Belated Thanks

(Photo from Boston.com)

I trust you'll all forgive me for taking this long to post either a) the Jets/Patriots game recap or b) a Happy Thanksgiving wish to all of you lovely people but I promise I have a good excuse. You see, the swine. The swine is what happened. First if afflicted HJ who spiked a shockingly high fever and then passed it on to me and we spent the past four days alternating between the couch and the bed and moaning and hallucinating commercials wherein Peyton Manning and Justin Timberlake played ping pong and spoke Mandarin (that was a hallucination, right?)

We emerged from our sickness comas just long enough to watch the Patriots take down the Jets in delightful fashion (well, delightful for me, not so much for HJ), and to see Wes Welker act as a god amongst men. And then we went right back to coughing and napping. But Wes Welker, man, Wes Welker. Which, actually, is a nice segueway into things I'm thankful for:

- slant routes to Wes Welker
- Mark Sanchez's rookie mistakes
- the turkey, brisket AND lamb HJ's mom and sister cooked for yesterday's festivities (we were not short on food here, people)
- the fact that I have ANOTHER Thanksgiving dinner planned tomorrow with my family
- being blessed with the sanity to stay as far away from any retail outlets today as possible
- that I no longer work in retail
- HJ's sister's very, very cute Wheaton puppy
- Bill Belichick's impressive collection of hoodies
- Tamaflu
- sick days
- irish car bomb cupcakes (really)
- family and friends
- Shark Week
- healthy new wee people both recent and upcoming for family and friends
- you guys
- Rankin Bass Christmas specials
- Monday Night Football

I think that about covers it. I do sincerely hope you all continue to have a restful break and that you remembered to pack your stretchy pants. And that you all enjoyed watching Eli Manning get embarrassed last night as much as I did.

The Longest Two Yards

(Photo from Yahoo! Sports)

It's been a few days. We've all calmed down a little. Nothing in my fancy new apartment is in danger of my destructive wrath anymore so...maybe we can talk about it a little. Maybe?

Here's the thing: I'm not going to excoriate Bill Belichick. I will not second-guess or verbally flay or make fun of his hoodie. (Besides, he was wearing the fancy prime time navy blue sweatshirt on Sunday night). And I don't think it's because I'm an unapologetic Belichick sycophant. I think it's because a true understanding of football and the strategy involved dictates that sometimes, you play the numbers. And sometimes, in so doing, you lose. There is no hard and fast rule about "If you do A, then B will happen," in football. Unless it's "if you let the Browns play professional football, they will find a way to embarrass themselves" but that's another issue for another day. My point is, I kind of, sort of appreciate the gusty call. Because if you've ever watched a football game with me, you know the number of times I implore a team to "Go for it!" on fourth down is roughly equivalent to the number of mentions of just what, exactly, Brett Favre is up to these days. Meaning, I say it a lot. Especially in short yardage situations. I hate punting. Punting bores me. Punting feels like defeat.

And yes, I realize that not getting the fourth down resulted in actual defeat but not, you know, immediately. I respect a coach essentially telling his team "I believe you can get two yards and if you can't, I believe the defense can stop them." It didn't work out and believe me, I am not happy about that. Instead of going straight to bed, I worked out my frustration by washing dishes and cleaning the kitchen (a rather industrious and productive use of angry energy, I'll grant you), but still.

There are questions regarding the spot and the fact that the Patriots were out of timeouts and so couldn't challenge it and I have my own feelings on that which I'll keep silent because the last thing I want is the internet raining down all it's "Coltz 4 EVA" nauseating bullshit on me but suffice it to say, I remain dubious.

That said, I don't suppose any of us should be surprised by Belichick's decision nor his subsequent refusal to apologize. The very reason we like the guy so much in New England is exactly the reason the rest of the league hates him. He's kind of an asshole. He's pretty much an unapologetic, football-scheming robot. He takes in information and yardage and statistics and spits out some play-calling decisions, never once letting emotion or personal feelings come into the process. So it shouldn't surprise any of us that when he made the decision to go for it on Sunday night, he did so based purely on the numbers. He was concerned with two yards and the statistical probability of Kevin Faulk gaining those two yards. He was not concerned with the emotional well-being of the New England fans or the fact that my new neighbors may have called the police when they heard screaming coming from Apt. E. And he certainly wasn't concerned with buying me a new coffee table. After all, he wasn't the one who nearly destroyed it.

That up there, by the way, was the rational side of my brain attempting to talk myself calmly through this process and find a way to accept a loss in a game we absolutely should have won. The other side of my brain? The part responsible for nearly going on a destructive rampage from which no remote stayed unhurled and no couch cushion remained untorn? That side of my brain is begging, imploring even the rest of the league to find a way to beat Peyton Manning. Because I will not be able to take it if the freakin' Colts go undefeated. I absolutely will not. Because rational thoughts and "it's just football" realizations aside, I am probably not a big enough person to accept that. Hey, we all have flaws.

There is nothing better...

(Photo from Boston.com)

...than making Joey Porter shut up. It's positively delightful. After his semi-cryptic rambling last week about not liking the Patriots and the Patriots not liking him and default Division winners or some nonsense, well, basically, shut up, Joey. Forever.

Also, Randy Moss making beautiful one-handed catches makes even a November day seem like springtime. I mean, that's why it was 70 degrees, right? The Tom and Randy show? That's what I thought.

Myself, I was in Manhattan at a sports bar watching the game with a Ravens fan and two Steelers fans (who were free to eat wings as the Steelers don't play until Monday Night Football this evening), and a football neophyte who enjoyed nothing so much as the touchdown dances and aforementioned Buffalo wings. However, upon leaving, I did shake the hand of the gentleman at the bar wearing the Tom Brady jersey and told him it's nice to see Pats fans represented in New York as I suspect that doesn't happen so much, especially considering the Super Bowl that never happened a couple years back. Jen asked if I knew him. "Well, he was wearing a Tom Brady jersey so...kind of."

We gotta stick together, you see?

Additionally? Wes Welker, I love you. The end.

So THAT happened...

(Photo from Yahoo! Sports)

The Yankees apparently misunderstood what I REALLY wanted for my birthday and instead decided to win the World Series yesterday. Three minutes before midnight by my clock. So, on the same day, I turned almost 30 and was subjected to watching the Yankees win the World Series. Though, to be fair, I also had several birthday margaritas in me at this point so can't I just pretend that the whole thing was a tequila-induced hallucination? I'd like to.

This might prove difficult as I head to NYC this weekend for some birthday weekend celebrations. Something tells me Yankees fans will be just a teensy bit vocal. This, in all likelihood, is what iPods are for. Also, alcohol. Also? Heroin.

I am trying to be gracious about this because, against all odds, I seem to have amassed a group of Yankee fans whom I actually quite like. And while I care not a whit for their team or their whole "Now it's home" nonsense in regards to the World Series trophy because, I'm sorry, but you didn't INVENT baseball - I do think my friends are lovely people and it's nice when people you like are happy. Also, HJ is very patient with me when I stomp around the apartment and throw pillows and Wii remotes at his expensive HD television when the Patriots do something stupid because I KNOW how he feels about Tom Brady, so I suppose I owe it to him to allow him to be happy about this without being bitchy about it. Or at least, that is my mantra. Plus he got me an awesome birthday present AND he comes by his fanhood honestly and didn't just adopt the Yankees because he wanted to follow a winner. Also, he trekked all the way to DC to watch me run a marathon and didn't even think twice about hugging me afterwards when I probably smelled worse than the inside of a football locker room after a September game in a heat wave. So I stayed up so that when his team won, he'd have someone to hug because all his like-minded Yankee fan people were in New York, including his dad who was AT THE GAME. I sort of feel like people shouldn't have to celebrate their championships alone, regardless of their team. I've experienced what it's like to create our own makeshift families because of the teams we follow and I think that extends to everyone, regardless of rooting interest. Perhaps I am going soft but I like to think this is all making me a better person, right?

ANYWAY, now it's officially football season. For real and for serious now. Or hockey season, should that be your thing. And it should be. Because hockey is awesome. But no one listens to me.