So Why Do I Do I Do This To Myself?
As you can see below, my prognosticating skill leaves something to be desired (Michigan 38, Notre Dame 34). Ugh.
A poster on ndnation.com, which has been in high dudgeon for two weeks, asked "Why do we do this to ourselves?" Why do we care so much about a game between guys we don't and probably never will know, who do not care one way or another whether we watch and care or not, in a contest that, all shirt-wearing and game-viewing rituals to the contrary, we have no influence over whatsoever?
Here was my reply:
A Notre Dame win is a victory for all that is right and good in the universe. Those who sought to vanquish the valiant warriors of Our Lady's school have been driven away to wail and gnash their teeth. Peace, Love, Justice, and Mercy reign.
The sun shines brighter, food tastes better, I enjoy other games that day, I don't mind doing household chores on Sunday, and will revel in every word written about the game for hours, letting the glory and goodness of a Notre Dame victory inspire my heart and lift my soul.
At church, I know God is happy. The statue of the Blessed Mother winks at me. Knew the boys would come through, she seems to say. The statue of Jesus (which looks like a crucified Matthew McConaughey) seems to proclaim
Irish win, man....Cool....Just keep livin'...
An ND loss is victory for the pagan and godless, or in the case of Boston College, a victory for a bunch of johnny-come-lately, self-delusional nitwits. The harmony of the universe has been disturbed. Gloom and depression reign.
The sky darkens, I am unable to enjoy life's pleasures, I shut off the TV for the rest of the day (who gives a crap about college football if Notre Dame is not at or near the top?), and household chores on Sunday will be done grudgingly, if at all. In the yard, grass and weeds grow defiantly, as they know they will not be cut today. I use up my week's allotment of profanity in a span of 1 hour, as I inquire (to everyone and to no one) as to why ND can't find a g#&d@$n coach who can teach these guys how to f%!k#&g block and tackle. Sunday afternoon will be spent in my study - a veritable den of sadness and despair - as I will dissect every word written about the game for hours to discern why, for the love of God why, such a catastrophic event has occurred.
At church, I know God is irritated. The statue of the Blessed Mother wears a disappointed frown. Barbarians are at the gate, she seems to say. The statue of Jesus (which looks like a crucified Matthew McConaughey) seems to shrug and mutter
What do you want from me, man? There's not much I can do if they don't block or tackle....
It's been this way for 11 or 12 weekends a year, for going on 35 years now. This is my lot in life. It's not a lot, but it's my life.