Another Super Bowl has ended. The final score is in the history books. Indianapolis Colts: some score. Chicago Bears: some score that was lower than whatever the Colts' score was.
Believe it or not, the Bears' loss upsets me greatly. Not because I care about football (which I don't), or because the Bears are my hometown team (which they are) or because I actually watched the entire game (which I did, believe it or not -- second time in history, folks). I didn't even have any money riding on this game.
But I was emotionally invested. Very greatly so. And that's all because of one thing: a cookie.
My fiance and I spent the evening at a Super Bowl party, as many folks do, and as I have already mentioned several times in blog entries, the only way I'm going to go somewhere to watch a sporting event is if I'll be fed, and fed well. I was lured to this party by the promise of homemade guacamole.
When we arrived at the party, there was no guacamole anywhere in sight. The host informed us that the avocadoes he had bought were not yet ready to use, so homemade guac wasn't possible.
I demanded that my fiance drive me straight home but was immediately assured that pizza would arrive shortly. Well, pizza sounded pretty good, and there was some homemade salsa on the table, so I was mollified for the moment.
And then I saw it. A big cookie. A big, beautiful chocolate chip cookie, decorated with orange and blue icing. It seemed to be calling out to me, begging to be eaten.
Suddenly a night watching the big game didn't sound so bad.
Eventually, the pizza arrived, and the game started, and everyone settled in to watch. I didn't understand what was going on, so I couldn't really yell at the TV like everyone else was doing. (I'm not really a yell-at-the-TV person anyway; I barely talk to people who are in the same room with me half the time). Generally speaking, though, it wasn't so bad.
But all the time, I was thinking of that cookie. That beautiful, delicious-looking cookie, just sitting on the table, waiting to be eaten. At halftime or so, someone asked when we'd be cutting the cookie, and the host broke the news to us.
"That's a celebration cookie," he said. "We don't cut into it till the Bears win."
I couldn't believe my ears. At this point, the Bears were trailing, and during the second half of the game, it only got worse. Could it be that that big, beautiful cookie would not fulfill its destiny of deliciousness on Super Bowl Sunday?
Well, we all know now that the Bears went home crying while the Colts celebrated their Super Bowl Victory. (Side note: In a football game between actual bears and actual colts, I wonder which team would win. I think bears would be pretty good at the tackling part, but colts might be better kickers).
After the game, someone else asked about the cookie again, and the host threw it disgustedly on the coffee table, telling everyone, "fine, eat it if you want." No one went for it; I'm not sure if this was in grief or out of respect for the distraught host or perhaps just because they were waiting for him to bring a knife, but I never got to taste the cookie. My fiance had an errand to run, and we left pretty quickly. I briefly considered taking just one big bite out of the cookie before we headed out the door, but I thought that might be bad manners.
So now, like everyone who rooted for the Bears yesterday, I am left with a yearning that yesterday could have turned out differently. Perhaps this was life's way of telling me, "you can't enjoy the perks of the game unless you learn to enjoy the game as well." If that is so, I'll be the first in line next year to cheer the Bears to victory, because as God is my witness, I'll never leave a Super Bowl party hungry again.
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