Excluding the Pro Bowl in sunny Hawaii, this year's NFL post-season has been blitzed by talk of the ominous "polar vortex." Forecasts of intense cold, mounting snow, freezing rain, black ice and formidable driving conditions were everywhere from local news to Twitter feeds. For the first time, we headed into Super Bowl Week with chilly debates about this year's venue. Would location make it difficult to neutralize home field advantage? What effect would it have on a certain elite quarterback playing in - arguably - the most pivotal game of his career? Collective apprehension of potential snow fall put a damper on the usual excitement leading up to the big game. As temperatures and ticket prices plummeted, we wondered - Could the Super Bowl experience in New Jersey be stronger than the storm?
It's January 2014. The masses are battling Seasonal Affective Disorder, while I'm left preparing for my own dark days. If you ask me, the year has four seasons: Winter, Spring, Summer and Football. I don't really mind the cold until after the Lombardi Trophy is hoisted, when with another year icing over - the real freeze sets in. It happens every February without fail, but this year, I'm layering up my defenses in preparation. This year, I resolve to insulate myself from the internal cold war by huddling up with some of the things that inspire me. This year, I'm doing my best to weatherproof against the void.
In the spirit of Super Bowl Week, and until it's time to batten down the hatches, I thought I'd take a few minutes to connect and share a little bit about myself. So, here are a few confessions that might break the ice:
1) I watch Preseason AND the Pro Bowl.
Say what you will about the Preseason, but by the time Summer rolls around, this girl is ready for some football. What better time to check out the rookies, newly signed free agents, and prospective fantasy draftees? Preseason isn't about winning or losing, it's about preparation. Evaluating talent, experimenting with the playbook, adjusting and adapting. Even a good tailgate could use a little preseason practice. I think pro-tailgaters would agree.
In years past, the Pro Bowl held the opposite significance for me. It was my last chance to see the players take the field before the impending doom of the off season. I soaked up every last Hawaiian ray of light, before being forced into involuntarily football hibernation.When the game was moved up to the week before Superbowl, it changed my perspective, but it didn't stop me from wanting to watch. "The Pro Bowl's a joke. It doesn't mean anything," you say. Well, I beg to differ. The Pro Bowl certainly means something. It means something to the guys who worked their tails off to get there. It means something to their coaches, their families, their friends. It's a hard earned reward for a season well played, and just watching them huddle together like brothers, relax, have fun, and enjoy each other is meaning enough for me.
2) I'm a total sexist.
It's true. With the exception of a select few (and they know who they are), I hate mixing women and football. Don't crash my fantasy draft, don't talk to me during the game, don't ask me to go shopping, don't expect me to entertain you, don't pretend to be a fan, don't keep football from your man, don't swoon over the players, don't try to talk the talk, don't wear PINK - And to all of you high-heeled, high-maintenance, happy hour tailgaters who can't hold your liquor - Yes, I'm talking to YOU.
3) I discriminate against men too.
4) I stalk my fantasy players on Twitter.
True story. If I draft you, you'd better not:
a) Do sit-ups, or take part in any other exercise routine in your driveway.
b) File bankruptcy - Chapter 7, 11, 15, 86....I don't care. You're a big boy. Act like it.
c) Serve jail time for dog fighting, domestic abuse, rape, murder, or other reprehensible crimes.
d) Trash your baby mama via social media, head butt your wife, or fake your fake girlfriend's death.
e) Drop the "N" word at a Kenny Chesney Concert.
f) All of the above.
#CmonMan #StopIt
5) I hold myself accountable.
When a season goes bad, I blame myself. I never throw my players under the bus. For example, I take full responsibility for the following:
- In the 2011 Fantasy Draft, Low Hanging Fruit selected Jamaal Charles over LeSean McCoy in the 1st Round. In game 2 of the season, Charles blew out a knee. McCoy went on to score 17 TDs on the season.
- In the 2012 Fantasy Draft, Low Hanging Fruit selected LeSean McCoy. McCoy finished the year with 2 TDs and 4 Fumbles. Jamaal Charles went to the Pro Bowl.
- In the 2013 Fantasy Draft, Low Hanging Fruit selected Trent Richardson in the 1st Round. Trent was traded to the Indianapolis Colts, and took a backseat to Donald Brown. LeSean McCoy became the league's leading rusher. He went to the Pro Bowl, along with Jamaal Charles.
- In 2013, Low Hanging Fruit drafted a post-season team. The Fruit started LeSean McCoy AND Jamaal Charles. McCoy was eliminated in the 1st Round, and Charles left early with a concussion.
6) When I'm wrong, I say I'm wrong.
Exhibit A: A letter to Larry Fitzgerald
Dear, Larry -My sincere apologies for calling you overrated. Clearly, I was young, naive and stupid. You wore #1, and you were #1, and you'll always be elite to me - both on and off the field. There are few better players and few better people, and I'm blessed just to know you're for real. Hail to PITT.
Love,
- L. xoxo
7) OCD Me refuses to stay on the bench.
If you ask me I'll say I'm not superstitious, but when things start going wrong, I worry that I wore the wrong jersey, watched from the wrong bar, went to bed too late, or woke up too early. I second guess (and 3rd guess and 4th guess) my picks, labor over my fantasy lineups (Start/Sit, Start/Sit, Start/Sit). I repeatedly tell myself I should've listened to my father, my friends, my bartender, my bookie. I appeal to the Football Gods with fervor, begging the Universe for one last 3rd down conversion......And I swear I'll never ask for anything again.
And if that's not weird enough, my non-sports related idiosyncrasies want to play too. Just yesterday, my aversion to odd numbers had me thinking, "I'd totally be rocking a Foles jersey by now, if he'd just consider wearing #8." Whaddya' say, Nick?
8) I even play hurt.
Eagles/Raiders, September 25th, 2005, Lincoln Financial Field:
My mom and I forfeited our seats to family, in from out of town and pumped to catch a game. We tagged along anyway, planning to join the tailgate and head to McFadden's to watch the action. No sooner had we poured our first beer, when our plans were temporarily compromised by a fall in the parking lot. Pavement - Meet my left elbow.
The arm was broken, but not my spirit, and our tailgating neighbors rallied to help. They offered up a sling made out of Caution Tape and a couple of Oxycontin. I passed on the pain killers, but the sling got me back on the field. We proceeded to the bar, where I iced down the arm, and self-medicated with beer and vodka shots.
The game was a nail biter, and an injured David Akers kicked through a bad hammy to pull off the "W.""PHILADELPHIA (AP) -- David Akers again fell to the ground, writhing in pain. This time, his teammates piled on and celebrated."
I raised my good arm in homage, and felt a true kinship. In that moment, we were brothers, and bonds like that refuse to be broken.
9) I once entered a contest to get married on ESPN's Mike & Mike in the Morning:
My Entry:
If you’re a true football fan, you believe in the magic of Super Bowl Sunday. You trust wholeheartedly in the concept that the World’s best match-ups are brought together, in a quintessential showcase of football heart and soul. Each year, you root for your team to make it to that dance, and each year you believe they can win.
From the time I was a little girl, I believed in the magic of weddings – much the same way that I now believe in Super Bowls. I dreamed of that white wedding dance, that chance for a ring, that moment of glory, and each day I believed I would win.
On Super Bowl weekend, two years ago, two football fans from opposite conferences, two sides of the State, looked at each other and knew – this was our turn, our chance at the dance, our Super Bowl Sunday, right there in front of us. We felt the magic, and we knew we could win.
Since that day, our teams - the Eagles, the Steelers - have gone on to win two Conference Championships and a Super Bowl, and we can’t help believing in the magic that brought them there – the magic that brought us here. We can’t help believing we’re still going to win.
We love football, we love each other, and we come to ESPN – two believers, two fans – with a dream, with a wish, with an untouchable faith in the magic of sports and love, and we ask – May we have this dance?
In spite of my aversion to phony, frilly, female types, I'm still as sappy as they come. Coaching terminations, free agency losses, inspirational stories, player injuries, missed kicks, touchdown celebrations, wins, losses, fantasy - it doesn't matter. I get emotional about it all.
In fact, sentiment is what I value most about the world of sport. If what's behind the game doesn't conjure up feelings, draw emotion, hit us right in the heart - Why attach ourselves to sport at all? It's the tales of victory, the regret of defeat, the strength and resilience, the brotherly love. These are the things that give us something to believe in. These are the things that become part of who we are.
So, all things considered, I'm still a broad at heart. And Super Bowl Sunday will always be bittersweet. But let's take some time to look past the weather. Let's try to concentrate on what's important in life. Let's reflect on the victories that brought us here, and the defeats that taught us how to overcome. Because in life and in sport, no matter who you are, there's really only one thing worth asking for. There's only one thing we should all be working toward, and one thing we're entitled to expect from each other - and that's a good game.
Now, let's go play some ball.....
