The thrill is gone. Another year of trials and tribulations in the National Football League has now passed with the blink of an eye and the crowning of the Pittsburgh Steelers as Super Bowl Champions.
It has been an exciting year-the collapse of the Jets, the dominance of the Colts, the Cinderella story of the Steelers, the improbable tenacity of the Chicago Bears; all the storylines and plot changes that make five months of pad-crushing, jailbreak-blitzing, stutter-stepping and endzone celebrations worth watching.
But now all that is over. The dry period for the testosterone-driven brutes of the American landscape has now begun. Up until today, the weather has not seemed quite as cold, the coursework or job labor not nearly as difficult. Hard times hit all on a regular basis, yes, but if one could just muddle through the muck of the other six days of the week, Sunday would be there like a beacon.
Sunday night, men celebrated. Not just the cities of Pittsburgh, Seattle and Detroit (who desperately needed an economic boom like this one), but all over America, men celebrated.
The Super Bowl has become almost secondary to the Super Bowl Party. Neighbors gather together, families huddle in front of a television, bars are jam packed and restaurants schedule extra labor to help with all of the party platter orders.
Yes, Sunday was the proverbial Fat Tuesday for the male culture, and now begins the Lent for the sporting-faithful.
Sure there are other distractions-Golf, Nascar, the Marathon of Greed know as the NBA Playoffs-but nothing quite like the gridiron glory of the fall and winter months. There is simply a piece of the emotional core of a vast majority of the males in this country that is gone.
And as if the brutal removal of such a vital part of the American male’s life was not enough for the karma gods of the sky, what do they nestle two weeks after the fall?
Valentine’s Day-the day where men are expected to be polite, charming, attentive and suave-is difficult proposition for a person who is feeling like he just lost his best friend, his favorite shirt and his drinking buddy.
So women, cut the boys a break. If your significant other, brother, close friend or bar buddy seems methodically depressed, let it go. If he seems to be in a constantly numb state with little sense of purpose or direction, offer support.
If he begins reciting the names of the starters on his fantasy team in his sleep, turn up the radio and ignore him. If he begins talking about the Bears over dinner and breaks out into a full-blown tirade about the state of the offensive line and the constant quarterback problems, smile and nod.
In other words, ride it out. He won’t be like this forever, just until August.