Friday, September 18, 2009
I’m almost ashamed to share with you what I wanted to do last Monday night. I’ll give you a hint: it did not involve watching the Patriots game.
Internet, I confess: I wanted to shop for shoes.
Last week I wrote about how hard it was to keep track of all the fall and winter sports teams. Well, it’s even more difficult when the September issue of Vogue is on news stands and it is Fashion Week in New York City. Let me tell you something: Fall fashion this year is as much fun as watching the Pats beat the Bills 25-24 with Tom Brady throwing for 2 touchdowns in the last five minutes of the game. I know, I know, Internet, you don’t get how the new line of Ferragamo or Hermes shoes can make a girl’s heart thump with joy.
Now you’re all mumbling, “Uhhh….poor girl…probably needs more protein in her diet…” So let’s move on…
When I arrived at my boyfriend’s house Monday night after my day job, I let him know I wanted shoes. I needed shoes. In fact I said, “I think I’m going to skip the game and go buy shoes at Aldo.”
The poor boy believes it is football season; I know it is shoe season. Heels, ankle boots, above the knee boots…it’s slightly more complicated than Belichick’s playbook, and possibly more crucial. He stared at me as if trying to find out if his girlfriend was a victim of alien abduction and I was some clone the space creatures had left in her place. That’s how I look at him when I’m trying to get his attention after a new video game has come out. He seems to be sitting in front of me, but actually, he goes away somewhere, far off, to a distant mental galaxy. It’s sort of a religious experience.
“It’s the first Patriots game of the year,” he explained.
“It’s just a game,” I said.
His jaw collided with the ground.
He likes me, so he explained, patiently. “It’s the Patriots. It’s Monday Night Football. Tom Brady. Patriots. First game back.”
I listed every typical woman excuse I could think of starting with, “I’m really tired,” to “I have a headache,” to “I have work to do.” All were true, I swear.
“But it’s the Patriots,” he said, as if the fact needed no further explanation. Go explain water to a fish.
So after much coaxing and guilt-tripping, I gave in. We went to his friend’s apartment to watch the game. I’m glad I went. In fact, I’m ecstatic that I went. In case you missed it while you were drooling over some Nine West Booties, Tom Brady threw thunderbolts to help the Pats come back from an 11-point deficit with five minutes left in the game.
I still can’t believe that happened. I saw it. In fact, just writing that makes me smirk while shaking my head in disbelief. A light was turned on in the gloom over Foxboro Stadium and a mighty voice from the sky intoned, “ I am Tom Brady. Lo and behold, I have been gone a year, but I have returned. Believe, puny Mortals, lest I smite thee with my right arm!”
It’s almost unfair, isn’t it? The man is a star quarterback, looks like a Greek God, and is married to a supermodel. A supermodel with great shoes.
Seriously though, how much fun is it to watch Patriots games? Did any of you forget in the off season? I sure as hell did. Thinking back to season’s past, we can all remember multiple games the Pats could not win—until they did, like magic, coming back from some ridiculous deficit. I’m missing patches of hair, my nails are gone, and I have a red mark on my forehead from all the times I smacked it in frustration. I’m going to die young if I continue to follow this sports team, but I’m not sure that I mind. There’s nothing like a fall breeze, football food, and a touchdown pass completion from Tom Brady to Randy Moss.
My boyfriend was right; it’s impossible not to get psyched about the Patriots. Even if you’re relatively clueless to the rules of the game, it’s physically impossible not to jump out of your seat and dance around, boogie, chest bump, whatever, when the Patriots invent a chance out of nothing to come back and win a game. In five minutes. This phenomenon still makes less sense to me than shoes, but damn it, I’ll take it.
In my shoe-loving defense,however, how in the hell am I supposed to steal Tom Brady away from Gisele without sexy, above the knee boots?
Samantha Lewis is the author of "Hit Like a Girl". She is the Creative Director of Northshore Editorial in Salem, MA and can be followed on Twitter