Playoff Blues

Who even cares about football anyway?


Sure, there were some amazing plays. A couple of sweet interceptions, a sack that we could have used earlier in the game (but I guess when you’re already in overtime, you can’t call it anything but “late,” and that is definitely better than “never”), and the fact that we opened each half with an amazing kickoff-reception-turned-touchdown. There were some mistakes. Some conservative punts instead of risky go-for-its on fourth down. A couple of barely missed interceptions by our defense that could have ended the game right there.


It was an exciting game. Neck and neck the whole way. The rules for game ties during the regular season changed recently: if a tie still existed at the end of the first overtime, that was the score and everyone went home. I glanced at my husband when the time clock read, “OT 1:49” and asked, “What if there’s a tie at the end?” He shook his head at me, answering succinctly, “unlimited quarters until somebody scores.”


I was putting my daughters to bed when it ended. I walked into the room, and said, “What happened?!” “We lost. They kicked a field goal,” my husband reluctantly reported. I responded with the requisite grunt of defeated disgust: “Uunghhr!”


“Where do they go now?” my mostly-NFL-illiterate brother asked. My husband replied, “Nowhere,” at the same time that I shot back, “To the locker room. Until next season.” My brother cringed.


I don’t even care who goes to the Superbowl now.


Because I mean, who even cares about football anyway?