Happy Friday everyone! Hooray for the weekend, for skiing and riding, and generally for all the things the weekend allows. Though as I approach this weekend I have the strangest feeling that something is missing, like my best friend has blown me off and I’ve got nothing to do. Why? Because there’s no more football that’s why.
Just as many a hot Argentinean snowboard instructor before it, football has left for the season. (Insert post-football depression here... Sigh.)
I know that some of you might be happy that there are no more whistles, no more Thursday night, Sunday, Sunday night and Monday night football games to watch, but I for one feel a deep sense of loss. Even when the games aren’t spectacular, those whistles serve as great background noise for a hearty nap.
What is Sunday-funday supposed to look like now? A long cross-country tour? A trip to Wal-Mart? When is basketball on again?
The NFL season is 22 weeks long if you count the Probowl and I don’t, so let’s call it 21. Twenty-one amazing weeks of rooting for your team, planning feasts that involve meat, bread and occasionally Velveeta, feeling the thrill of a winning game and the agony of defeat. Doesn’t it sound amazing?
It is! Which is precisely why it’s so hard to cope with the 31 weeks of the year without it.
It was bad enough to watch Peyton Manning and the Broncos go so far only to err in the final quarter. I’m a Chicago Bears fan from birth though, so I understand letdowns. However, this year I was really doing my best to keep the Broncos as “my team away from my team.”
There is now a large gaping whole in my Sunday, and by large I mean three-games-a-Sunday large. I think I might start itching and scratching from withdrawal.
My husband and I are not purists. We record football games on our DVR. Blasphemy, I know. It’s controversial to some to not watch the game live. But these people don’t live in a ski town. How am I supposed to stop skiing for an 11 o’clock game? Not happening.
Besides, when I record a game I can cut through at least one hour of commercials, time-outs, half time and unnecessary time spent watching referees reviewing the previous play. Suddenly three games and nine hours of football can be squeezed into about five, give or take. If the first game sucks, move on to the second and so on.
Clearly, I’m a proponent of recording football. Sunday-funday wouldn’t be nearly as full of activity and excessive lounging without it. My family back in the Midwest has come to understand this after several years of spoiler alerts.
I called my mom the last time the Bears actually won, despite the game being long since over and spoiler-alert risk at an all time high. I wanted to touch base with her since I’d spent the first half of Sunday-funday outside and missed our Sunday chat.
On my way to pick up the pizza and buffalo wings I’d ordered, I was telling her about our beautiful cross-country tour, when suddenly she says, “Well it was just such a great day here too. I’m just so happy that the Bears won!”
Suddenly as if I were Nancy Kerrigan and her words were a masked man that struck me down with some big black bat, I cried, “WHY! NOOOOOOOOO! I’m getting buffalo wings!”
I love watching football so much I yelled at my mom. That’s like kicking a puppy.
It was actually that pathetic. Dare I say, I felt briefly devastated. Like my buffalo wings might not taste as good. How? Why? More importantly, how can I be this upset over a game? Or, over the end of a football season?
And then I remembered. The end of football also means February, longer days, wine cabin parties that stop only because of ski patrol’s final sweep, and après ski in public without hiding from a television. Phew! Sorry about that first-world rant.
I’ll be OK, just a little sad this weekend. There’s plenty to fill the void of football in this town. And there’s no rule book that says I can’t fire up Chicago Dogs and cheese dip for the fun of it. Come to think of it, I was just fine when the hot Argentinean snowboard instructor left too. Sad at first, but really they’re like boomerangs that come right back. See you next year football.
Beth will be playing board games and eating pizza this weekend. She can be reached at email@example.com.