Sometimes you get home from work, walk into the house and the aroma of something magnificent greets you. Your stomach starts growling.You are tired, having been beaten down by the man all day, you feel like a walking corpse, but your hunger reminds you that you are alive, that you have the opportunity to rejuvenate yourself and start again.
"Baby let's eat", you say, "I'm starving and dinner smells so good." But she tells you that she is cooking Alaskan Cricklewood Stew and that it has to simmer for an hour. Reluctantly you hit the recliner and wait. You try to remain calm but your body begins twitching like a man strapped to the electric chair right after they throw the switch.
That's how I feel today. I smell the Super Bowl. It is one game away. If THE PATS beat Houston/Baltimore, they are heading to Indianapolis, and I will be there with them in spirit. I am twitching.
I want to put my life on hold for the next week. I don't want to work or cook or food shop or brush my teeth. I want to sit in my recliner and watch football highlights 24/7. Specifically PATRIOTS highlights. Three championships and countless division and conference championships in just the last ten years. I want to wallow in the excess of their success and prepare myself mentally and emotionally for the next two (hopefully) games. I am being cautious here. Previously I boldly predicted THE PATS to make the Super Bowl. After destroying Tebow last night, my superstitious nature is kicking in. I will not disturb the karmic flow. I will enhance it with concentrated, high intensity focus.
I wore a Brady jersey last night. I would not typically buy a Brady jersey, always seemed like kind of a girly thing to do. I was given this jersey as a gift from two people I love and I wore it proudly last night. Now I have to wear it next week as well. I am locked in.
And why not. Brady is a god. He is a supreme, Hall of Fame quarterback. THE PATS were up by 147 points last night and there was still fire in his eyes. Three championship rings and he wants more. I dig that enormously.
I am also considering buying a new PATS T-shirt. I haven't bought one in a long time and I'm thinking maybe that's why they haven't won a Super Bowl in a while. I'll have to clear this through Carol, The Supreme Budget Maven. We'll see.
Watched the game last night in football central. A playoff tradition has evolved here over the years that has grown in awesomeness to the point where it is almost inconceivable.
P&B's home. Carol and I were the last to arrive, having driven 2300 miles, which we do willingly and with complete abandon. With our arrival the number of attendees swelled to eleven. And the first thing you feel is the buzz. The vibration. Everybody loves football and everybody worships in The Church of The Holy PATS.
You could slice a chunk out of the air in that bar and it would taste like football.
Booze. Gotta have it, although P&B initiated some sort of strange cooler management program last night, forcing us to keep our coolers upstairs. Maybe it was a secret sobriety test; fall down the stairs, no more booze. I was granted special dispensation to keep my whiskey bottle downstairs; that was comforting.
A delightful, smoky haze hung in the room and occasionally someone would hand me a pipe. Respectful of American Indian traditions, I partook.
Enormous amounts of food. I ate 57 meatballs, 18 fat chicken wings, and every other goddamn thing I could get my hands on.
Carol made a football cake. How cool is that? Can your wife make a football cake? Would she even try?
I sat in the front row of chairs, no more than three feet from the TV, probably closer. I never do this, prefer to hang back. But my mental state was in perfect harmony with Hi-Def technology and the experience was huge. Felt like I was at the goddamn game. It was incredible.
And I sat next to Bill. Bill is quirky. I love quirky. There is lots of quirky in the world; Bill has his own unique brand of quirky that just makes things better.
We talked, we laughed, we got strange. I love strange too.
We watched THE PATS humiliate denver.
I will be on my knees every day this week praying that all roads lead to Keith's house. Insiders know what I am talking about.
'Nuff said.
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