I am a football fan.  I love to watch football at any level.  PeeWee football is fun just because it’s PeeWee football.  High school ball is fun because you get to see the star athletes shine, but you can also watch teams of unknowns achieve success.  College ball is more refined because all of the players are athletes, but it is slightly tainted by individuals that want to be bigger than the team…or by teams that want to be bigger than the university.  Pro football has its divas and payrolls and all sorts of other things that make it like a soap opera.  But it also has phenomenal athletes and very complex strategies.  I  could give you more reasons, but at the bottom of it all, I’m completely enthralled with the sport.

This Sunday brings up a dilemma for me.  I’m trying to decide how to properly watch the game.  I know that everyone has a party and it’s a big whoop-de-do, but for me, it always seems like a let down.  At the end of the night, the cheese dip has solidified.  The chips are ground into the carpet.  The pizza boxes are stacked on top of the trashcan.  I, however, am paying attention to how the TV has gone silent, the microphones in the booth have been removed, and the shoulder pads have been put away.  The lights in the stadium are turned off for one last time.  Football is over.

goodbye footballIf you knew that one of your deepest loved ones was going away, how would you handle it?  Would you want a party to celebrate all of the good times that you had together and send them on their way with joy?  Perhaps you’d want to take in your last few moments together in a quiet setting, just the two of you, savoring each second that passes.

This Sunday presents a difficult decision.  A part of me wants to celebrate with my friends, but I know that on the inside, I will feel empty…like the salsa dish at half-time.  Another part of me wants to watch the game alone and absorb each hit, but I will long to be comforted by those who appreciate my love as much as I do and will share in my grief.  I really don’t know if I have the strength to decide for myself.  Please…someone help this misery end.

Editor’s Note: If you even think of mentioning something like “It’s all about the commercials”, I will drive to your house and bludgeon you with this empty salsa dish.  Attempts to console me with mentions of the probowl game may result in death.  It’s not a game, it’s a dance…at best.