It's 10:03 pm right now. I'm sitting on my couch, in semi-darkness with my lap top sitting appropriately on my lap. Shaun is downstairs, in the basement/playroom watching the Celtics. I am afraid. I am afraid of him. The Celtics could win the NBA Championship tonight. I believe it's been something like 22-years since the last one. Names like Byrd and McEnroe come to mind. Wait..maybe it's McHale? Oh well...my feeble mind digresses....
"YEAH!! BAM!! BOOM!! THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKIN' ABOUT!!!"
Back to why I am afraid.
Shaun gets CRAZY when his beloved New England sports teams are in positions to win Championships. Crazy. CAH. RAY. ZEE. I lived through some great sports highs with him: three Super Bowl wins and two Red Sox World Series championships, and I've lived through some lows with him: the 2003 Let's-Leave-Pedro-In heartbreak and the recent, and still painful, Super Bowl loss after an undefeated season.
"WAA HAA OOOO!! YOUR KIDDING ME??!!!"
And never mind watching these types of games with him. He paces, he sweats, he mumbles, he drools, if they start to lose he switches positions/changes his hat/makes me change positions or my hat - you get the drift. His anxiety stresses me out - I bite my fingernails down to the bone, my heart races, I get hot flashes and I try to leave but can't lest I break the "sports mojo." It's hard being married to the man. I've tried to calmly tell him it's only a game only to be told, "Wendy, I've watched the (blank New England sports team) since I was in my Underoos. I've watched every (blank New England sports team) game, even when they sucked and they couldn't give away tickets. It's more than 'just a game' to me." Fair enough.
"OH GET OUT OF HERE - GET THAT SH*T OUT HERE. BOOM!" (The BOOM was followed by a quick hand clap). "SCORE ONE MORE. KG, GET THAT B*TCH! WOOOOOO!
He just came upstairs and told me that the Celts are up by 23 (or was it 24?) - that was followed by some serious pacing followed by his questioning of what he was going to do with himself for the next 15 minutes. I politely gave him a, "That's good dear" without really looking up from my computer. I could see the pacing in my peripheral vision. At least he's consistent. I should probably sew some swiffers onto the bottom of his socks. Might as well clean my floors while he paces.
So I send out this prayer before signing off:
God, if you are up there in that big blue sky, could you please let the Celtics win tonight? I can't live through a game 7, and neither can my husband.
*These are the screams I heard from him while I was typing this...
And yes, that is Shaun in a cupcake.
It's 12:15 AM. The Celtics won. Thank you God.
Posted by: MaineMom | June 18, 2008 at 12:15 AM
With the exception of the "drool" comment I certify this post.
Posted by: K-Sea | June 18, 2008 at 08:52 AM
It's tough to be born to parents and have that aggressive sports gene. You are privy to the offspring, Wendy. However, there is the other offspring who could care less about any sports team. How does that happen, I ask myself!
So as you listen to your man do his not so human antics, just remember, IT IS NOT HIS FAULT!
CONGRATS CELTICS! and thank you for not putting us through a game 7.
Posted by: Mom | June 18, 2008 at 09:49 AM
I got the brains instead of the sports gene. Tough loss.
Great post Wen - perfection! I love the swiffers idea. You should market that - they can be made in various team colors with logos. LOVE it!
Posted by: t5m | June 18, 2008 at 10:15 AM
New England sports fans are their own breed. I haven't seen it anywhere else. Bizarre but true and we've been riding high for a couple years ago - except we can't bring up Superbowl yet in our house as my husband is still raw about that one. Oh and Godforbid anyone mumble anything that sounds like "Belichick" and "cheating" in the same sentence.
Congrats, Celtics!!
Posted by: Pocklock | June 18, 2008 at 10:45 AM