I am devastated today. It's tough to spin the emotion and tough to admit to it, as it stems from such an insignificant source. But I have a confession to make that will come as no shock to many of my close associates.
I am a manic sports fan.
Like many of my kind, I obsess. I'm perpetually contemplating different scenarios, analyzing vulnerabilities and strengths, killing myself over retrospective hypotheticals. It's irrational, It's ridiculous, It's unhealthy, but It's the way many people are.
Last night, I had one fervent desire on my mind; to blot out any memory of that afternoon's events. I watched a movie, (Juno: 7/10. Greatly overhyped) three episodes of Arrested Development (Why do good comedies get taken off the air while My name is Earl and King of Queens receive rave reviews and ridiculously good ratings?) and haphazard minutes of Terminator on Fox whilst credits rolled on the respective film I was viewing at the time (Cheesy, cheesy, OH MY GOD IT'S A FREAKING MOUSETRAP).
But as I watched Ellen Page trying too hard to play a punk, Michael Cera being awkward, and Summer Glau talking more than she ever did in Firefly (Another good show... damn you, networks) all I could see was Patrick Crayton dropping passes aimed squarely at his chest, Jacques Reeves facemasking a wide receiver who was diving out of bounds, and Leonard Davis jumping on top of Michael Strahan after the play ended.
Right now, all that's flashing through my head as I count down the minutes to my first class of the semester is a bogus offsides call o Demarcus Ware, Tery Glenn and Terrell Owens playing with Jell-O ankles, and Tony Romo throwing the ball away for an intentional grounding penalty with no pressure on him whatsoever.
Why do we do it? We subvject ourselves to this torture and nev er question the establishment, never question our reasons for allowing these people to break our hearts time after time. Is it wishful thinking? The fantasy aspect; living the game of football vicariously through the eyes of one's favorite team?
I can't figure it out. All i know is that when pitchers and catchers report in a month, I'll be at the forefront of the admittedly tiny Rangers bandwagon, waving my comically large foam finger and cheering on a hopefully average team. When the Mavericks make the playoffs, I'll get behind them one more time, because I'm just that gullible.
And when the Cowboys go on their next great journey, I will jump right back on that Texas-sized U-haul wagon and assure the masses that this time, America's team is destined to vanquish all comers.
If a man can't dream about stuff that will never happen, what the hell can he do?
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