Life is short and so am I
This week was Super Bowl Sunday and Valentine’s Day, one day after the other, so I used Sunday to frustrate my sweet husband because I just knew he would fall back in love with me by Monday.
The jury is still out, but Super Bowl Sunday was a hoot.
This entire story must be prefaced with the fact that I watch one pro football team - the Kansas City Chiefs and whoever they are playing each week, and I don’t pay attention to the other team.
That’s it.
I don’t even know who plays on most any other team except for I do know that Tom Brady plays for Tampa Bay, because apparently it’s the law to know him, and most likely not like him very much.
I only know like five players names on the Chiefs, the first of which is Patrick Mahomes, because he hails from my favorite uni - Texas Tech. I also know the names Pringle, Hill, Mathieu and Kelce, but don’t ask me what number they are, except Mahomes.
Long story short, I am not your ideal football fan and you are probably guessing by now that my husband was righteous in his indignation with my football prowess leading up to the big game.
When my husband asked me Sunday who I’d be rooting for, I said, “Snoop Dogg.”
No, really I said, “the Tigers.”
And he said, “You mean the Bengals?”
I explained to him it was the guys with the tiger stripes on their helmets and I only root for them because Tiger was my childhood nickname. That is the way my football brain works.
Then my husband said something about Joe Burrow and I was like, who’s that?
Then he was really disgusted with me. He told me who he was and I was like, dang, I think he’s kind of snotty. Sadly, the Bengal’s quarterback is not my favorite as the only time I saw a clip of him he was acting an arrogant fool. I’m sure he’s a nice boy, though.
So Bobby said, “So you’re for the Rams, then?”
Of course not. Once a Tiger always a Tiger even if you think the quarterback resembles the kid who starred in Home Alone, but wearing a Mr. T starter kit necklace.
As you have probably guessed by now, Bobby and I don’t watch football together. He actually understands football and knows what he’s talking about and folks like that are generally irritated by folks like me. I get it.
While I watched though, I grew fond of number 87 in the Tiger outfit. I heard a rumor from the sportscaster that he is something they call a tight end on offense.
Truth is, though, I wasn’t even going to watch the Super Bowl when KC lost the playoffs, but I did get super excited when I heard Snoop Dogg would be part of the halftime show.
I learned a few years ago that Snoop Dogg is my seventh cousin twice removed on my Mom’s side. The Dogg branch of my family tree explains my extraordinary car dancing skills and I’m grateful.
For fun, I went to Facebook to watch people I know actively hate on the halftime show, which was as predictable as a run on bread and milk before it snows.
Most people my age seemed confused they couldn’t understand the lyrics of rap artists from the 1990s. Most of the people who raved about it were the same generation, with an odd older generation (like myself) thrown in here and there. Social media posts were mostly people asking for George Strait or “some decent music I can understand.”
But life is short and so am I, so I hoisted myself off bed and had Dance Party USA alone in my bedroom to the strains of Snoop Dogg, Eminem and the others. My husband wanted no part of my shenanigans, and walked past the bedroom mumbling something like “rap music is the cilantro of the music world.” I’m paraphrasing, but you can feel safe in assuming that my husband has never said a kind thing about rap music or cilantro. And here his wife was, literally dropping it like it was hot.
I then spent the remainder of the game, or what most people call the second half, yelling, “Go Tiger helmets!” right up until they lost and I didn’t even feel sad.
My hope is that if your team didn’t win Super Bowl, or if you hated the halftime show with a passion normally reserved for cilantro, that you had a wonderful Valentine’s Day.
