Surviving the Super Bowl

There are many things I have tried to suppress about myself, but one little peccadillo remains regardless of how hard I try to pretend it is not there.  I wish I could play football.  Like real football.  I watch Rudy and I get choked up, wishing it were me flying down that field.  I loved going to the football games in high school and not just to “walk the track” and try to flirt with all the non-football players.  I just loved that energy.  And I’m not even from Texas.  In P.E. when we’d play flag football, I could almost always get to the quarterback’s flags before he threw the ball, and if I got the pass, I’d be off to the end zone.  Like all the little guys, I dreamt of being “x” enough that I’d get to have my moment under the bright lights, and not just to pass out the water bottles.  Too bad I was born a girl.  But that didn’t stop me from dreaming.  

So when I married a football-loving non-football playing guy, it was like two folks coming out of some athletic closet…a match made in heaven.  As you might expect, we watch the Super Bowls – and not even just in hopes of catching a wardrobe malfunction.  We watch it for all the same reasons that so many people sit on the edge of the couch and shout instructions at the television.  Because we wish we were on that field as well.

And, it helps that Super Bowl parties always have such great food.

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