Here There Be Giants

If you are familiar with my blog, then you'll know that there is one subject I have never commented on. Yup. Sports. Have pretty much zero interest in that subject. This attitude is a tad difficult to express when you marry into a family where sports is like a second religion, most especially football. My husband's family loves football. Super Bowl is always a big deal, sort of like Christmas in February. And the hubby is nuts about the game. And ever since I have known him, the only team the husband has ever rooted for is the New York Giants.

It's been hard, trying to cheer up Guy every year after the Giants would once again choke and lose in the playoffs, or not even get to the damn playoffs at all. For 17 years, at the end of every football season, I have had to be there to pick up the pieces of this man whose heart is so loyal and true to this team, it defies all human logic. I started calling him Linus, because like that blanket-clutching child-philosopher who clings to the belief that next year The Great Pumpkin will come, Guy would shake his fist in a passionate fury of  incomprehensable conviction, vowing that next year would be the year for the Giants. I began to hate this blasted useless team for toying with the tender emotions of my sweet loyal husband. As the years went by, each football season slowly began to resemble a hulking, testosterone-filled interpretation of Waiting For Godot. Until this year.

So thank-you, New York Giants, for winning the Super Bowl and giving my husband a reason to carry on, and for renewing my faith in your team. All is forgiven. Until you lose again, that is.