Before I begin filling all of you in on my eleven day trip across country (including the horror that is Snowshoe, PA, the babysitting skills required when having drinks with SugarDust and why you should never ever attempt to take a vehicle with catalytic converter issues over the Rocky Mountains) I would like to post my Super Bowl re-cap. While it's nice to see the most hated team in professional sports lose on the biggest of stages this Super Bowl was special for a far more important reason. Namely, The New York Football Giants have always been my Dearly Departed Dad's favorite football team.
Clearly this is not one of those "not during my lifetime" championship scenarios that Cubs, Vikings, Knicks and Maple Leafs fans deal with. Far from it. My Dad got to celebrate three Super Bowl championships since 86. Most recently in 07/08 when one of the greatest upsets in sports history took place and the Patriots wound up with a very distinguished 18-1 record. 18-1 is an amazing record provided that the 1 doesn't occur in the last game of the season. Then it's comical. But this post isn't about how the Patriots choked in 07 or how they haven't won a single championship since they were no longer allowed to tape the opposing teams practices. This post is about how God loves my Dearly Departed Dad more than he loves the other recently passed Dad's of Patriot fans. I never figured God would play favorites in the world of sports but that was before my Dad got up there. He is rather persuasive. I'd bet he even got God to don a G-Men ball cap. Or, even better, a giant foam finger.
So as the waning moments of Super Bowl XLVI passed and Gisele Bundchen prepared to throw the Pats receiving corp under the Giants victory bus I couldn't help but feel like I should be calling my Old Man. As I've mentioned numerous times in this blog there was nothing on the planet that we talked about more frequently than sports. Specifically we talked about football but even during the sports wasteland that is post-Super Bowl February through St. Patty's day March Madness any sport would do. Well, any sport but soccer and the WNBA. So as the Giants celebrated I felt the need to make a phone call. Then, something that I've never done while watching a sporting event happened. I cried. I used to cry every time I played football. Win or lose. A lot more with the lose but playing football was such an emotional high that by the time those four quarters were over I'd always squirt a few. And I've always been baffled by the fact that people not even on the field might do the same. For anyone to become so involved as a mere spectator to a sporting event as to actual cry at the outcome would have to be a little unbalanced. In my humble opinion. As much as I love the Steelers their wins and losses in no way affect my everyday life. Neither do the Giants either even if it is against those cheating bastards the Pats. But for some reason this mattered. More than ever before. And I cried. Cried because my Dad's team won. Cried because I can't make that phone call any more. Cried because I won't ever be able to have those near daily sports conversations ever again. In a year that could not have gotten any worse, it had the best fucking ending I could have ever written.
Clearly this is not one of those "not during my lifetime" championship scenarios that Cubs, Vikings, Knicks and Maple Leafs fans deal with. Far from it. My Dad got to celebrate three Super Bowl championships since 86. Most recently in 07/08 when one of the greatest upsets in sports history took place and the Patriots wound up with a very distinguished 18-1 record. 18-1 is an amazing record provided that the 1 doesn't occur in the last game of the season. Then it's comical. But this post isn't about how the Patriots choked in 07 or how they haven't won a single championship since they were no longer allowed to tape the opposing teams practices. This post is about how God loves my Dearly Departed Dad more than he loves the other recently passed Dad's of Patriot fans. I never figured God would play favorites in the world of sports but that was before my Dad got up there. He is rather persuasive. I'd bet he even got God to don a G-Men ball cap. Or, even better, a giant foam finger.
So as the waning moments of Super Bowl XLVI passed and Gisele Bundchen prepared to throw the Pats receiving corp under the Giants victory bus I couldn't help but feel like I should be calling my Old Man. As I've mentioned numerous times in this blog there was nothing on the planet that we talked about more frequently than sports. Specifically we talked about football but even during the sports wasteland that is post-Super Bowl February through St. Patty's day March Madness any sport would do. Well, any sport but soccer and the WNBA. So as the Giants celebrated I felt the need to make a phone call. Then, something that I've never done while watching a sporting event happened. I cried. I used to cry every time I played football. Win or lose. A lot more with the lose but playing football was such an emotional high that by the time those four quarters were over I'd always squirt a few. And I've always been baffled by the fact that people not even on the field might do the same. For anyone to become so involved as a mere spectator to a sporting event as to actual cry at the outcome would have to be a little unbalanced. In my humble opinion. As much as I love the Steelers their wins and losses in no way affect my everyday life. Neither do the Giants either even if it is against those cheating bastards the Pats. But for some reason this mattered. More than ever before. And I cried. Cried because my Dad's team won. Cried because I can't make that phone call any more. Cried because I won't ever be able to have those near daily sports conversations ever again. In a year that could not have gotten any worse, it had the best fucking ending I could have ever written.
I am a Patriots fan, but your post actually made me happy that the Giants won. And it reminded me that I should never read your blog while I am at work. As I am now crying...and can't blame it on a football game. Love you, Jules.
ReplyDelete