People who watch sports, particularly televised sports, and feel they have some sort of vested interest in the result, are pathetic. You know who you are. Pulling a numbered jersey over your ever-expanding stomach, spilling beer and spitting guacamole and Pringles as you cheer your team to victory.
As if the team could hear you; as if the team would care.
Sorry, but I think it’s important you face the truth. You’re wasting precious time and emotion on self-deception; wrapping yourself in the steroid-induced victory of someone who doesn’t even know you’re alive. To further the fantasy, you drop the hero’s first name in casual conversation. Kobe this. A-rod (or whoever it is that isn’t spending his summer in front of a senate-subcommittee) that.
Of course, none of these hold true if the game is tennis.
So, Rafa lost in the French Open over the weekend and life is not worth living. I go through the motions, remembering to talk to friends, pay the bills, wash myself. But look closely – my eyes are blank, my laughter hollow, and I missed a place behind the ears. Did I remember to floss … oh, what possible difference can that make now?
It was bad enough when Nadal started wearing shirts with sleeves. But to not see him at all? And if that smug Swiss actually pulls this one out (horrors), I’ve lost $5 to HER!