A Brief Analysis of Today’s NFC Championship Game between the Chicago Bears and the New Orleans Saints

OH MY FREAKING GOD!!! OH MY FREAKING GOD!!! OH MY FREAKING GOD!!! OH MY FREAKING GOD!!! OH MY FREAKING GOD!!! OH MY FREAKING GOD!!! OH MY FREAKING GOD!!! OH MY FREAKING GOD!!! OH MY FREAKING GOD!!! OH MY FREAKING GOD!!! OH MY FREAKING GOD!!! OH MY FREAKING GOD!!!

HOLY FREAKING COW!!!! WE’RE GOING TO THE SUPERBOWL BABY!!!! YEAH!!!!

GRRR!!! AGHGHGGHHH!!!!

LSKDF;LSI FKDSJLKHNF CJFLDJ IHR C;L KDDFDSFFKJF ;SALK !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Divisional Playoff Aftermath

Congrats to my Chicago Bears for pulling out a gutty victory against the Seattle Seahawks. I know most folks were expecting me to gloat about the big win, but that makes for bad football karma, especially when the game was so close (Though my brother is thoroughly convinced that we should’ve blown them out. What can I say? He has a gift for hyperbole.)

I did observe that my workplace and the nearby cafés were noticeably silent as I strolled through on Monday, sporting my navy-blue hoodie with the large white and burnt-orange “wishbone-C”. The Friday before the big game, I received lots of good-natured ribbing from Seahawks fans. I mean lots of ribbing. It was borderline annoying. But the Monday after the game? Quiet as a churchmouse. No one was rocking Seahawk gear. The Seahawks weren’t even mentioned. By anyone. I won’t presume to say that this reflects on the entire Seahawks Nation, but what I saw was a reaction I’ve become familiar with when it comes to Seattle sports fans in Bellevue, WA. I guess here, you’re only hot until you lose. Then it’s, “Seattle who?”

Bitches.

Much respect to the Seattle Seahawks for their tenacity and grit. It was a hard-fought game, and Seattle’s refusal to roll over was inspiring. It was also directly responsible for much of my furniture being overturned and my foreseen alienation of the wife (At one point, she vowed never again to watch a football game with me, which is pretty much what I expected.)

Seattle played hard, but the Bears prevailed, which really means nothing since both squads were playing for the right to be destroyed by the waiting New Orleans Saints. Oh I love my Bears, and when they play the Saints, I will scream for them and cuss and bitch and punch walls, just as I did this past weekend. But the Saints are the superior team on paper, and after the whole Katrina tragedy, they seem to be playing with a different kind of urgency… the kind of urgency that can only come from a team of destiny. The Bears have a puncher’s chance of winning, and I’ll be pulling for them, but I won’t hang my head or take a bath with a toaster if we lose.

Schism (Why My Face is Blue)

“Show me a good loser, and I’ll show you a loser.” ~Vince Lombardi

As much as I hate quoting the former leader of the Green Bay Packers, the Chicago Bears’ bitter rivals for nearly a century, Vince’s words carry weight, and seem appropriate. While I’m a gracious winner, I’m a horrible loser. Sure, I can say the right stuff like, “Good game. You guys really kicked our asses,” but it’s all a show. Eventually, I will climb within myself and depending on the situation, either implode, or explode.

Currently, all is not well. My stomach is twisted in knots and I feel as if I may puke. Adrenaline is coursing through my veins at a furious pace, and it’s only Monday. I still have to wait six days for the final outcome. Clearly, I cannot endure an entire week of this mental agony, so I will try to put it to good use by exercising more frequently, annihilating my speed-bag, and yelling at the kids over dumb shit. What has me in such a frazzled state? If it’s not already apparent, it will become clearer in a moment. First, I’d like to tell a story…

Back in 2002, I introduced the wife (who was born and raised in Olympia, south of Seattle) to my first love, which is professional football. Specifically, Chicago Bear Football. She watched in muffled horror and stifled amusement as I cheered, cussed, flung heavy objects, and slammed a double-axe hand atop the television repeatedly. Clearly, she was hesitant to share in my fanaticism unless I toned it down a bit, and I did my best to oblige her, especially since my double-axe hands blew out the TV. (Don’t judge me!) During the process, I schooled her on the fundamentals of football and the rich history and tradition of Bear football. Eager to share this as a common bond, she soaked up the information and readily became a Bear fan, even becoming hard-core enough to attend a Seahawk versus Bear game while suffering from an allergic reaction to an anti-inflammatory pain reliever. She ignored my plea that she remain home to recover. I was concerned for her health, but secretly, I was proud of her resilience.

Fast-forward to last year, during the Seahawks’ superbowl run. Bookie confessed that she had also become a Seahawk fan, which is perfectly understandable since they are the hometown team. Still, I accepted this news the way a Pentecostal father accepts his gay son coming out the closet… I mean, sure he’ll always love his son, but heaven forbid that boy ever bringing his gay lover to Christmas dinner!

For me, the moment of that Christmas dinner has arrived. The Seattle Seahawks must face my Chicago Bears in a single game playoff elimination game for the right to go to the NFC championship game, and possibly the superbowl. We’ve already experienced some friction as I choke on the venom of my own over-competitiveness and cruel intentions. I’m afraid that this is well-beyond my resisting the urge to beat up a defenseless television. This time, it’s critical.

I know that many of you are thinking, “What’s the big deal? It’s just a stupid game.” To those entertaining these thoughts, I invite you to stop reading my blog right now and go effing kill yourselves! I’m sorry, I didn’t really mean to go all Tom Cruise meets Samuel L Jackson on yall.

But my unprovoked outburst does illustrate a point that only a die-hard sports fan can grasp. I think that Bookie understands, but only to a certain point. She feels that I’m belittling her status as a hawks fan, and I know her feelings are valid, but I’m really not doing that. I recognize her love for the game burns just as deeply as mine, and I don’t begrudge her choice at all. But therein is where our differences arise. Bookie chose to be a Seahawk fan because they are the home team and it’s fun to root for the team representing our neck of the woods. It makes sense and it is totally valid.

But I didn’t choose to be a Bear fan. I didn’t choose it any more than I chose to be the offspring of my parents. I simply am a Bear fan, and I have been since my earliest memory at age three. It’s all I know. And unlike my parents and extended family, the Bears have never mistreated me. Sure, within my lifetime they’ve had more sucky years than good ones, but the Bears are MY team, much like my brother is MY brother, despite his aversion to the written language (He never responds to my text messages because he can’t be bothered with “verbs n adjectives n shit like dat there”. He slays me with his impromptu stand-up routines.)

A friend once asked me to stop rooting for my Bears and jump on the hawks bandwagon, and after I narrowly avoided bludgeoning him to death with his own extracted spine, I tried explaining that he might as well had asked me to sever my own left arm and replace it with cybernetic implants or a servo powered set of tongs. If the sci-fi clichés are true, the replacement would probably improve my strength and dexterity. Yet, my natural arm suits my needs perfectly, shoulder tendonitis and all. Such is how the Bears are woven into my life… woven into every aspect of my life, and if the Hawks defeat them this Sunday, I have no idea how I’ll piece my fragile psyche back together without sending several hundred gallons of napalm to Qwest field, or taking a page from Bill Simmons, fed-exing frozen turds to the dozens of locals who will no doubt be foolish enough to gloat in my face.

And what of wifey? There is a schism within our household, and I must make sure that, regardless of what happens Sunday afternoon, there are no hard feelings. But if the Bears lose, there will most definitely be hard feelings, I guarantee it. What will I do? Perhaps I can paint our old TV stand Seahawks blue, drag it into our back yard, and pulverize it with a sledgehammer, or even better, use my bare hands and feet. I can endure this. I have to.

I’ll just have to look on the bright side… at least we don’t live in Green Bay. Being a Packer fan is grounds for divorce.