The New York Giants pulled off a 21-17 victory. There are some that don’t understand the pain one experiences when your favorite sports team loses. It is hard to explain, but it feels like someone, or something, has died.
I was wrong. In last week’s column, I bravely stated that the New England Patriots would win the Super Bowl. As we all know, that didn’t happen.
The New York Giants pulled off a 21-17 victory. But that doesn’t mean I would change my stance. Life is a gamble, and I really did believe.
Not nearly as much as my 6-year-old son, Dexter, though. He had no doubt his Patriots were going to win. It was unfathomable for him to think of them losing. It wasn’t an option.
“We’re going to win because we have the best fans,” Dexter said. “We got all dressed up and cheered really loud on the bus.”
If only it were that simple. Wearing his Wes Welker jersey, Dexter clutched his Patriots football the entire game. Each time the Patriots scored, he slapped high fives to his younger sister, Vivien, who was decked out in her Tom Brady shirt.
The halftime show was of zero interest for my young Pats fan. He was not impressed with Madonna. He was irritated with the performance disrupting the game.
“What the heck is this?” he asked. “Where is the football game? Who is this?”
When told that Madonna was a good dancer and singer, a legend if you will, he remained unimpressed.
When Madge finally left the stage, he turned to Vivien and said, “I hope that doesn’t come back on, don’t you?”
Vivien, trying to impress her older brother said, “Yeah!”
As the final seconds ticked down, Dexter still wasn’t concerned. As I cringed and paced frantically, he stood tall, completely confident that Brady would pull it off. And he almost did.
Brady fired off a perfectly placed Hail Mary to the end zone. Dexter screamed, “TOUCHDOWN!”
He was positive someone had caught the ball, winning the game. Then came the replay, and I watched my son’s heart break for the very first time.
His eyes did not leave the screen. As the reality of the situation came into focus, he said nothing. Clutching his football, he silently left the living room, walked through the kitchen in a daze and made his way up the stairs to his bedroom.
Still wearing his Welker jersey, he climbed into his bed, pulled the sheets up over his face and went to sleep. He never said a word. He didn’t ask any questions or make any comments in regards to what took place.
Dexter woke up twice in the middle of the night, upset, claiming he was having nightmares. I don’t doubt that he was. I was wide awake and living the nightmare.
There are some that don’t understand the pain one experiences when your favorite sports team loses. It is hard to explain, but it feels like someone, or something, has died.
We follow our favorite teams all year, and when they win, it provides much needed optimism. Watching the Pats progress throughout the season and make it to the Super Bowl, it made us feel as though anything was possible –– if they could pull off the ultimate win, we, too, could achieve greatness.
The morning after the Super Bowl, Dexter was still a little shell-shocked and sullen as he boarded the school bus. But when he came home from school, he was bubbling over about his upcoming “100 days of school” project.
He bounced back quickly. I, on the other hand, am still processing the loss and trying to be realistic about the entire ordeal. I should take a page from my son and just let it go and focus on the next thing in front of me.
If only it were that simple.