So here we are, 5 days before Super Bowl XLIV (that's 44 for the Roman-numeral challenged) and I am in the beginning stages of mental breakdown. In fact, my stomach started churning from simply typing that sentence. Yes, I really am that weird and I can admit that I have a problem. But admitting it doesn't make it any better and it certainly doesn't do anything to calm me. The strange thing is that I am not a sports kind of person and I am possibly the least athletic human being on the planet (and even that might be an understatement). But I absolutely LOVE to watch sports, namely college and professional football, college basketball, the Chicago Cubs, and our high-school team, the Union Redskins.
But my favorite team is the Colts and I watch each game as if I have $100,000 riding on it. I live and die with every single down, and it has gotten so bad that I cannot even watch live anymore. I get so insane and irrational that I become even more difficult to live with than I usually am, and that's really saying something. At this point, John watches the games for me and records them, then lets me know if I can handle seeing them. This has been a fantastic year, but it has probably shaved 10 years off my life because nearly every single game was won by the Colts in come-back fashion, which is why the name Cardiac Colts is so very apropos. (And yes, even when John has told me that I should watch, that we win, I still yell and scream at the TV, have a minor heart attack every time anyone touches Peyton, and just generally act like a bedlamite until the clock reads 00:00. Aren't you glad you don't live here???) This makes for very exciting viewing if you are a normal person, I am sure, but it has caused me to have something akin to DTs along with arrhythmias. It's been a great season.
So anyway, Sweet Baby and the Colts have made it to the SB and I am beyond excited, but also a nervous wreck at the same time. Three years ago, when the Colts played in Super Bowl XLI (that's 41, for those of you counting at home), we were invited to a couple of watch parties with friends. I had to decline because there is no way on earth I am letting anyone besides John see the basket case I become during a Colts game, especially when I know it will be multiplied at least 100 times because it's the big one. So unless I can be heavily sedated or the house catches fire, I'm not going anywhere. I think my best plan is to consume a box of wine and then curl up into fetal position and wait for the end. Of the game, that is.
Maybe John and the kids should check into a hotel for the weekend. I have a feeling I will be extremely difficult to live with until late Sunday night (and then I'll go back to my normal "moderately" difficult to live with). *sigh*