Old Orchard Beach Redux

And what is really cool about this sweet moment of escape we enjoy every year is Sunday Sunday Sunday.
Leaving such beauty, peace of that magnitude, should foster evil thoughts of a return to "reality", despair, depression, sadness and a backwards sliding life.
BUT, once we wrench ourselves away from the intimate and violent seduction of majestic ocean waves, we are heading back home to THE NEW ENGLAND PATRIOTS.
Game 1 of the NFL season.
Every year when we leave OOB the NFL is officially cranking up and the push is to get home in time for the game.
So once I tear my eyes and ears and soul away from The Atlantic I am actually excited to head home.
This is a bonus.
Got home at 12:30, unpacked, emptied the cooler, donned sweat clothes and settled my aged ass into my oh so sweet recliner PRECISELY at 1:00.
Sweet Jesus it was a thing of beauty.
And THE PATS did not disappoint. They looked good. They dominated. They gave me life.
Important decisions to make just before kickoff. The plan was to wear a PATS jersey for luck, but I bought a gorgeous yellow orange sunburst tie dyed T-shirt at Old Orchard beach that was too damn pretty to take off.
I figured it would bring THE PATS luck because it carried with it fresh memories just created of a super positive experience.
However I took no chances. I removed my onyx ear ring and replaced it with a PATS ear ring and I did not remove my PATS watch. One of the first things I do when I get home is take off my watch. No need to wear a watch in the house. I try to create a time vacuum when I am cloistered in quasi safety.
Except this Sunday. This Sunday I wore it during the game.
Brady took his first snap from center at 1:18 and I was in my world.
All my preparations were effective and THE PATS won. They have me to thank.
Of course now I have to consider what to wear this week. I'll figure it out.
Football comes at the right time of year. If it wasn't for football I would probably commit suicide every September. (You ask "is that even possible?" "Yeah, baby in my world it is.")
I realized it Monday night driving home from the dead end job at 7:30. In the dark. With the windows rolled up.
I'll put out all kinds of phony baloney positivity about trying to accept the cruel 10 month New England winter, but I cannot ignore the reaction in my bones.
There was a sinking feeling, a deep sense of loss and foreboding as I drove home.
I was sad. Truly, honestly sad. Bone deep. Soul deep.
I am a creature of the sun. A life form that requires heat.
There is just no getting around that.
But I got THE PATS. Football to defibrillate myself back to life every Sunday. I need that more than I need food and water and oxygen. More than I need the embarrassingly small paycheck I get from the immoral criminals I work for.
I need it because it makes me feel alive.
I NEED passion, I have to FEEL, I am all about emotion. Matching the same color socks is too challenging for my thought process because I am creative, I am emotive.
Football is intense. For Christ sake, the football season is already 1/16th over. The Red Sox have to play ten games before they get to that point in the season.
So yeah, I do go on about football because I have no choice. It is as much a part of me as the brilliant optimism I bring to life every day.
Football gets me safely home from Old Orchard Beach. Prevents me from hurling my ancient, distorted body into the cold September waves.
Some people might not be happy about that.
But I am.
Like The Bee Gees I am staying alive.
Punching and counter punching my way towards something.
And digging football along the way.