The better half and oldest return from Indianapolis… as luck would have it (pun totally intended), their trip coincides with a moment of personal conflict and vulnerability.
I have been a Bears fan for many, many years. Raised in central Illinois in a house without historic loyalties (my father cheered for the Saints when he cheered… in the ’80s, that wasn’t often), I grew up knowing Sweetness was a god.
We learned the same about Jordan along the way.
I’m not a kid anymore. Media has evolved. I absorb the game differently, and my views (I hope) have evolved.
Right now, I hate the Bears. I despise every move they’ve made over the last three years and am especially offended by the moves made since the end of the season. I loathe the attempt to drive positive emotion… and in response, the wife made an observation.
“You’re a Colts fan.”
“What?”
“It’s a disgrace, but it’s true. You’re a Colts fan. The only NFL people you speak positively about these days: Tony Dungy, Jim Irsay and Andrew Luck… and that kid from West Virginia. That’s it. Every time Dungy is on Patrick you get shitty with ANYONE who dares to talk over him. You’ve been talking about Irsay’s Twitter account like he’s a prophet, and I’m sick of your fantasy football OCD on trading for Luck. They were on Parks and Rec and you sat there glowing like you were watching a miracle.
You’re a total nerd, and you’re a Colts fan.”
To drive the point home, she brought me a collection of gifts to help celebrate… or as she says, so I can stop lying to people.
She’s right.
(That kid from West Virginia = Tavon Austin… and I remain hopeful for him as well.)
