Marcie (m)
Bears win? Bears win! How the hell did the Bears win?!
American football can look like art at times, reference both game-ending interceptions in the Chicago Bears last two weeks of play. Last week they play the San Francisco 49ers, and basically look like garbage for 3 of 4 quarters, but miraculously end up tying the game at the last second and winning it on an interception during the first play of overtime - a heartwrenching victory that nearly sent myself and Scooter to our graves, but left us jumping and screaming and calling people that we knew and yelling only "WE DID IT!" as loud as we could into the speakerphone. Fast forward seven days, and I find myself watching the majority of the first three quarters with Zook, first at my apartment and then at Lunkers during halftime ***1***. Things don't look good for the most part. The quarterback keeps getting sacked. The other team seems to keep intercepting the ball. We leave early, he to the library, me to my apartment. As a last ditch effort, I turn on the TV to see how badly they're faring with less than half a minute left in the game - down 21-7. Hopeless, right? No. Screams come from outside, next door, etc. Somehow, some way, the bastards managed to score one touchdown, recover on the ensuing kickoff, and complete a hail-mary pass to tie the game with no regulation time left. What the ... ?
Just as the previous Sunday, I call my parents to make sure they're watching, and talk to my dad during the Bears failed offensive attempt in overtime. They punt. They plow the guy down at the 12 yard line. If the Browns score, we're done. Game over. But they don't. A hand hits the ball, it goes soring into the air, and suddenly there's a Bears' defensive back with two hands on the piece of pigskin, running it into the endzone. Game over ... for good. I scream. My entire family is screaming through the receiver ***2***. Zook comes running back through our doorway. We smile. If I could've gone to bed right and there, I would've. Believe me.
I even called Scooter just to yell "WE DID IT!" before I went back to my room and started in on the gargantuan pile of homework. Sunny day.
***1*** Lunker's gives you so much food, its hard to comprehend. I'm usually able to finish whatever's put in front of me, but this week, as with last week, I couldn't at Lunkers. Italian Beef sandwich + large heaping of fries = completely full stomach. Somehow, though, Zook ended up nearly polishing off my remaining fries in a testament to the human desire to gorge themself at least once a week. Way to go little guy.
***2*** including my little neighbors who probably had no idea just what they were screaming about, but when in Rome ...
Bears win? Bears win! How the hell did the Bears win?!
American football can look like art at times, reference both game-ending interceptions in the Chicago Bears last two weeks of play. Last week they play the San Francisco 49ers, and basically look like garbage for 3 of 4 quarters, but miraculously end up tying the game at the last second and winning it on an interception during the first play of overtime - a heartwrenching victory that nearly sent myself and Scooter to our graves, but left us jumping and screaming and calling people that we knew and yelling only "WE DID IT!" as loud as we could into the speakerphone. Fast forward seven days, and I find myself watching the majority of the first three quarters with Zook, first at my apartment and then at Lunkers during halftime ***1***. Things don't look good for the most part. The quarterback keeps getting sacked. The other team seems to keep intercepting the ball. We leave early, he to the library, me to my apartment. As a last ditch effort, I turn on the TV to see how badly they're faring with less than half a minute left in the game - down 21-7. Hopeless, right? No. Screams come from outside, next door, etc. Somehow, some way, the bastards managed to score one touchdown, recover on the ensuing kickoff, and complete a hail-mary pass to tie the game with no regulation time left. What the ... ?
Just as the previous Sunday, I call my parents to make sure they're watching, and talk to my dad during the Bears failed offensive attempt in overtime. They punt. They plow the guy down at the 12 yard line. If the Browns score, we're done. Game over. But they don't. A hand hits the ball, it goes soring into the air, and suddenly there's a Bears' defensive back with two hands on the piece of pigskin, running it into the endzone. Game over ... for good. I scream. My entire family is screaming through the receiver ***2***. Zook comes running back through our doorway. We smile. If I could've gone to bed right and there, I would've. Believe me.
I even called Scooter just to yell "WE DID IT!" before I went back to my room and started in on the gargantuan pile of homework. Sunny day.
***1*** Lunker's gives you so much food, its hard to comprehend. I'm usually able to finish whatever's put in front of me, but this week, as with last week, I couldn't at Lunkers. Italian Beef sandwich + large heaping of fries = completely full stomach. Somehow, though, Zook ended up nearly polishing off my remaining fries in a testament to the human desire to gorge themself at least once a week. Way to go little guy.
***2*** including my little neighbors who probably had no idea just what they were screaming about, but when in Rome ...
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