Can’t Take the Emotion Out of It

Posted: February 14, 2012 in Bunker

I like to think I’m a guy who can keep things in perspective. I try not to become a prisoner of the moment, look at things with an objective rational eye. Throughout the week going into Super Bowl XLVI (Forty-Six)  [46], I was nervous as if I was going to play the game. I never use the term “we” to describe the team I root for, I’m not a narcissist who thinks that somehow my cheering for the team has anything whatsoever to do with the outcome. Then why do I care? Why do I sit there and watch? These are the things I asked myself as I saw Faith Hill  come across the screen (who am I kidding? I was drooling per usual). My knees trembled, so I took a drink and paced around the room, while the guys I watched the game with, chuckled at my nervousness. Easy for them to say, the team they root for wasn’t in the big game. Psssh, they’d kill to be in my position!

Again, why? It’s torture. Watching an NFL playoff game does worse things for your blood pressure than chitlins.

But yet, I watched the game. Wore a Giants NFC Championship hat, an NFC Championship shirt and clutched my Superbowl XLII sweater (which I bought days before the Superbowl, risking that I would eventually have to give that hooded sweatshirt to someone in a homeless shelter if they loss. Thanks David Tyree, for keeping me warm through the winter. [Although I’m sure Tyree would think that would any arrangement where would keep me warm would bring about something close to the apocalypse.

Eli Manning was not nearly as worried as I was during the National Anthem. He actually didn’t even look like he was about to play in one of the biggest games of his life. But I did.

By halftime, the Giants were down, as was I. I went to the kitchen to quell my pain in the culinary arts and made wings for the crew and told every one that it doesn’t matter to me anymore. I was too old to care about football as if it were life or death. There are so many more important things. I heard screams of “bullshit” and “quit bitching” from the crew. Again I asked myself “why does it matter?” I felt great going into the 2nd Half. I created all the excuses in the world why the Giants wouldn’t win and even prepared my speech for their loss.

“Listen, Brady wasn’t going to let Eli beat him twice.” “Super Bowl 42 was so much better anyway.” “At least they made it to the Super Bowl. Nobody thought they would do that right?” “I like football for football, and you know what, Brady winning is good for football.”

Then something happened over the next few hours. Manning made a perfect pass to Manningham. Ahmad Bradshaw scored the more reluctant winning Touchdown in Superbowl history. Brady heaved a hailmary that fell just short of the outstretched hands of GRONK. The Giants were Super Bowl champions. The team that I liked the most were world champions.

What makes someone so invested in something that when it happens, they literally begin running around a city full of strangers and begin hugging and congratulating them on something they haven’t done. What makes it okay to tackle several people, including someone 150 pounds and 5 inches shorter than you? It’s a good thing I didn’t care about the game, because I wouldn’t have run through a screen door if I did. Nor would I have called half my phonebook. If the game actually meant something to me, I would have done something crazy like chest bumped a corrections officer in front of a jail. Or screamed “Anything’s Possible!” from a balcony.

Good thing I was mature enough to realize that I in fact did not win the Super Bowl and it was just some team that I enjoy rooting for, because they represent where I am from.

Good Thing.


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