I hate football. I don't just not like football. I mean, I really hate football. So, imagine my misery when I discovered that this year's annual grunt-and-sniff fest, also known as the Super Bowl, was to be held in my fair city. My first inclination was to run far away for four days prior and two days after the meeting of the mentally challenged had occurred. Unfortunately, money is in short supply and the TSA has outlawed the use of good looks and charm to gain entry to an airplane. So, I'm stuck.
Once it became apparent that I would have to ride out the storm, I stocked up on canned goods, bottled water, and ammunition. I built a barricade of literature and philosophy books, since intellectualism is to a football fan what garlic is to vampires. And even though I'm not inclined to believe in a god, some celestial force seemed to side with me. Freezing rain and sleet pelted a city that is woefully unprepared to deal with winter weather. The roads were all but impassable and the mass transit system came screeching to a halt. The Dallas Morning News posted stories speculating on whether or not the poor response to the snow and ice would hurt Dallas's chances of getting another Super Bowl. Only if I've been a very good boy this year!
Today was unfortunately a good weather day. Most of the snow and ice has melted, and the gridiron gits swarmed the streets of Dallas. They clogged the highways just like the fatty build-up in their arteries, and turned a Saturday evening drive into a scene from a David Carradine movie. And since I live in an area of Dallas that is flush with bars, restaurants, and other night spots, I'll be able to hear their tribal grunts, howls, and hollers all through the night. I can hear them skulking around in search of hot wings and Bud Light as I type this.
You may wonder why I'm so bitter toward football and football fans. If you've ever been around them during their mating season (again, the Super Bowl), you understand. If you don't, you're probably one of them. In short, I've found that football fans tend to suffer from the worst ethnocentrism (if you can call it that) that I've ever seen. When I was in the navy, people would often ask, "Did you see that game this weekend?" I would say, "Nah, I don't really like football." The response to that was almost always, "What are you? Gay?" My common response to this was something along the lines of, "Hmmm, let's see...I don't like to watch a sport where a grown man in tight pants bends over in front of another grown man in tight pants. This man then places his hands near the genitals and/or rectum of the man in front. When they do something right, they celebrate by slapping each other on the asses. Yeah, I'm pretty sure I'm not the gay one here."
Tonight is like the skirmish before a vicious battle. The enemy is out there, probing my defenses. Tomorrow their primal rage will reach a crescendo. Many will revert to behavior not seen since the Australopithecus. Objects will be thrown, possibly fecal matter. The spoken word will be meaningless as the higher reasoning centers of the brain are cut off from oxygen by alcohol and trans fats. I will be secure within my fortress of books, blasting Stravinsky to keep the beasts at bay. The line in the sand has been drawn; woe to those who cross it.
Should this be my final post, tell my wife that I thought she was alright.
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