In honor of week 17
thought I’d post this oldie but goodie:
enjoy your Sunday: even if it isn’t your birthday….
You know what’s crazy? I’ll tell you what’s crazy.™
The aggressive sports fan.
I got a buddy. He is a huge New York Giants fan. He is obnoxious. he bleeds blue. If it has pin stripes, he’ll wear it. He is a good guy, a great guy, but when it comes to his sports teams, he is very opinionated.
He is a Jersey Boy and like most New Yorkers, he believes the sun rises and sets on the Big Apple.
He forgets that Jersey is not New York City. Jersey is a swamp, bordered by a landfill, accentuated by a rusty toll booth full of attitude.
So I bet him a six pack on the big game, the opening of the NFL season: GIANTS V COWBOYS.
I am a Cowboys fan. I have been a Cowboys fan for 40 years.
Telling him was a mistake.
“I hate the Cowboys. I hate Cowboys fans,” He screams with the defiance, the anger, the bumptiousness of a New York City subway car full of hornets.
“I was in the Vet in Philly,” he says, pastrami spilling out of his pores. “Two Eagles fans were urinating on a cowboys fan. He was a wimp. Just taking it. Letting the Philly fans pee on him.”
His evil laughter fills the room. He is a bull in a China shop.
So the game is on, and there is still a lot of game to be played, but in the 3rd period the boys are up 14-3.
Had the score been reveresed, he would have called me and gloated. He would have called me and said that the Cowboys are wussies and the G men are dominating.
But he can’t call right now. The G men look bad.
Suddenly the G men score. 14-10.
Uh oh.
I eye my phone suspiciously. I expect him to call, perhaps text.
Crap, what’s that? I hear a bang at the door. It’s the wind. Good. I am nervous he might drive over and kick in my door like a bail bondsman ready to pee on my leg.
I peer out the peep hole.
Nothing.
We’ve got a six pack of our favorite beer on the game. No point spreads. No handicap. Whoever wins, wins.
If the guys with the stars take the game. I can be a loud mouth trash talking prick. I can say the Giants looked like hot gum on the bottom of a boot. I can say New Yorkers are foul mouthed idiots who sound dumber than Vinny Barbarino on Southern Comfort.
But since I’m not from NYC. Since I don’t think the sun circles the Empire State Building. Since I don’t care who is buried in the old Giants stadium or enjoy the smell of warm urine in the subway.
I will keep my sports enthusiasm to a minimum. I will not call him. I will not text him. I will not go to his house and bang on his door and say “hey loser, where’s my beer?”
Nope. regardless of what happens, I am going to be a good sport. Perhaps it’s my West Coas cool. Maybe it’s my predilection to say “whatever dude.”
But mostly I know what’s it like when your favorite team loses and I remember something my Sunday School teacher taught me a long time ago.
Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.
It’s a nice thought.
Unless they’re peeing on your leg in the bathroom of the Vet. Then I say, hey Philly fans.
and that is crazy.™