If you’re a Bills fan and you’re sick of hearing/thinking/talking about how traumatizing the season was, raise your hand. Great, me too. So let’s not. Instead, let’s role play.
The scenario: we’re in the Super Bowl, not the Patriots.
Now I’ll tell you what my life would be like if that were the case and then you can tell me what your life would be like in the comments section below. This is a therapy exercise. For a second, we’ll experience all those sensory emotions that we’ve been lacking. Sidenote: Please play with me! Nobody ever likes to play with me anymore so I’ll probably end up playing with myself, as usual. Get your head out of the gutter.
Here I go…
I’m homeless and almost broke. I’m in Indy but I had to sell my life to get there. It’s totally worth it, though. This is clearly a once in a lifetime moment (for some reason, my parents refused to uproot my childhood life to bring me to one of those four Super Bowls) and I’m goin’ all out.
I didn’t travel with any family or friends. Instead, I spent the money for a second ticket on a bodyguard. I get a little intense when it comes to football (I tried to kick a Dallas fan out of my house at age 5) so I need to protect myself and everyone around me in case an enemy fan steps out of line. My bodyguard is awesome, though. His name is Darryl and when he’s not looking menacing he gives the best comfort hugs. He was also nice enough to smuggle an extra flask into the stadium for me. What…a guy.
So, let’s skip to the fourth quarter. We’re down by a touchdown with 1:18 to go. I’m 1/3 hyperventilating, 1/3 holding my pee and 1/3 freezing my ass off. This is my fantasy, so Fred Jackson isn’t injured. Instead, Fitz just handed the ball off to him at the Bills’ 35-yard line. Jackson cuts to the right, stiff arms Justin Tuck and sprints down the sideline, hops over someone’s outstretched arm, down to the 50, then the 40, then the 30 with a clear shot to the endzone. Touchdown! The extra point is good. I erupt with glee as Darryl keeps a watchful eye on our surroundings.
There’s still 38 seconds left; the game’s not over. Eli gets the ball and looks for Victor Cruz but splat, he’s on the ground with Kyle Williams on top of him (nobody is injured in this fake game!) Second down also goes kaput. On 3rd-and-8, Ahmad Bradshaw finds a hole and starts to take off but is brought down at the Giants’ 58-yard line. With seconds left, Tynes attempts the long field goal but it’s no good. THE BILLS WIN!
I scream and jump on Darryl. It’s safest that way. He carries me on his shoulders out of the stadium as I fist pump and flail and try not to fall off. Some fellow Bills fans give me free celebratory beads and the night ends at some Bills-designated bar with Ciroc shots for everyone.
The next day I’m in Buffalo, not Albany. I called off work for the entire week so I can properly rejoice with the last of my money. I now have to live in my car, Peerless, indefinitely but at least he’s filled with Bills Super Bowl paraphernalia. And oh yeah…the Buffalo Bills won the Super Bowl!
There’s my fantasy–hey, a girl can dream! Now share yours. This totally helps, I swear. The dark cloud of doom and despair hovering above me has temporarily lifted and I’m almost not dreading a Super Bowl party with all Giants fans.