So Many Things To Say

I didn’t go to my favorite spot to watch games on Sunday. Not because I wasn’t interested, but because I knew my bartender and pal JB would be in a nasty mood, and I’m not always able to contain the unbridled joy that accompanies every Giants loss. It kind of felt like no one was in the mood to be out anyway. Even my girl Violet flaked on me. Mind you I haven’t seen this chick in 10 years and we had agreed to go watch the games together. Around 1pm? Not so much. Her exact words? “I couldn’t sit and watch my team lose with you and you hate them.” I bet she was thought I was going to be talking a lot of shit.
The thing is, I’m not much of a talker. I can never think of anything nasty or crude to say when the time is appropriate. An hour later, after the beer has worn off? I still can’t come up with any of the soul crushers that have been sent my way. Charge it to the game.
What I’m good at is cheering REALLY loud against the team you like. Smiling brightly while you look like you want to kill someone, and suggesting rounds of shots to celebrate. I know this doesn’t rub people the right way, but hell, if you can’t take it, don’t dish it out.

If you’ve talked to me/read my blog about football for more than five minutes, you know how much I dislike the Giants. I’ve often said that the only way I could/would ever root for them is if Joe Montana came to my house and personally told me it was okay. So Sunday was particularly pleasant for me. Outside of picking all four winners correctly; in consecutive weeks, the teams I hate the most, who’s fans talk the most shit were sent packing. Joy!

Sports fans know it’s just a part of life. People always have something to say and won’t hesitate to laugh in your face when your team loses or tell you how your team ain’t shit when they win. I’ve had a lot of it sent my way because of the teams I choose to root for. I certainly didn’t choose the easiest path, and people I know make it their business to say some not so nice things to me about my teams at every possible turn.

Like the final game of the regular season when the Jets lost. I got about 30 text messages within the span of about 10 minutes. Miami friends and Jets haters-people I may not have spoken to in years, making all manner of foul comments. A few even took their chatter to Facebook. I’m always friendly, but some of the things people were saying made me think really unclean thoughts. I took it like a woman. What was I going to do? Cry? I did enough of that after the game. I knew my time was coming. It always does.

Out of those 30 texters who had so much to say when the Jets lost? I heard nothing when their team was dismantled by Baltimore. In fact, I got a lot of shade when I made mention of this. I swear, I thought my phone had died it was so quiet. Come to find out, it’s hard to talk shit when you’ve had your soul taken on national television. So of course I sent out a bunch of smiley face texts. No words, just a simple greeting to let them know that somewhere, while they’re crying into their beers, I’m laughing into mine.

So this weekend, what did I say? Nothing. Again. I sent smiley face texts to the appropriate parties. Outside of that, I couldn’t really think of anything to say, but what I could think of was all those people who would be really really quiet for the rest of the playoffs. Sometimes, silence is golden.


Like Terita’s take on sports? Tired of people assuming that women aren’t die hard sports fans? Or maybe you’re using this column to make sure your bf’s weekly sports obsession doesn’t completely put you to sleep and you can make conversation? Either way, read the rest of Terita’s sportie run down here.

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