Loving the Giants

It’s going to be a difficult night to write here. I should have written this morning but I was busy doing other things. And now, the Super Bowl is on and I’m watching the Patriots lose two minutes from the end of the half. To me, this is a good thing. The Patriots should lose.

Hear me out. I live in New England, born and bred here. I know I should be rooting for the Pats. But, I grew up in a house of New York fandom: Giants, Knicks, Rangers, and of course the Yankees. Some of my fondest memories were watching football with my Pop, rooting for Giants, asking about the rules and plays. Or driving up to Boston to watch the Yankees and Sox play. Of course, Pop told us to keep our rooting for the Yankees quiet since we were entering the lair of the bear.

My father and I didn’t connect on much. He was a quiet man that spoke very little. He wasn’t the type of father that would listen to me talk about how my school day was, or who I had a crush on, or in talking at all. He rarely shared what was going on in his life. No, my father did more with his actions (camping and hiking and hunting and fishing). I knew the only way to really be close to my father was to do the things he liked to do or watch the things he liked to watch. It wasn’t like he’d be all that interested in what I was drawing or writing (I was a cerebral child…very much in my head).

My relationship with my father now is wonderful. He’s a warm and funny guy; a spitfire of a small Italian man with his Sicilian blood giving him a warm tanned look even in the dead of winter (I did not get his skin. Rather, I got my mother’s pale, Irish skin). Unlike my mother and I, who speak at least once a week for an extended period of time, my father and I still don’t speak that often. But his warm hugs and I love you, sweetie tells me he cares about me.

So, it is largely the fact that my father is New York’s fan that I became a fan. But, I stay a fan because it’s a connection to my father. It is something we can share. But, being a New York fan while living in Boston has been a bit difficult. Every time I wear my Giants shirt, I get a ton of shit for it. Mostly from my coworkers. Almost every single one of them are die-hard Pats fans. The Mondays after the Patriots lose, there is a heavy weight in the office. A few of the guys are crestfallen. To be honest, the Patriots losing has been few and far between. But I still don’t understand how much a loss can affect them.

Who am I to judge though? And I don’t. Even though I’m not a big fan of the Pats or the Red Sox, I wish for them to win when they aren’t playing my teams. I’d rather have the boys in the office happy and smiling rather than see their morose countenances. Sports is also something that I can connect with the boys on. The owner of the company is a huge Boston fan. I think my ability to dish out shit when it comes to sports is part of the reason why I was promoted to VP. Talking sports, talking shit, taking it when my Giants lost…I think all of these things give me more face time with the owner, which in turn gets me more chance to talk about other things.

I could be wrong. I don’t know. I don’t know if acting like one of the guys (is it acting if I genuinely like watching football?) is what got me to where I am. Maybe it’s because I’m fairly vocal and unafraid of raising my voice. Maybe it’s all a crap shoot, right?

Ugh, this is a long entry. Really, 750 words? These are the times I wonder if writing this shit is worth it. I mean, really. I don’t have very many followers on WordPress but I think your time is worth more than this. At what point does the commitment to myself still outweigh the time of those reading this blog? And at what point is it all just pointless? Does it matter that these words were written tonight?