The Super Bowl: Let the Trash-Talk Begin

So, it’s the Colts and the Saints in the Super Bowl. Am I allowed to write that? Don’t wanna be accused of copyright or trademark infringement or whatever. I won’t tell if you won’t. Remember, no one likes a tattletale.

So here’s the thing. I am a Colts’ fan. Recently converted. I started life as a Dallas Cowboys’ fan. That’s just the way it was where I grew up. Everyone in the territory was a Cowboys’ fan. From a very early age, I remember watching the Cowboys play. Well, actually, what I remember best is watching my dad watch the Cowboys play. That was a show unto itself. The yelling, the pounding of the recliner armrest, the jumping up and down. The Cowboys and my dad were always excellent entertainment. By osmosis, I learned about football and who was good and who wasn’t and who needed a swift kick in the behind. Or words to that effect. Insert your own adjectives.

A few years on, I became shall we say “disenchanted” with the Cowboys and I pretty much lost interest. (Sorry, Dad. I know that pains you. I just felt it was time to come clean.)

A few years later, I married someone from Indiana and, naturally, he is a Colts’ fan. Okay, whatever. Didn’t really matter much to me. For a long time, his monologues about the Colts and some guy named Manning were just so much background noise. Nod your head, say “really?” and “uh huh” in the right places and they will eventually move on to another subject. Until he started trash-talking the Cowboys. Must be in my DNA, because I caught myself jumping to their defense. I also realized that a mixed marriage such as ours can get tricky during the play-offs. Watching certain football games together was completely out of the question.

All this time, the Colts’ paraphernalia continued to pile up around here. Hats, jerseys, sweatshirts, sweatpants, t-shirts, shoes, a watch, a mug, a paperweight, a stuffed monkey, a helmet, etc. I did put my foot down on getting that Colts’ license plate though. I drive that car too. I had one Dallas Cowboys’ sweatshirt, and he scowled when I wore that. Which, of course, I sometimes did just to aggravate him. He’s so easy.

I can’t put my finger on exactly when it happened but, somewhere along the line, I “noticed” Peyton Manning. Hey, he’s kinda cute isn’t he? What can I say? I’m a girl. Besides that, when I started paying attention to him, I realized he is a really good guy, and he is a fantastic quarterback. Cute – check. Nice guy – check. Talented athlete – check. Well, that does it for me. Okay, I’m in.

My husband is so proud. Dad, not so much. I have to admit I’m secretly (well, not so secretly now, I guess) relieved that it’s not the Cowboys and the Colts in the Super Bowl this year. Talk about dodging a bullet. More like dodging a Scud missile.

We (my husband and I) did hit a bit of a rough patch a couple of years back. Hubby zeroed right in on the fact that when I watched a game with him, the Colts didn’t do nearly as well as when I DIDN’T watch. He began to think it was possible I was a jinx. Natch. He never said that in so many words, but he did start going elsewhere to watch the games. And I would have to promise not to watch them by myself. Or maybe it was because I tend to be a . . . uh . . . noisier fan? Once a cheerleader, always a cheerleader. Besides, my dad taught me early on that fan input is vital. They need our guidance. And you have to be loud. Otherwise, how are they gonna hear you? Duh.

And then there was the whole “lucky underwear” incident. I have to make certain I have washed and dried them and they are ready to wear before game time. Whatever makes you happy, honey. Sometimes you just have to humor them. {Sigh}

Even though the Cowboys are not in the Super Bowl, the Colts are, so the trash-talking emails have been flying back and forth this week between certain let’s-poke-the-bear family members and my husband. He crows and cackles (yes, he cackles) whenever he gets one of those and, even though he rarely emails anyone, he jumps on those and emails right back.

I am more than happy to stay out of this fracas. Of course, I started the whole thing by deflecting the trash-talk emails and blaming him >>>>>> for my conversion. Yes, fingers were pointed. Big foam ones. If you are from a football family, you will totally understand. If not, what are YOU doing for fun this week? Yes, I am cackling. They are so easy.

GO COLTS!

"The reason women don't play football is because eleven of them would never wear the same outfit in public.”
~ Phyllis Diller (comedienne)

"I have seen women walk right past a TV set with a football game on and - this always amazes me - not stop to watch, even if the TV is showing replays of what we call a "good hit," which is a tackle that causes at least one major internal organ to actually fly out of a player's body."
~ Dave Barry (humorist)