The Superbowl and How My Father Cursed Me
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This is all about your programming: things that your parents, grandparents, and your upbringing made you believe to be true, even when it wasn’t your own truth.
A lot of us are still living our parents’ decisions and our parents’ wishes as we formulate our own—myself included. My father’s belief systems have plagued me my entire life.
What I’m about to admit to you is the hardest things I’ve ever written in my entire life. But last night’s game should have been my fourth Super Bowl triumph. See, my old man, he was the guy that would always thought it was funny to do the opposite.
So he was living in New York, I think, in the ’50s. And of course the Giants were a good team in the ’50s; they were an NFL powerhouse before the AFL and the NFL became one league. They were an NFL powerhouse. They won a couple of championships.
The Jets were an expansion team. So my father decided to root for the expansion team because he thought, “yeah, I’ll just go against everybody else” because he loved to argue with people. That was his whole point.
When I was a little kid I always wore a football jersey and that jersey was the Titans. (Because the Jets used to be the called the Titans back then.) And I’ve been a Jets fan, as all of you know, my entire life. Pity me. The Jets don’t win anything.
But my father was halfway cool. He had sort of been a Giant fan.
This would have been my fourth Super Bowl win. Yesterday, I would have been jumping up and down when Eli Manning won the game. I would have been excited-yet-annoyed that Ahmad Bradshaw didn’t take the knee at the one and kill the clock, instead of giving Brady another chance.
But you know what, congratulations to the Giants. It shows what good coaching will do and it shows what determination will do. I don’t even want to begin to tell you about the other curse my dad gave me, the one that’s even worse than the Giants curse: I’m a Mets fan. I don’t know, eight, nine World Series’ the Yankees have won in my lifetime compared to the Mets’ two measly World Series and mediocre play every single year.
It’s time to get rid of our parents’ programming. It’s time to start living our own lives. Go Giants. Go Yankees. See, the curse of my dad is now officially over, because as of now I’m a Giants fan. And next baseball season, I’m all about A-Rod, Mariano Rivera, and Derek Jeter.
Go Yankees.
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