So last night was a quiet night in our house. The main event, the finale to our four day weekend, was Sunday Night Football – Patriots vs. Broncos. For those of you unaware, I love the Patriots and Rob Gronkowski is my FAVORITE player. I just love him – his enthusiasm, how well he plays and he’s not one of those BAD players who beats his wife or children or does drugs. He’s just a young guy with lots of money having a good time all the while kicking ass on the field and I kind of envy that. I don’t care if he’s a “bro” or a “meathead” or whatever people say. He’s smart enough to do his job, and do it well. I used to be a Brady girl, but in 2012 Gronk came into my life and spiked the football into my heart (har har har.) I would definitely be a cougar for him. Not that I’m THAT old, but he’s much younger than I thought he was when he originally popped up on my radar (wink wink.)
Anyway, my doggie and I were laying in bed together watching the game and The Husband was watching in the living room on the big TV. I was dozing on and off because at one point it seemed like they were marching towards victory with very little resistance. Then the score got tighter, but still no worries.
Until about 11:30PM when Gronk went down and didn’t get up. At first I wondered, is this for real? Gronk’s going to pop up, of course he is. But no, he rolled around and writhed in agony and then my stomach dropped. I heard shouting from The Husband in the living room and I thought I heard something crash off a shelf or on to the floor but The Husband denies it. The dog jumped up at the noise. And the medical staff ran out and he still wasn’t getting up and then I started crying. Yeah, I cried. Not sobs but big tears rolling slowly down my cheeks. I was so sad for him and it looked like he was in so much pain. Then I had a Michael Scott moment and made some dramatic Facebook posts – my feed was full of them though so I wasn’t alone. It was a disaster in our house by this point – between the yelling and crying and NOOOOOOO’s. A total cluster at 11:30 on a Sunday night between us and the dog.
To put it in context of my day, that was the third time I’d been brought to tears. The first time was driving home from my friend’s house – we had just gone shopping with her two young daughters and I pushed her little girl S around the store. After we checked out and were waiting for my friend and her sister E, this little old lady commented how cute she was and how well she listened to her mommy as I helped her put her jacket on. I had the angry tears in the car as I was driving home. Angry because my own babies were dead and nobody would ever say that about me and them. I would never get that experience with them. Then I cried as I laid in bed with my dog before the football game turned sour for me – I had the sad tears that time. Sad because my own babies were dead. Sad because I don’t believe I will ever have children of my own. I believe I will never get that experience with any child of my own in the future no matter how bad I want it or how hard I try. That’s just how I feel right now.
So, when I saw my football hero go down with what I thought was a season ending injury, I cried again. My third cry of the day. Then the game went to OT, and they lost, and I was furiously refreshing my Twitter feed to see if any of the ESPN or local sports reporters had any news on the injury. Because, let’s face it – without Gronk the Patriots’ Super Bowl dreams are shot. There’s no other player that can do what he does even half as well. I know it, and all Patriots fans know it, and every time he goes down we all hold our breathe until he is up again. I could complain about the bad calls and the bogus penalties from last night but I really don’t care because all I care about is having healthy players in January. I’ll take a regular season loss any day over a loss in January or February. Just bring back a healthy Edelman, and Amendola, and GRONK please.
So that’s how my long Thanksgiving weekend ended. Stressed and in tears over football. I usually DO NOT cry this often, in fact before my first loss I hardly ever cried. I just didn’t. I was never an overly emotional person. And I still don’t cry that often. But my “visitor” arrived over the weekend (I have got to come up with a better euphemism for it) and I’m going to lay some of the blame on my hormones.
Lovely way to start the new week!