Actually feeling like you'd be better off as a Cardinals fan.
A quick digression:
I remember the first time Satan (Eli) beat us in the Super Bowl (on a fucking fluke. Both times. In fact, I'm no longer going to say Eli beat us, because he is not, and will never be, Tom Brady). I sat in stunned silence, staring at the television, unable to understand what the "Super Bowl Champions" T-shirts were doing on the wrong team. Then, once it had begun to sink in, I became enraged. This had to be a mistake. There was no way. I searched for that one thing that ruined it: my son had been allowed to stay up and watch the whole game - for the first time. That wretched little bastard had jinxed us! Then, just before my hands closed around his neck, I remembered how fond I am of him, and stopped. Finally was the call to my dad, to ask if anything this traumatic had ever happened to him. He explained to me that it was just a game. I told him it wasn't just a game. It was eighteen games, and couldn't he understand that? Or was he just stupid?
If I hadn't been heavily intoxicated, I think what I would have said was: "How could they do this to me?"
Because that's what is so wonderful about sports, and so terrible about me: it's really all about me.
Fast forward to a few years later, much of that time spent on the west coast. They rarely ever play Patriots games on the west coast. Sure, I could invest the Mustang in a football package so I could see every game, jack myself into the stream like it was using me as a battery, and let it flow. I could smoke Red Zone and sit on my couch, eyes bleeding from the constant snap back and forth between games, trying to give a quarter of a shit about any BUT the Pats game. I could do those things, but I just never have. Instead I tuned most of it out, because I didn't get to follow my team.
And it's all about me. (I think I mentioned that, but I put it in there anyway because I never get tired of talking about me.)
In fact, it's so bad that I went to the Chargers' game on Saturday, and I didn't even watch that game (thank God. It was a bad joke). I just kind of hung out with thirty thousand other people, drinking beer. I don't know who they played. I think I screamed in joy twice - both times the cheerleaders were on the field, not the players.
But, check it: My step brother wrangled me into Fantasy Football this year. Because he needed the teams and I thought: "Hey, I can make football about me again!" (This would partially explain the Chargers' game. See, throughout the amazing spectacle around me, I spent most of my time refreshing the scoreboard on my phone, watching my fantasy team.)
And so, I created my team (Whiskey Joe's Pigskin Pros) and got to work. But something was off, because these guys really love football. They know everything about the players, the teams, everything. And not just their teams, but every team. We were doing the draft and they're going "Why would you get him? He's injured" or "Shit man, never pick a wide receiver in the first round!"
Stuff like that. So now I'm losing my shirt, and I'm all pissed off. And I'm talking to my cousin at the Chargers' game (refresh) and I look over at the scoreboard and they're listing all of the scores and I see the fucking Cardinals have dominated again. After beating the Patriots in week two. (If you must know: AZ 3 - 0 NE 1 - 2) And I'm like "Mother fucker!"
Am I going to have to become a Cardinals fan? I mean, I live in Arizona. But I grew up in New England. Can I? Should I switch allegiance?
I don't think I can. But I can do two things: One, I'm going to draft Kolb onto my fantasy team. Whiskey Joe's Pigskin Pros are getting that fantastic fucker if it's the last thing we do. And two: I'm going to get back in to football. I'm going to immerse myself in all of it. Everything.
I'm going to love it again.
Maybe, just a little less than I love me.