So, I love T.O… Period.
Hubby and I have the best, drag-out arguments about my professed love. In fact, we just had one a couple days ago. Now, listen… its not shallow by any means (You know, the stereotypical wife love for an athlete because of his jersey’s snug fit.). No, I am a real fan of Terrel Owens. I think he’s a great athlete and one of the best receivers who ever played the game. He’s dedicated to his craft, he’s passionate, and he’s extraordinarily gifted. He wants to win. He has the swagger to match and he just inspires me when he touches the field (especially with those catches across the middle).
This season, T.O. achieved what no other player has in the NFL and that is scoring a touchdown against every team… Uh, to which Hubby says, “You know why? Because of all the teams he’s played for so he’s had an unfair advantage” (Hubby, you’re such a hater!! Gosh!). Hubby thinks I just love bad boys in general… (Hmmm… This is the same conversation when he brings up how much I like Bobby Brown and Dennis Rodman [Whatever, don’t judge me!]). Look, who doesn’t black out every once and a while? T.O. has his moments and so does every other superstar athlete (I think its in their nature.).
Now with the Buffalo Bills, my thing is, what’s wrong with admiring (a.k.a ‘loving’) a player who encompasses the position in which he plays? I mean, what off-the-field antics have you heard about T.O. (No, he didn’t try to kill himself.)? He’s not one of these knuckle head superstar athletes who starts fights in clubs, rapes women, or shoots himself. And, the media… don’t get me started with the media. Even Deion Sanders (former superstar player/current analyst) says the media’s questions are posed to setup T.O. to “react”.
I’m just saying… Whether he’s with the Boys (Dallas Cowboys, that is… for the NFL-challenged) or the Bills, T.O. can depend on me being a fan. Wait… in the heat of husband/wife battle I don’t bring up Hubby’s secret love crush on Angelina Jolie, do I? And, uh, she doesn’t even, well uh… Okay, she’s not too bad of a crush to have either.
Am I wrong?…
Well maybe it is… The coach for the San Fransisco 49ers, Michael Singletary, has captured the heart of the team. Besides the fact that he’s added the old school culture from his playing days (He’s a former Chicago Bears linebacker.), Singletary has implemented the mountain.
Although it has taken on other names (some that I can’t mention here… LOL!), this mountain is the ultimate training and practice tool that separates the 49ers from other teams. It is a grueling hill that each player is required to climb-doing various drills-and ultimately master… But that’s just the thing, you don’t ever master it. Players have said that although you think you have it down, it still creeps up on you and totally destroys your manliness (I’m surprise something can… Okay I’m back.).
What I like is that Singletary is pressing his players. He’s pulling that “thing” out of them. He believes it’ll make them better for it… I took the mountain thing on for myself (Yeah… no, I’m not actually climbing hills.) as a way of just pushing myself through just being average.
Now I’m going to eat some ice cream. LOL… I’m serious though.
I just want to encapsulate this story with great tragic imagery, as it is just that…
A 2-year prison sentence has started for violating New York’s strict guns laws. Why?
Now a 3-year-old boy is without his father and a wife is left alone as she prepares for the birth of another child. Why?
The one-time Super Bowl champ is without a team and can only hope that after his jail stint a team will pick him up. Why?
His father stands in the court room and tells Plaxico to be strong. Why?
This all stems from Plaxico accidentally shooting himself in the thigh at a Manhattan nightclub… The gun wasn’t licensed in New York. Why?
Bad decision making… Period.
[While I’m away, the guest writer will play… Trust me, this is a great read!…]
When I first started dating my now-husband way back in college, he made one thing very clear from the beginning: On Saturdays, he watched football. Every Saturday. All day. Without exception. This was not so much a stubborn stance or challenge, but rather just a standard let’s-get-to-know-each-other fact. Like “hey, I prefer my eggs scrambled,” or “geez, I can’t stand those creepy Geico commercials.”
Let me tell you, the man was not exaggerating. Saturdays were for college football, period. At 9:00 AM (we were back in Oklahoma, where everything starts an hour earlier than it does out East), College Gameday came on, and there was no looking back. Fourteen hours and 265,478 games later—give or take a few—the day would come to a close.
(Look, I realize that this blog is geared more toward pro sports, so allow me to explain: The NFL has 32 teams. That gives you, oh, 16 games to keep up with every week—fewer, really, when you figure in the bye weeks. NCAA Division IA football has 120 teams. ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY. And? They play teams from other divisions as well. So every weekend, there are countless games to follow.)
…But I digress. My point is, the man was smart. There’s something about full disclosure at the beginning of a relationship that establishes some kind of immunity against any future negotiation. I knew what I was getting into, and I still dove into things headfirst, so I had zero recourse when Saturday rolled around and those tickets to the matinee went untouched. Trip to the museum? Nope. Picnic in the park? Sorry.
As much as I may have wanted to pout and hold my ground, it didn’t take long for me to realize that I really liked spending time with this guy, and if I wanted to see him at all on Saturdays, I’d need to buck up and plop down on the couch next to him. Lucky for me, he thought I was pretty swell to hang out with as well, so he did all he could to make that time fun for us both.
We’d laugh about the ref with his belt cinched ridiculously high up on his waist, cringe for those sad fans in cracked body paint and curly wigs whose team was getting whooped, and try to figure out just what purpose those skinny little arm bands serve. He’d patiently explain to me over and over again what the difference is between off-sides and a false-start; why this was pass interference but that wasn’t. And he only teased me a little bit when I chose my five favorite teams based on fight song, uniform color, and mascot (OU, Michigan, Tennessee, Georgia, and Penn State, in case you’re wondering).
Meanwhile, I like to think that I’ve enlightened him on some crucial things he may not have noticed otherwise: Those buckeye stickers on the Ohio State helmets? They bear a remarkable resemblance to marijuana leaves. The guy next to the cameraman? Totally just picked his nose. That cowboy mascot with the huge papier-mâché head? Ridiculously creepy. Those Miami cheerleaders? They’re wearing boyshorts. (Okay, so maybe he’d have noticed that one.)
The bottom line is, we balance each other out. Now, 10 full college-football seasons later, I am officially a “fan.” Saturdays are our time together. We stock up on beer, whip up some deviled eggs and burgers, and settle in for a full day of games. These days, I can spot a false start a mile away, and we still chuckle like 5-year-olds whenever the commentators refer to the penetrating D. (What, was that over the line?)
Jennifer Solomon, Whimsy│Reason Boutique
[While I’m away, the guest writer will play…]
What a wonderful time of year….
It’s sort of a holiday for football fans… no gifts or pleasantries being exchanged, just opening weekend. It’s been 7 months since the end of last season… Testosterone levels have been kept in check. Now it’s time to don your favorite jersey on casual Friday’s at work. You stare and mumble under your breath when a co-worker wears your rival teams’ colors or jersey… football pools…fantasy teams consume much of your time.
When else is it permissible to grill in the parking lot with 50 of your closest friends… paint your face purple, black, or silver and scream like a banshee in public? So dust off the team blanket, chair, socks, and underwear…. “Let’s get ready for some football !!!”
Sundays in fall…Isn’t is a wonderful time of year???
David Neal, David Neal’s Blog
Hello, is it me or has the whole rape story associated with Pittsburgh Steelers’ quarterback, Ben Roethlisberger, been covered up? I’m a little salty about this because it is, after all, news. And, we all know “news” is released and covered before the truth is determined.
(Okay, back up… For those who don’t know, Roethlisberger is being accused of raping a former Nevada casino worker and he says he didn’t do it.)
Recently, this woman says she’ll drop the lawsuit if the quarterback acknowledges the rape and apologized. Of course, Roethlisberger’s lawyers are like yeah, no… and says she only wants money [This is a total aside: If I were suing a NFL champion (especially for allegedly raping me), it wouldn’t be for $440,000. I’m just saying.]. Okay I’m back…
I’m not siding either way. I’m just questioning why this titillating story hasn’t inundated the air ways like similar stories have? A person of such fame requires this level of coverage, good or bad, and if news is in fact just that, news, then we should hear about it (repeatedly, like any other high-profile story)…
Verbal Re-enacting (Paraphrased)
After I lose a game, don’t taunt me. Don’t tap me on the shoulder and clown me because you just won the game. It’s not a good look.
Guess what’s a much worse look?…
Wow! It’s never a good idea to hit someone in response and totally forget the potential consequences (nevermind pouncing into the angry crowd…).
Consequences: Oregon running back, LeGarrette Blount, was suspended from the team for the year.
Wow… How would I, the parent, respond to my kid when he calls and tells me his version?… ‘Son, yeah that doesn’t quite line up with what I’m watching on ESPN right now.’
Here’s the thing, football season is here and there are a few traditions (a.k.a. fun times) that occur which makes the season a memorable one. One that comes to mind is the ritual of donning your team’s jersey and gathering at the local pub or sports’ bar to eat, drink, and cheer your favorite team on. It’s an exciting environment and is one of those things you just can’t explain… you have to do it (if only once).
This actually leads me to my point (I’m cracking up already!). I did it once and that was enough. The end.
It’s really not the end, but that’s how I feel. I mean, being social is one thing (which I’m not… I try! I really do try! It’s just overrated, ugh!), but purposely leaving the comforts of my own home to be around potentially inebriated and rowdy strangers, where the chances of an argument/fight breaking out is like 97 percent doesn’t appeal to me. Really. I think of the sticky floors, the finger-flirting peanuts on the wet bar top, and the soiled bathroom that I try to avoid at all cost and I am literally drained by it all. Eek!
The flip side is sitting on my way comfy couch (with Hubby), in a climate-controlled atmosphere with all the trimmings (and the occasional nap during the game), and no need for shoes (I don’t know why that’s important.). Uh, I choose the latter.
So, please… enlighten me. Why, why (why!) do you continue to venture to these places?