(Originally posted on my MySpace blog April 15, 2007)
Murphy’s Law (the theory, not the band) just put a foot in my ass in a big way.
As anyone who has known me for more than 15 minutes comes to learn, I’m a huge Dallas Cowboys fan. And one of my favorite days of the year is when the Cowboys come to Giants Stadium. It’s a chance to drive 15 minutes, see my favorite team play live, enjoy great food and drink at my friend’s tailgate and see some good football. The game is rarely a blowout.
I’ve missed something like three of the past 20, and one was unintentional – tickets I thought I had fell through, and I ended up watching the game at a Hooter’s in Manhattan, dressed for a cold Monday night at the stadium and seemingly stripping off one layer after every drive.
The NFL released its schedule this past Tuesday and, starting me right in the face was Cowboys @ Giants, Nov. 11, 4:15 p.m.
Why? Why Nov. 11? Nov. 11 is the one day out of the entire football season that I CAN’T go to a game. My close friend and old roommate is getting married that day. Attendance is non-negotiable. I wouldn’t even think about not attending.
Well, in the interest of full disclosure, I may have had a fleeting thought (or 72) about blowing it off, but it’s not going to happen. I’ll be at the wedding.
But this is the kind of crap luck I have to deal with. The Cowboys play six night games. Why couldn’t this have been one of them? Or why couldn’t one of the crappier games on their schedule fallen on this day, like St. Louis, Minnesota or Detroit?
This fucking sucks.
The Cowboys do play at Miami and Chicago, where I have friends, so that’s a possibility. Washington isn’t a horrible drive, but that game is on Dec. 30, which just screams brutal weather.
Philadelphia is NOT an option. I won’t even get into why out of respect to two very lovely women and close friends who are in my beach house and a third who used to be in the house but moved on to marriage and children. But I will not set foot in that stadium during an Eagles game.
Life would be so much simpler without weddings. The industry is the biggest racket I’ve ever seen. “These flowers? $16 per dozen. Oh, wait … they’re for a wedding? Make that $125 per dozen.” Anyone who claims to really enjoy weddings is either full of shit or doesn’t get out of the house enough.
I vote for a return to caveman days, where courting involved bopping a woman over the head with a club and dragging her back to the cave. Think of how much less drama there would be.
So, what can I do but move on. I’ll enjoy the wedding and give it my undivided attention, then head straight for a sports bar and catch the second half. I’ll miss the experience, from waking up in the morning in full lunacy mode, to the tailgate, to the game itself. But I’ll be back next year.
That is, unless another wedding fucks that up, too.
(9′s edit on 1/16/08: Cowboys 31, Giants 20, and I was able to catch most of the game at a sports bar. Unfortunately, the Giants and Cowboys met again in the playoffs, and I really don’t want to get into that right now.)