Riding high, not dirty

After investing many hours of time and an amount of money that I can't really calculate, it seems like my interest (devotion seems too strong a word) has finally paid off. The Colts are going to the Superbowl.

Some friends have asked me if I'm going to throw a Superbowl party and the answer is a voracious 'No.' Not to be rude to anyone, but I'm almost embarrassing to watch a game with. Even regular season games have gotten to the point that Chef either leaves the room or just leaves me alone. He has described my mannerisms during sporting events as autistic in nature. Although I think that actually does a disservice to those who are autistic. I think I'm actually spastic. I clap my hands repeatedly and tend to rub them together like the evil characters in melodramas do when they're talking about their maniacal plots. It's not attractive, so I'd prefer to do it alone.

Last Sunday, however, for the first time in months, Chef was home during a game. He works the weekends, so he's been spared for most of my drama. He's worked through the entire playoffs until the meeting against the Patriots. In fact, he even had a friend over. Not to watch me or the game particularly, but they ended up doing both.

They got to see the agony of the first half when the hope that I could cling on to was a last minute half-ending offensive charge that ended with a field goal. My dad, who embraces technology on Sundays to be able to chat with my brother and I, sent me a text message that read "A glimmer of hope?". A glimmer indeed.

As we all know by now, the game ended with a bang and not just the sound of me jumping up and down in my living room. Now I'm merely counting the days until February 4th. I don't even mind rushing through my birthday (which on a side note, is the same as Oprah's. The only thing this means to me is that when she dies there's a remote chance that my birthday could become a national holiday. Then I wouldn't have to take it off!). Although I'm not letting Chef off the hook on that one.

And so I leave you with this. . .only 10 more days until Superbowl XLI. Let it a good game. That's all I'm asking.