We made sports history last weekend. For anyone living under a rock, the New England Patriots and the Atlanta Falcons went head-to-head in the biggest sports event of the year. While the Patriots were the favorite to win, no one expected how that would go down. And I’m sorry to say that the bizarre (or auspicious) turn of events can be blamed on me…
I am not a sports enthusiast by any means. I don’t follow anything. But I am from New York, I take pride in that. That means I root, root, root for the home team. Granted, my family has been known to throw support behind the Patriots if and only if the Giants and the Jets don’t advance to the Super Bowl. But I can’t do that anymore. Because I divorced Tom Brady.
But Bobby? Given Patriots fan, he’s from Boston. Let’s not even think about baseball season…
All that is to say we were on opposing teams two Sundays ago. I made sliders and buffalo chicken and threw on a black and red number for good juju to support my Falcons. Don’t ask me to name a single member on the team.
And it worked! Falcons fans can thank my delicates for touchdown after touchdown in the first half.
Understandably, Bobby was very quiet for the first two quarters. I, on the other hand, did not hide my pleasure with the 20-point lead the Falcons scored. Indeed, the confidence from past history that no team has ever come back from such a deficit to win the Super Bowl made me cocky. It made me ask: how much harder could I make this for Bobby?
So in the middle of the third quarter, I decided to give him some lovin’.
Not during half-time when it would have been convenient. I’m sure Lady Gaga would have approved if we excused ourselves from her show with our attempt at a Super Bowl baby. Nope! I decided instead to force Bobby to choose between a nail-biting second half start and Priya in a babydoll.
And this, folks, is why I am to blame for what happened.
Because within minutes of us “doing our taxes,” the Patriots scored their first touchdown. I know that’s not a surprise. They were bound to make at least one. I even joked that it was because I let Bobby get all over my Falcons lingerie.
But the complete 180 that subsequently happened – 30-something unanswered points AND a first-ever Super Bowl overtime – wiped the smile from my face. Looking back, I’m pretty sure I became catatonic for about thirty minutes after the Patriots won. Indeed, it was over an hour before I could offer a poor-spirted congratulations to Bobby. I tried again at bedtime to be a good sport, make it sound more genuine. I wasn’t fooling anyone.
Moral of the story: When Bobby and I get together, magic happens.
Happy Valentine’s Day.