Greetings, from Burton Island!
Land of 72 degrees. The breeze carries scents of pumpkin spice and cheese dip. It’s the busy season on Burton Island. It’s football season. The three TVs in the Man Cave will glow with thousands of fans. Open the taps! Grab a frosty mug! You’re all invited! Sit back …
This is all a big joke.
We’re off the grid.
I am starting to question my own existence.
And then all of the sudden I grew a pair.
I found myself a football friend. Her name is Carmen. Ladies like us are hard to find. We are part man.
I found Carmen during one of her meltdowns on social media last year after her OU Sooners lost. Her final post: Don’t talk to me. DO NOT talk to me.
I fell in love immediately.
A star-crossed lover. Her Sooner to my Wildcat. We’re not supposed to be friends. Red and purple don’t look good together. Then again, we could never root for the same team. The Football Gods cannot handle that amount of hair-pulling, PMS-screaming, estrogen shooting at the TV. Our combined force would cause the earth to open up a sinkhole under the opposing team. Oh, did we do that?
Text message to Carmen: Thank GOD football is back.
Carmen: Thank GOD.
Me: We’re debating on whether to take the girls to Manhattan for the game this weekend. We don’t have tickets. We could tailgate with them?
Carmen: Tailgating would be a good intro for the girls. We are bringing the boys to Norman. I told the boys I won’t talk to them during the game unless it is answering football questions. I will not leave early. I will not spend the game at the concession stand. And I WILL pound their face into the bleachers if they complain about being there.
Me: HA! Hmmm…maybe we shouldn’t bring the girls. I don’t want to deal with all of the above.
Me: Ohhhh FML. Oh no. Carmen. NO
Me: Scott just sent me an email. READ.
Carmen: Wait, what?
Me: I can’t breathe.
Carmen: Tell me this is a joke. What is wrong with him?
Me: Why do I have to be the male in this relationship? He’s texting me nonsense about Google Chrome and streaming from a computer. He told me to buy some bunny ears. From where? The homeless? I just want to reach through the phone slap him. No, maybe grab his balls to make sure he still has some.
Me: This blog post is writing itself.
Carmen: I was thinking the same thing.
Welcome back to the blog, SCOTT.
Ok, I’ll hear him out. Marriage is about compromise. He has valid points – the price of cable is ridiculous. We never watch TV. We only turn on the TV for one reason – sports.
Oh, but football. It’s the game, man! How can you yank that without asking!
It’s fine. I will find a way. I will go to Manhattan and Arrowhead. I will drag my kids to the local bars. I will let myself in friends’ houses. I will try streaming. I will invest in bulk aluminum foil. It can be done. I will survive this football season.
Then I woke up Saturday morning to NO INTERNET.
Somewhere in Norman, Oklahoma, Carmen shivered. My scream shook the ground.
It’s fixed. The internet will be restored. The cable will be restored. The cable company is sending us several hundred dollars in VISA gift cards for our trouble. They accidentally deleted our entire account when they pulled cable.
The Football Gods want to see a social media showdown on October 18th. KSU vs. OU. Open the taps!
Get me off this island.
Are you a woman with the football man gene? Who is your favorite team to watch? Do you use cable or do you stream? Would you curl into a ball and die without internet? OU or KSU, what’s your bet?