Well, thanks to my new friend from the west coast, I got to sweat for 4 hours today. Yes, my stamina's pretty good for a old lady in her 40s... but I can only wish it were in service of a prettier cause. The Patriots, in case you were otherwise engaged, simply decimated the hapless Miami Dolphins at Pro Player Stadium. And like the little girl in the Shake and Bake commercial, "I helped."
Since I was only mildly sympathetic to the local boys-- who seemingly came on the field already mentally composing their post-loss locker room soundbites-- I had a grand ole time rooting for Tom Brady and his crew. And what was even sweeter-- my seats were among a gaggle of NE fans in their blue and red jerseys. The portly gent sitting just below me with his pals- all having traveled from Boston for the game-- truly appreciated the way I jumped up and down when the Pats scored again and again. (As a woman, this is when you wish the Jumbotron would catch your boobage making its play for fame.)
The SO- who's only mildly interested in the antics of the NFL- watched bemusedly as I alternately dabbed sweat from my ladylike brow and careened to my feet, screaming "Get him!"
By halftime, it was obvious that even the perky Dolphins cheerleaders were working hard to maintain their spirit. (And by the way-- are hair extensions a prerequisite for being a pro cheerleader? Half of their choreography seemingly consisted of them throwing their manes to and fro. But I digress.)
The highlight of halftime was not the Air Force Band- whose rather stolid performance reinforced my ideas about creativity in the military- but the moment they introduced the pilots who had blasted over the stadium in their F-18s after the National Anthem. The camera zoomed in on the crew in their modest brown jumpsuits-- strong jaws, keen eyes and a gagillion horsepower at their fingertips-- and as they made their "Aw, shucks" waves, I thought, "Aw, yes!" But then, I'm a sucker for a uniform. (Just ask my UPS man!)
Well, a girl can only glow for so long, and by the beginning of the 4th quarter, Miami's fate had been cast. It was time to go.
On the ride home, I counted up the firsts. My first game in Miami. My first Tom Brady jersey. And my first game day courtesy of my left-coast client, and, of course, Tabu.
Let the celebration begin!