Boy, is it ever football season. The NY Giants and the Dallas Cowboys will be playing this Sunday and I’m dreading it. My husband is a Cowboy fan and I, well, I am a Giant fan. I say that with trepidation because this past Sunday made me question why the heck I continue to root for the darn Giants. They were defeated in such a humiliating fashion this past Sunday that it brought back a familiar feeling in the pit of my stomach…the Yankees Detroit loss in October. Ugh!
I’m getting a little sick of this feeling. And, I know, there are so many who say, "The heck with you New York fans; you get to win all the time! Now take your losses like the rest of this and shut up!"
Okay, I’m going to shut up about losing. But, I won’t shut up about how crazy it is to be this attached to the outcome of football or baseball games. If there’s a shrink out there who could get a nut like me through this stuff, I would appreciate the advice.
Now, to deal with Sunday. I think it would be a great day to Christmas shop. That way, my husband can watch the game and cheer in peace…including screaming and yelling on the phone with his game buddies. I’ll shop and listen to the game on a little 1960s portable radio with a small wire attached to my ear. And when the Giants do something humiliating, I’ll feel better because I got some of my holiday shopping out of the way. I’ll be sure to pass a sports bar or two in one of the larger malls and catch a play here and there.
I can’t help but hope they win, no matter how much last Sunday’s defeat irks me, and I know that it’s not normal to get that wrapped up in a silly sports competition. I think the loss feels worse because I know how much Cowboy fans–yes, like my husband–LOVE the loss. They grind and grind and grind it into us with evil ferosity, and it raises our need to get them back with a win. All I know right now is that if the Giants win, I’ll feel only slightly better than if they lose. At least if the Giants lose, my husband will have a good Sunday. If they win, though, I admit my smile inside, the one that tends to draw up the right hand corner of my mouth involuntarily and ever so slightly, the one that puts a little spring in my step, will come back…even if it’s just for a week and even if my husband won’t talk to me for a couple of days. Ah, the price of winning.