Giants 17, Patriots 14, Zombots 0

Apparently, the Super Bowl happened yesterday. The Giants beat the Patriots, probably due to the advantage their great height gave them and the relatively slow-firing muskets employed by the Patriots.

Yes, I realize they are not actual giants and weapons aren’t allowed on the field (which would make it much more interesting if you ask me). You see, I have no interest in watching sports and know very little about the game.

I have never played football, other than touch or flag. I never really liked touch football as a kid. You see, I had the mobility of an ill sloth, so not only did I never get the ball, I was rarely able to actually tag anyone either. I was basically a semi-mobile obstacle, behind which the quicker kids (everyone else) could hide.

Football consisted of me running very slowly around a field, while the ball was tossed and moved around me. On the few occasions I did get the ball, I was immediately tagged and had to give it up. Oddly enough, this would parallel my dating life in high school.

The idea of football always seemed appealing. After all, for a kid obsessed with knights and dragons, putting on armor and running into things at (relatively for me) high speeds sounded like fun. I just did not get the rules. Apparently, you could not just run into people at will. You had to run into specific people at specific times. I did not get it. I still do not get it. During holidays, I occasionally watch a little football. I have to, seeing as how several members of my family are obsessed with it.

One of my brothers owns every piece of Raiders paraphernalia ever made. For Christmas one year, I considered giving him a human tooth and telling him it belonged to Howie Long. I decided against it, as he would realize there was no way I could afford an actual Howie Long tooth. A Howie Long used sweatsock I could manage (with a home equity loan), but not body parts. I checked.

I can manage about 20-minutes of a football game. I always root for the linemen, regardless of who is on the field. This tends to irk other people, who prefer to root for a particular team. The linemen are my team. They are the big, lumbering guys who chase around the quarterback (ie, the popular kid) and don’t get to date the cheerleaders (ie, the popular girls). Every time a quarterback gets sacked, a burly guy gets a date.

It’s true.
Cheers,
-Jason