Come on guys… Let it all out…
The game is on. The food is cooking. Everyone in the room is gathered around the TV that was purchased specifically for this moment regardless of any wife’s love of the Kardashians. The men in the room have been waiting for this moment all week, teasing each other about the players and which team will win. Their fantasy teams are on the line, their pride, and money they’ve bet on their team.
HE DROPPED THE BALL! HOW COULD HE DROP THE BALL!?!?!? The referee called that ridiculous play and now they’re getting pushed back ten yards, and this is worse than that time the men were shot down for prom and now his friend rooting for the other team is acting like a douche. UGH. RAGE.
The men in the room have been keeping their frustration pent up all week for this day. All of the fury from the blown tire on Tuesday, the anger towards his brother in law being pretentious at family dinner, and that girl in his life who won’t let him solve her problems because she just wants to “talk about them.” Here they are, letting it all out while they pace back and forth in front of the plasma screen, fuming about the fumble. GOSH it’s so FRUSTRATING.
The game has stopped temporarily and the ball will be back in the hands of their team after the break. Time to sit back and watch this captivating Old Spice commercial and down another manly drink.
DON’T TALK TO THEM. They are in pre-volleyball – constipated – Bambi watching his mom get strapped to the top of a van stance. They have their hands on their knees, and their faces glued to the TV. The anxiety is unbearable as they squat in anticipation of the next play.
As soon as their team scores, their hands are in the air and they have just won the lottery. Their entire life was depending on this touchdown. They have just succeeded in becoming the head honcho macho man of the house again. Victory is their precious.
For the moment, nothing can get in their way. They have come down to the afterglow of the score, and they feel as though they cannot be touched. They are content and confident in their team. Chill bro, eat a chicken wing, my team is winning. For now…
THE TEAM IS ABOUT TO SCORE AGAIN AGAIN AGAIN AGAIN AGAIN and you didn’t know that it was possible to breathe in that much but then when they let out the scream you realized that their entire body is actually just a giant lung made for watching football. The team has scored, but there goes that fatal flag, letting everyone know that it was all just a hoax. The team didn’t receive the points for the touchdown. THEN THE OTHER TEAM SCORED!!!! The men have are dealing with loss, and the first step is denial. “The Ref was WRONG!” they shout. Just as they believed their dog Lucky ran away in the second grade, the ref is dumb enough that he hasn’t finished the second grade in the men’s eyes. There’s that loss, coming back to haunt them.
Sitting down and eating ten slices of pizza is going to wake them up from this hellish dream they are living.
Their team lost. It’s okay. At least they got to watch the game. Next week they will win. They’ll recover from this. If they learned anything from Mel Gibson’s “Apocalypto”, Jaguar Paw will always triumph though hard work and determination.