Humor · sports

Confessions of a Female Football Fanatic

Last Sunday, I broke the sound barrier in my living room.

Have you ever heard a high-pitched screech that was so annoying and loud you wanted to scrape your own ears out with a fork?

That was me during the commercials.

I hate Taco Bell.

Okay, so I guess I get a little excited watching the game. I suppose I was a wee bit too intense. And sure, at one point during the fourth quarter, my head spun around and flames shot out my ass. But it’s football, baby!

I have been a ginormous football fan since Doug Flutie snarfed down cornflakes. And before you all turn on me and start whining “But the Patriots are cheaters! They deflated balls! I think,,,! …maybe…?! Well if they didn’t deflate balls they did SOMETHING BAD because NO TEAM CAN BE THAT GOOD!”

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Science project sponsored by the Indianapolis Colts. 

Firstly: I have to love the New England Patriots. It’s a rule here. If I don’t, Marky Marktastic Mark Wahlberg gets all up in my grill.

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I swear to God I will punch you in the throat.

Secondly, na-na-na-na, neer-neer!

I get it — you are all sick to death of the Pats winning and being all amazing and stuff. I used to feel the same about the Cowboys. But do you all realize how long I’ve suffered? I lived through Tony Eason! And Drew Bledsoe! And the Refrigerator Perry! Don’t you think all this winning is deserved? And don’t you agree that I had something to do with it?

They only win when I drink gin from this mug.

It’s a hard lonely life loving Tom Brady. Giselle, you know what I’m talking about. I won’t even go into how much my own husband loathes Brady. He’s got oodles of money. Buttloads of talent. Dimples. (Probably on his butt too, but hey, I don’t give a shit.)

So this Super Bowl Sunday, think of me screaming into an empty living room, while my man Brady slides that sixth ring onto his finger.  Or screaming because they lost and Brady is in a fetal position on the 20 yard line. You’d all love that, wouldn’t you?

Whatever happens, please dear god, no more puppy-monkey-baby commercials.

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Humor

Complications of the Flu May Include Extreme Deflation

I’ve been sick as a dog this past week. First my son was socked with a “flu-like virus” (which is apparently our pediatrician’s polite way of saying “you’ve got the flu”) Then he kindly passed it onto his little sister and she promptly responded by coughing directly into my mouth 150 times so I wouldn’t miss out.  Near the end of my week-long Influenzapallooza I also had the added bonus of developing bronchitis.

My husband? Not even a sniffle.

It all started when I felt a death rattle in my chest during halftime of last week’s Patriots/Colts game. I went straight to bed eager to begin spending my days writhing around in a delirium of fever, body aches and hacking cough. But at least I got to practice my moaning and groaning. I’m very good at it now.

Just yesterday the fever broke and I felt almost half-dead again. The mental brain fog lifted and I suddenly realized I had missed the ending of the Patriots game.

Did they win? Did I miss anything?

My mind still swimming in a delicious Nyquil-induced daze, I shuffled out to the living room, snuggled down on the couch in my bathrobe and clicked on the TV just in time to see my old boyfriend up there answering questions at a press conference.

635575448407943902-tom-brady-conference Aw, gosh darnit! Isn’t he adorbs in that hat? And oh wow! His chiseled dimplicious chin seems to be breaking news on every channel! Everyone must be super excited about the Pats going to the Big Game!

Then I turned up the volume.

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“…when I pick those balls out… I don’t want anyone touching the balls after that. I don’t want anyone rubbing them.”

I looked down at the empty Nyquil bottle on the coffee table. Hmm….did I accidentally double the dose? I rubbed the cobwebs out of my eyes and tried to focus harder on what my Tommy Boy was yammering about in his super-cuddly gray sweats.

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“Everybody has a preference. Some guys like them round, some guys like them thin, some guys like them tacky, some guys like them brand new, some guys like old balls. They’re all different. … It’s a very individual thing.”

Okay. Well. Time to head back to bed. Maybe when I wake up tomorrow things will be back to normal? Or at least, less tacky-ball-ish.

That was when my 81-year-old mother (her birthday was just yesterday!) called me on the phone to give her expert take on things. (Needless to say, both of us are huge Pats fans and have been since the pre-Doug-Flutie-On-The-Wheaties-Box days.)

angry_old_woman “Did you see that damn ball thing? Jeezum crow! I mean, just who on the Colts team suddenly said, ‘Hey! I’m gonna start checking their balls!’ Yeah, like just out of the freaking blue he’s suddenly fascinated with their balls! ‘Here, let’s touch the balls! Everyone squeeze their balls! I bet their balls are soft! That’s why we’re losing!’ Why not squeeze your own gol-darn balls, huh? Why not leave the Patriots’ balls alone? We all know it’s the cold air that did it! Cold air makes them shrink! What, are they gonna have to touch every friggin ball before every friggin play now? I’d like to see that! Balls? Balls my ass!”

And there you have it, folks. Balls my ass. The final authority on this whole shrinkage catastrophe. My mom does know her balls. After all, she raised five boys.

Humor

Referee Schmeferee

People seem to be a tad upset about the recent NFL replacement referee debacles that unfolded over the past week. Apparently, there is big money at stake. So when things go wrong, people get mad if strange things happen—-teams are winning that should have no business winning, Bill Belichick is getting too touchy-feely with the guy from Foot Locker. It’s all a big mess.

I’m certainly no expert on NFL rules and regulations, but I can safely say I think the main mistake here was assuming the term ‘job’ didn’t mean silly things like having skills or experience or knowing what the hell you’re doing at any given time. Maybe the NFL should have screened these replacement referees a little more. While watching the game yesterday, I could have sworn one of the officials was my old junior high school gym teacher, Mr. Cormier.

It’s kind of like being wheeled into the operating room to find the nurses have all been temporarily replaced by the Blue Man Group. Someone is gonna get hurt.

Have no fear. I can help you, NFL.

I can be a referee.

I’ve got experience.

So you can clearly see I am more than qualified for this position. Thank you for your consideration. And may the best or worst team win! Yeah!!! GO PATS!!!