Wednesday, September 18, 2013

Fifty Shades of Jay

I ride a roller coaster that would scare even the most ravenous of thrill seekers:  The Football Season Emotional Roller Coaster.  Not a catchy bit of nomenclature, I know, but it is the scariest ride on earth.  Let me show you.

There is no height or age (or even genus or species) requirement for the F.S.E.R.C.  No one is immune to the bi-polarism of Mr. Coach.  Even the very youngest child in our household stares at me in bewildered amazement and asks, "What's wrong with daddy?"  The dog even knows something is amiss.  And when I agree with the dog, it is a rare event indeed.  Because most of the time, I am secretly plotting the little hair-shedder's untimely demise.

Unlike most coasters of yore, the F.S.E.R.C. starts at the top.  In August, we are world-beaters.  We are the kings of the world.  We are UNSTOPPABLE!  No one can beat us!  (Mostly because no one has played us yet.)  We have shredded our own JV defense with effortless precision.  Mr. Coach is at the peak of his mania. 

Then comes mid-September.  Then comes the plummeting crash when we lose our first game.  We are horrible.  We got exposed for the frauds we are!  We are.............wait...................we just won another game...................WE ARE UNSTOPPABLE!  Aaaaand we're back up again!  It is like some cruel form of ADHD. 

So, up and down we go.  Screaming at the top of our lungs.  Is it good-excited-exhilarating screaming?  Or is it oh-my-god-we're-going-to-die-of-a-zombie-attack screaming?  Same dif.  It exhausts the children.  It scares the neighbors.  It freaks out the dog.  Win!  WE'RE UP!  Loss.  We're down.  Sometimes it even happens mid-week two or three times!  Monday:  down.  Tuesday:  up.  Wednesday:  up.  Thursday:  down.  Friday:  up.  Until 9 PM.  Then down again.  Sometimes it's an up and and a down all at once.  We won, but our quarterback dislocated his shoulder.  We're Prozac and Valium all at once. We're Valiac.  Or Prozium.  Uh, what the...?

There are no seat belts, restraining bars or carnival employees lacking appropriate dental hygiene telling you to 'keep your arms in' or to 'have fun.'  We never know when the ride will take a terrible plunge.  Or rocket into the stratosphere.  Or go completely off the rails.  Or blow up.  There are no refunds for these disasters, either.  In fact, there is no customer service department AT ALL for the whole screwed-up amusement park we call "Football."  We don't get to complain to anyone who will listen.  People just stare at us forlornly, as if to say, "You bought the all-season, unlimited ride wristband/bracelet, so you'd better just get back on and try to get your money's worth. *whispers* Idiots!"  And I run after these people, shaking my wrist, screaming (The bad, zombie kind of scream), "Take it back!  Take back the wristband!  You can have it!  Keep my money!  Please!"  And all I get is a big bucket of Grade A, Farm Fresh Ignored.

There is one part about the F.S.E.R.C. that none of the traditional roller coasters can boast of.

There are no lines.

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