I sit in front of my moderately sized TV,
Staring at the intricate motions
Of the football players in presnap.
“They are going to run the ball.”
Id say, deciphering the formation,
The quarterback’s demeanor.
Then they ran the ball,
And people would stare at me,
As if I had told them the end of a book they were reading.
One team scores,
The wrong team in my opinion,
And the world must be falling.
“Wow, we are going to lose”
I’d say; expressing the anxiety
The gut-wrenching feeling
Of caring far too much.
Again stares befall me
And I knew the words behind them,
“They are still up two scores…”
I knew they wanted to say.
After the game,
I was not happy.
They would scream at me.
But I thought you would understand.
The defense was bad,
You’d see it, I would think.
But you gave me the same response
The one I should expect but don’t
“It was only the first game, we’ll see…”
Luckily this was a textual response
Sparing me from your tone.