phrase: Oh My God. Laughing our asses off, we went inside, turned out the lights and watched the angry neighbors peering from their windows. Classic.

I don’t know what’s happened to me, but I get football now, and I rather like it. My first thought this morning was “We’re going to the Super Bowl,” which is crazy talk coming from me. Even my sister, less of a sports fan than I, called me from Florida saying, “I really don’t care, but it is so exciting!”

Our dad watched somewhere in the neighborhood of zero football games when we were growing up. He would fill us with Johnny Cash and Willie Nelson then present a lecture on Harper Lee, Martin Luther, or maybe Constantine – any literature or history he could get his hands on.

It’s a wonder I come up with anything at the water cooler.