Instead of doing the traditional Super Bowl Party with all of the cleanup it would entail, what with the making of ribs, sandwiches, chicken wings, chips, beer, soda, and all the other deatils that go into putting together a successful party, and the cleanup that ensues afterwards, this year we decided to go out and save our carpet from another massacre.
This year, we're going to brave the elements, just as the brave fans did at Lambeau Field two weeks ago when the Giants upset the Packers in the NFC Championship. Although we won't be out in the bitter cold for more than a few minutes on our way to a sports bar that boasts ten huge televisions, and twenty five smaller ones, it's still a tip of the hat to those fans, some of whom were crazy enough to wear tee shirts.
So, I'm pulling my old Giants jersey over my head, buckling up the jeans, brushing up my black cowboy boots, (Ha! He said Cowboy, haha!), grabbing the Giants cap, and pulling the Giants banner off of the wall to take with us.
We're going to go to a place full of a rowdy mixture of college kids and older folks, where we can eat flank steak and chicken wings, and drink five dollar pitchers, all in the cause of the church at which we worship, the Church Of The NFL. Our altars are made of the sturdiest oak and marble bar tops, and today, on this our holiest of holy days, we're going to forget that anything is wrong with the world, let our hair down and whoop it up every time the G-Men score against this over rated unbeaten team.
Written to make crazy the fans of the Patriots, remember that I also favor the Pat's, but not today. I'll be cheering every time Plaxico Buress leaps into the air to make an impossible catch, every time that Brandon Jacobs thunders through the Patriot defense, and every time that Kevin Boss grabs that over the middle short pass to pick up a first down.
We'll be half lit at half time, singing songs about whatever drunken crowds sing songs about, and probably will miss all of the much vaunted Super Bowl commercials, because we'll be pushing up to the bar to get more beer for the second half. I hope they replay them sometime after the game, so we get to see them, but then again, I could care less.
As my heart starts to squeeze in my chest coming close to the end of the game, due to the Giants' habit of keeping us fans in suspense until there's two minutes to go, the joy and the release will be almost orgasmic when they pull off that last second upset of a team that no one gives them much chance to beat.
That's what I love about this city where I am now. The people are football fanatics, although I don't particularly care for their team of choice, which is the Kansas City Chiefs. But everyone will still be out and choosing sides, and I'll be right there in the thick of them, unable to write tomorrow, unable to get out of bed, probably unable to remember most of the game, save that the Giants pulled off the biggest upset since the Jets beat the Colts. But other than being at the Big Dance itself, this is the next best thing, surrounded by fellow worshipers, with copius amounts of liquid bravado, enough food to feed an army, and having so many televisions around you, you'll never miss a second of the game, even when you go the the bathroom.
If I don't see you tomorrow, you'll know why, but as I struggle to not spend the day throwing up, I'll be the praises of the newly crowned NFL Champions, the New York Giants. Batmanchester
This year, we're going to brave the elements, just as the brave fans did at Lambeau Field two weeks ago when the Giants upset the Packers in the NFC Championship. Although we won't be out in the bitter cold for more than a few minutes on our way to a sports bar that boasts ten huge televisions, and twenty five smaller ones, it's still a tip of the hat to those fans, some of whom were crazy enough to wear tee shirts.
So, I'm pulling my old Giants jersey over my head, buckling up the jeans, brushing up my black cowboy boots, (Ha! He said Cowboy, haha!), grabbing the Giants cap, and pulling the Giants banner off of the wall to take with us.
We're going to go to a place full of a rowdy mixture of college kids and older folks, where we can eat flank steak and chicken wings, and drink five dollar pitchers, all in the cause of the church at which we worship, the Church Of The NFL. Our altars are made of the sturdiest oak and marble bar tops, and today, on this our holiest of holy days, we're going to forget that anything is wrong with the world, let our hair down and whoop it up every time the G-Men score against this over rated unbeaten team.
Written to make crazy the fans of the Patriots, remember that I also favor the Pat's, but not today. I'll be cheering every time Plaxico Buress leaps into the air to make an impossible catch, every time that Brandon Jacobs thunders through the Patriot defense, and every time that Kevin Boss grabs that over the middle short pass to pick up a first down.
We'll be half lit at half time, singing songs about whatever drunken crowds sing songs about, and probably will miss all of the much vaunted Super Bowl commercials, because we'll be pushing up to the bar to get more beer for the second half. I hope they replay them sometime after the game, so we get to see them, but then again, I could care less.
As my heart starts to squeeze in my chest coming close to the end of the game, due to the Giants' habit of keeping us fans in suspense until there's two minutes to go, the joy and the release will be almost orgasmic when they pull off that last second upset of a team that no one gives them much chance to beat.
That's what I love about this city where I am now. The people are football fanatics, although I don't particularly care for their team of choice, which is the Kansas City Chiefs. But everyone will still be out and choosing sides, and I'll be right there in the thick of them, unable to write tomorrow, unable to get out of bed, probably unable to remember most of the game, save that the Giants pulled off the biggest upset since the Jets beat the Colts. But other than being at the Big Dance itself, this is the next best thing, surrounded by fellow worshipers, with copius amounts of liquid bravado, enough food to feed an army, and having so many televisions around you, you'll never miss a second of the game, even when you go the the bathroom.
If I don't see you tomorrow, you'll know why, but as I struggle to not spend the day throwing up, I'll be the praises of the newly crowned NFL Champions, the New York Giants. Batmanchester
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