I'm halfway through the trip from my parent's house to my home when I get a call informing me that you're leaving.
Bad boy. Very, very bad boy.
I know Larry could be a pain in the ass, but c'mon. This is your hometown team and you're its golden boy. We NEED you.
Rethink? Please?
-------
"I like that it's such an event when you go to a football game."
My father gestured to the cars and trucks that surrounded us in the parking lot. I'd certainly give him that - with the flags (American, Irish and Patriots, of course) and the beers and the grills and the 19-inch televisions with satellite dishes parked alongside cars, everyone was arriving in Foxboro ready to pregame.
A good thing, probably, as it was 4:30 in the afternoon and kickoff wasn't scheduled to start for four hours.
It was foreign to me, this preparation and collective anticipation. I'm used to riding the T to Kenmore, climbing the stairs and walking with the masses toward Fenway. Maybe a drink before heading in, definitely a Fenway Frank sometime during the game. Game ends, Red Sox have won and I'm back on the T among the crowds, moving to wherever I need to go. In and out, all things considered.
We'd arrived in Beverly early Sunday afternoon, and my mother immediately packed me up into the car and drove us to the grocery store so I could select the items I'd want my father and I to enjoy as we tailgated. The only problem was that I had no idea. I've never tailgated football games. I've never had a football team to tailgate. I've never grilled in a parking lot or packed up the cooler*.
She'd laughed at my dazed, more-than-a-little overwhelmed expression and helped me out. A little of this, a little of that. Not too crazy, but enough to keep us busy, warm and full come gametime.
And we did well. Food was good. The company we kept with the cars nearby was amusing as hell. The offers for food, beer, propane were flying around with ease and I found myself laughing as the car to our right (from Maine) realized it was my first Pats game.
"WELCOME! What took you so long???"
I didn't think explaining that I was a baseball and soccer girl would go over too well with this crowd, so I just laughed and thanked them for the welcome.
The game itself? Weird. Good, but weird. We were almost as high as one could get within Gillette Stadium, but I tend to get a kick out of those kinds of seats. They're fun, they provided a great view of the field, and I surprised myself by knowing what was going on throughout. I jumped up to cheer when things went well (not during the first half, of course), I yelled at the refs when I didn't agree with calls, and I thoroughly amused my father, with whom I had my first chance to spend some quality alone time in awhile. I don't think he was expecting to hear me hollering, "Take 'em down! Take 'em down! Tackle 'em! Kill 'em!"
And, like everyone else within the stadium, I cheered loudly when Tedy Bruschi made his first appearance of the season. And, well, every time the guy stepped onto the field. Football fan or not, that was incredible to be there for. His smile radiated up to our seats.
The Patriots came back in the fourth quarter to beat the Bills, thus leaving my Boston-area sports record undefeated, I was able to thank the fates for keeping me warm and happy during the game, and I realized that NFL football would join the ranks of hockey in my mind.
Not going to go out of my way to watch it. If it's TV, forget about it. But get me into the sports venue and watch me go nuts and have fun with it.
But man. I miss Fenway already...
*Exception being a couple of Dave Matthews Band concerts, but let's face it. That's different. Sandwiches and alcohol and that's pretty much it.
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