Totally immersed in football this year. Drowning in it.
Watching THE PATS, of course, but also every minute of other football I can possibly squeeze in. Thursday night, Monday night, other games on Sunday. Watching Good Morning Football religiously and Inside The NFL. Recording every episode of A Football Life.
Just watched the Lawrence Taylor episode of A Football Life, which is why I am here.
That man was a beast. He was a monster. He controlled the game. He changed the game. And he was fucking insane.
One of the many things I love about football is the insanity. The sport is intense - because it is violent, because the season is so goddamn short. Most teams play 16 games; 19 is the most you can play if you make it to the Super Bowl.
Think about that.
Fucking baseball is 162 regular season games. That's why you see people yawning at baseball games, literally aging before your eyes.
"Is that grandpa in the stands? How old is he? Well, son he was 75 in the first inning - now he is 89."
The men who play football are over the top. Crazy. Outgoing. Vocal. Twisted.
And so am I. I am a genuinely over the top guy. Out of my gourd. But I have had that beaten out of me by life.
The ridiculous job choices I have made have required me to behave. Respectable jobs. Excuse me while I puke. Shirt and tie jobs; they might as well have required handcuffs and leg manacles.
Jesus Christ, what the hell was I thinking.
Except one. Tending bar. I loved that job more than any other. Just couldn't make any money at it.
But I could be myself. Putting on a show behind the bar. What a fucking blast.
In hindsight I should have kept the job and lost the house; it would have been worth it.
Anyway, I was watching Lawrence Taylor and the other crazies on the field and on the sidelines and I realized the connection in my diseased mind.
I love the game for what it is. But I also love the game because when I see them, I see me. The me I am, the me I want to openly be.
It's kind of like coming out of the insanity closet, or should be about coming out of the insanity closet.
What the fuck you gonna do? Life is a strange and twisted existence. Nothing is black and white. Nothing is defensible, nothing makes sense.
Shit, I am the fattest I have ever been in my life and I am planning to try to qualify for the mens' Olympic gymnastic team in Tokyo in 2020.
Doesn't make sense. I cannot figure it out. I'll keep you posted.
I got a lot of rubber in me. I have spent 40 years bending but not breaking. I am good at it. Maybe I got enough left to snap back to the original me.
The human I was on January 1, 1954. The same human who has been leaking and losing unconventionality at a frightening pace every day since. My shoes are soaked in it every time I make it home.
I lick it off in an effort to replenish, but the licking is a stream and the leaking is the mighty Mississippi.
Fuck it. Gonna keep digging on football.
Man that shit makes me feel alive.
No comments:
Post a Comment