ImPerceptibility

One of the problems with living near Washington D.C. is the Redskin fans. They are weird. Weirder than the average fan some would say. They get on my nerves and they have gotten on my nerves since I was a child. Everywhere you look, Redskin stickers, flags, shirts, underwear, and umbrellas. It gets old. The attitude gets old as well. I know people who will actually take Monday off from work because they are too upset about the Redskins loosing on Sunday.

Worse yet, we can’t go out to eat when they play because the restaurant will be full of fans. They are loud and obnoxious. This isn’t a problem. The problem comes when the Redskins screw up and the loud sounds of disbelief and disgust echo through the restaurant. That’s when my children, who have been properly trained from an early age, will yell, ‘Yes! The Redskins screwed up!’ Then my husband gets that wild look. He’s wondering how many drunken rednecks I’m going to have to distract, with my naked breasts, just so he and the kids can make it safely out the door. It’s just crazy.

I don’t want you to get me wrong. I like football and I love hockey. I can understand the enthusiasm and raw passion that goes into rooting for your favorite team. I once had something of a religious experience when I snuck into sat in the front seat at a hockey game. The sound of hard male bodies crashing into the glass, the sweat flying off the heads of fervent players, the cool air from the ice mixing with the heat of anticipation was… Ok, maybe religion had nothing to do with it. Still, I understand.

Even with a great deal of understanding I couldn’t help myself when, just a few minutes ago, the Jets returned the opening kickoff for a touchdown against the Redskins, and I laughed with glee. Glee, I tell you. There is just no other word for it.

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