I’m a fairly logical and reason-minded guy. I will happily delve into a logical argument about toilet seat positioning or discuss the pros and cons of the welfare state (an argument that has more in common than one might think). I don’t generally succumb to emotional arguments or give in to bouts of unreason.
The NFL, however, is one of my exceptions. I love the NFL. Why? Not because it’s rules make sense. Not because it represents a greater good in our society. And certainly not because its participants are otherwise worthy individuals. I love the NFL because it’s awesome.
I love the hits. I love the drama. I love the long bombs. I love the goal line stands. I love the stats and history. I love the newly broken records. But I especially love the Patriots and the Falcons.
And it’s this time of year – and this year more than ever – that I dream of my two loves meeting in the biggest love-fest of the season: The Super Bowl.
Oh fuck yes. I’ve never actually had to make this decision, but I have a feeling that were this dream matchup to occur, I would spend my life savings to attend. This is a once-in-a-lifetime situation, and it’s actually somewhat reasonable given the proximity of this year’s matchup: New wish-the-hurricane-had-swept-Drew-Brees-out-to-sea Orleans.
Sadly, I have grave concerns about both my teams in their respective championship bouts. The Ravens and the Forty Niners both have the Super Bowl in their sites and pose dual threats to my dream come true.
But, should it happen – should the Patriots meet the Falcons in New Orleans, I might just have to drain the ol’ savings account and join them for the ultimate game. And that most certainly is not logical.
Here’s hoping.
