Yesterday’s game between the Dallas Cowboys and the Green Bay Packers broke my heart and tore me down as a human being.
After the game I had only one thought on my mind.
Aaron Rodgers is a dickhead.
If you are a Dallas Cowboys fan like me, your Sunday night was haunted by the image of a bearded God, with raccoon-like eyes, throwing an unfathomable 35 yard pass across his body, only to be upstaged by an even more impressive tiptoeing sideline catch.
The unbelievable pass not only ended my NFL season, but it ended my love of sports forever.
And believe it or not, I have never been happier.
Over the past twenty-four years of my life, weekday and weekend plans have been controlled by the powerful forces of pigskins, shoulder pads, home runs, nutmegs, aces, dunks, and other extraordinary human displays of athletic dominance.
But ever since I quit sports, the past 12 hours have been enlightening. I have been born again and am experiencing the riches of the world through virgin senses.
After last night’s loss, I turned off the TV and sulked into my bedroom. I noticed a rectangular object protruding out of a pile of Fantasy Football stats. Instead of scrolling through Twitter on my phone and re-watching highlights and reading about the game, I reached for the foreign object. I blew off a thick layer of dust, and the object read Wise Blood by Flannery O’Connor. I skimmed through the first few pages, and HOLY SHIT. Did you know books are not required to be based on true sport events? Non-fiction is not he only genre of books! There is a whole other world of writing called fiction. This book featured zero sports figures and zero stats. I was transfixed. I never knew books that did not focus on Tony Romo, Peyton Manning, or Tom Brady possessed the power to be interesting and life-changing.
Normally after my team’s victory or loss, I pour Coors Light down my mouth until I can no longer see or control any of my body’s basic movements. But Flannery O’Connor kept me glued to my bed, in complete control of my body, reading until I fell asleep. It was a strange feeling. The following morning was even more surreal. I woke up with a brain that did not feel like it had been microwaved into pink mush. I did not have to think twice about what day of the week it was and my clock shockingly glowed with a unfamiliar AM abbreviation. I did not even drink any of the half-empty Coors Lights scattered around my apartment, but instead poured them down the sink, like an adult would. An adult with a retirement plan, who scheduled regular dentist appointments.
I opened my laptop and deleted all of my bookmarked sport sites. ESPN, Bleacher Report, Fox Sports, any sport site you can think of, gone. I stared at my laptop screen unsure of what other uses the internet provided. After a quick Google search, I quickly discovered the true powers of the internet – hardcore pornography. All of these years I wasted hours upon hours watching grown men (sometimes even high school athletes!) tackle each other, fighting over an irregular shaped ball, when all this time I could have been watching people banging each other senseless. Enough of Peyton Manning’s landing strip of a forehead. There are busty sorority co-eds, with no money, trying to pay for an extra-large sausage pizza!
Aaron Rodgers, I apologize.
You are not a dickhead. You are a God who has cleansed me of my gluttonous sport habits.
Now excuse me as I now focus on the variety of splendors life has to offer. I will start by watching Debbie, an ambitious dreamer, defy all odds and do whatever it takes to become a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader.