Shortly after I met my wife, we went over to her friends’ place to watch the Super Bowl. Now, she’s known these people for years — the guy since her Freshman year of college, his girlfriend since she moved to LA — so I wanted to make a good impression.
Unfortunately, this was the year the Colts and the Bears were playing in the Super Bowl.
We all knew that the Bears were dead meat. I mean, Rex Grossman?!?! But I still had to root for them. See, in case you’ve somehow missed it, I’m from Baltimore. The one thing we have in Baltimore, apart from drugs, violence, and citywide organizations worthy of mocking on HBO, is a hatred of the Colts. And John Waters. But I digress.
So the Colts won, and they were ahead starting pretty early, which meant that, there I was, at DJ L’il Bit’s good friends’ apartment, depressed as all get-out, and having to make a good impression. Fortunately, that was a hard-drinking crew so I got to deaden the pain at the same time as I fit in. Although, after DJ L’il Bit dropped me off at home, there was a Series of Embarrassing, Sadness-Fueled Events that culminated in me supine on my couch, shooing her out the door, proclaiming “Leave! Leave! Leave while you still have some respect for me!”
(Apparently that protestation worked; she stuck with me for long enough for me to somehow convince her to marry me!)
Anyway, I bet you can guess the upshot here: the Colts are in the Super Bowl again. And of course I’m rooting for the Saints, because, if they win, that wouldn’t only be good for my old grudges, but it would be good for America, as exemplified by New Orleans, which we all wish we’d helped rise from the ashes.
But the problem is that the Colts are a good team. A really good team. Peyton Manning, of course, and Reggie Wayne. But also the front office does a great job. And, Curtis Painter notwithstanding, Jim Caldwell seems to be doing a good job as well. Which is probably why the check-out lady at the supermarket yesterday took the time out to tell me that she was a Colts fan, even though she’s an LA native.
So, as much as I hate to say it, I live in a world where Colts fans could be anywhere. Worse, I can even understand why somebody would like the Colts. It’s a world in which people like crisp routes, precision throws, and speedy outside rushers. But I guess that I’m a 3-yards-and-a-cloud-of-dust kind of guy, and ne’er the twain shall meet.
I’ll be watching this game, quietly, by myself, so that I can grieve alone after the inevitable victory of the Galactic Empire Colts. But maybe, just maybe, the scrappy Saints can win. That would be nice. Because I can understand Colts fans, but I’ll never, ever be one.