I wouldn't have thought it possible, but the NFL owners and players have pretty much sucked the pure enjoyment and thrill of Super Bowl XLV out of me. The constant bickering, name-calling, and chest-beating has become intolerable. The two sides are about as likable as Hans Gruber, the Sheriff of Nottingham, and Severus Snape combined into one smarmy master villain. A master villain who, instead of taking over Nakatomi Plaza, taxing his subjects to the brink of starvation, or persecuting a harmless schoolboy (all acceptable pastimes for a master villain), just constantly monologues about how he is in the right and his foe is a misguided, money-grubbing fool who is trying to steal everyone's hard-earned cash.
I hate the fact that labor strife has robbed me of my desire to gloat, to wallow in my consider pride at cheering for the Super Bowl Champs while living in the heart of the crumbling Viking empire. I hate the fact that each side thinks they can win a negotiation by leaking items to the media. I hate the fact that both sides have reduced themselves to acting like kindergartners arguing over a box of crayons when there is obviously more than enough crayons to go around if they'd just share.
I've tried to turn this hate into righteous rage, but at this point, it's really just helpless annoyance. It will only turn into a Bruce Banner-like freakout if we lose games.
You see, when games are lost, I will be furious, but it will only make me angry in the same way that a long night of tequila makes me angry. You don't know that anger? The nauseous, head-splitting anger of "I'm never drinking again"? See? I knew you knew it. The thing is, eventually, I'll always come back. I'll come back because a spicy Bloody Mary with a celery stalk, pickle, pieces of sausage and cheese, and a few olives will ease the anger and pain. Much like a dart from Aaron Rodgers that threads between two bewildered defenders left shaking their heads and staring at their hands while Greg Jennings leaves them in the dust for six will ease the anger and pain.
This is the reason that both sides continue to do what they do, because they know I, like most fans, will come back. Headaches and nausea will only last so long. Owners and players know I enjoy a little vodka mixed with tomato juice like I enjoy Charles Woodson pick-sixes to help me get through my issues.
For some reason, this makes me disappointed in myself. Disappointed in myself like a morning spent hovering over the toilet worrying that last night's tequila will make a reappearance...
Meh....nothing that a bloody and NFL football won't cure. Eventually.
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