The Football Fan's Manifesto Part 2

Caring about one's appearance has commonly been derided in fan circles as the mark of the effete, but it's important to have self-respect. Especially for trash-talking purposes. A fan base full of larda.s.ses opens itself up to easy mocking from the supporters of other teams, not to mention endless inquiries as to whether they plan on finis.h.i.+ng a food item.

Moreover, as much as unwatchable sitcoms on CBS may have convinced you otherwise, you can't be a slovenly mess and hope to attract a good woman who puts up with you. No, you've got to put forward a modic.u.m of effort to keep yourself semi-presentable. That or become obscenely wealthy. Your call.

Should you decide on fitness, a few simple strategies, easily incorporated into your regular sloth-filled routine, can produce dramatic results.

For every six regular beers you drink, have a low-calorie one. It'll trick your metabolism into thinking you're trying to lose weight, thus kicking it into high gear. Either that or the horrible taste will make you swear off drinking for a round or two. It'll trick your metabolism into thinking you're trying to lose weight, thus kicking it into high gear. Either that or the horrible taste will make you swear off drinking for a round or two.Hide the remote. No, it won't force you to get up and change the TV manually more often, but it will force you to yell for someone else to do it. And yelling has to burn at least a few calories, right? No, it won't force you to get up and change the TV manually more often, but it will force you to yell for someone else to do it. And yelling has to burn at least a few calories, right?Eat work-intensive foods like crab legs or sunflower seeds. They require so much effort, you'll think of eating as a ch.o.r.e and won't want to do it at all. That is, unless some enterprising merchant is selling sunflower nutmeat. Then you is screwed. They require so much effort, you'll think of eating as a ch.o.r.e and won't want to do it at all. That is, unless some enterprising merchant is selling sunflower nutmeat. Then you is screwed.Stop eating your weight in bacon paste. It's probably for the best. And not just because your heart stopped pumping an hour ago. Your resulting gas will also melt the eye membranes of those nearby. It's probably for the best. And not just because your heart stopped pumping an hour ago. Your resulting gas will also melt the eye membranes of those nearby.There is no such thing as victory cake. Neither is there first-down cake. Nor blocked punt returned for a touchdown cake. Neither is there first-down cake. Nor blocked punt returned for a touchdown cake.Don't pee into a soda bottle. Getting up once in a while to visit an actual bathroom burns fat and is a much more sanitary option. At the very least find a large bush. Sure, peeing into the bottle saves time and provides you a projectile to chuck at a t.i.tans fan, but it's disgusting. And likely causing you to put pee-soiled hands on your other food articles. Getting up once in a while to visit an actual bathroom burns fat and is a much more sanitary option. At the very least find a large bush. Sure, peeing into the bottle saves time and provides you a projectile to chuck at a t.i.tans fan, but it's disgusting. And likely causing you to put pee-soiled hands on your other food articles.Limit yourself to one pound of wings per quarter. Any more than that and you're talking more hot meat injections than Jeff Garcia.For every lineman who scores, waddle in place for five minutes. If one fat guy can move his a.s.s for a little bit, surely you can do the same. You can even reward yourself with some jumping-jacks cake after you're finished. If one fat guy can move his a.s.s for a little bit, surely you can do the same. You can even reward yourself with some jumping-jacks cake after you're finished.Gastric bypa.s.s surgery. No one said you had to do it the honest way. No one said you had to do it the honest way.

Utilizing these small measures, you'll keep yourself from becoming an unsightly amorphous blob, instead staying a charmingly paunchy glutton. No one wants the clap of their thighs to overmatch those of their hands.

IV.4 The Diner Diner Quiz for a Post-Post- Quiz for a Post-Post-Diner Generation Generation The 1982 Barry Levinson film Diner Diner is best remembered for the scene in which a young man gets his girlfriend to touch his p.e.n.i.s by concealing it in a popcorn box at the movies which later served as the inspiration for the Justin Timberlake and Andy Samberg song "d.i.c.k in a Box" (as seen in that movie with Daniel Stern). is best remembered for the scene in which a young man gets his girlfriend to touch his p.e.n.i.s by concealing it in a popcorn box at the movies which later served as the inspiration for the Justin Timberlake and Andy Samberg song "d.i.c.k in a Box" (as seen in that movie with Daniel Stern).

A more critical segment for our purposes occurs later in the film when Eddie, played by Steve Guttenberg, subjects his fiancee, Elyse, to a rigorous examination of her football knowledge. Nothing much, just 140 or so questions on arcane gridiron facts. Elyse hangs tough, but in the end finishes with 63 percent correct, falling just short of the 65 percent mark required to pa.s.s. If this strikes you as draconian, you clearly married out of desperation, intoxication, or on a dare. Maybe all three. Gauging the football ac.u.men of a potential mate is an all-important determinant in the courting process. Otherwise, your betrothed may be a concealed non-sports-fan, one who has merely cannily constructed a clever facade until the ring gets on her finger. You'd be stuck. Maybe even for months before the divorce was finalized.

That said, Diner Diner is a Hollywood movie and, as such, gets several critical details glaringly wrong. For one, quizzing football fans on stats and trivia is a largely pointless tactic. Stats are only important insofar as they can help our fantasy teams. Slavish reliance on statistics for sports enjoyment is the realm of baseball dorks. It's all they have. Without statistics, baseball would have nothing but the overbearing crush of nostalgia and wacky mascot races. And if they could quantify nostalgia, they'd get Bill James to create a stat for it in a heartbeat. is a Hollywood movie and, as such, gets several critical details glaringly wrong. For one, quizzing football fans on stats and trivia is a largely pointless tactic. Stats are only important insofar as they can help our fantasy teams. Slavish reliance on statistics for sports enjoyment is the realm of baseball dorks. It's all they have. Without statistics, baseball would have nothing but the overbearing crush of nostalgia and wacky mascot races. And if they could quantify nostalgia, they'd get Bill James to create a stat for it in a heartbeat.

Football, on the other hand, is chiefly about emotion, often frighteningly intense and wildly erratic emotion. That's why you must craft your test on personal experience over objective truths. This may seem to feed into the perception that football is not as intellectually stimulating a sport as others, but that ignores a categorical fact: FOOTBALL'S JUST PLAIN AWESOME, DOUCHECANOE. WOOOO!

Therefore, asking her for descriptions of the first game she attended, how she became a fan, and the most painful loss she ever experienced is more revealing and instructive than whether she knows which college some random player attended. If you're concerned that such queries will be more difficult to score, fear not.

IV.4. A THE FOOTBALL MANIFESTO MATE-MATCHING METRIC.

The first order of business is figuring out where you're going to conduct this examination. Any number of forbidding, intimidating venues could conceivably work, though there's a certain amount of jolting verisimilitude to setting up a table on the 50-yard line of a high school football field and having friends, acquaintances, coworkers, and ex-boyfriends fill the stands. Or, you know, if you want to make it racy as opposed to clinical (the NFL would not approve), you could always opt for an actual cla.s.sroom and her in a naughty schoolgirl outfit. One thing Diner Diner got right was the refusal of bathroom breaks during the proceedings. The last thing you need in a significant other is someone who's going to drag you out of your seat during a two-minute drill. Unlike in the movie, you should be as generous as possible with any water she requests. You're really going to want to test that bladder. A nearby slowly dripping faucet is a nice touch. got right was the refusal of bathroom breaks during the proceedings. The last thing you need in a significant other is someone who's going to drag you out of your seat during a two-minute drill. Unlike in the movie, you should be as generous as possible with any water she requests. You're really going to want to test that bladder. A nearby slowly dripping faucet is a nice touch.

In many ways, you have to look at this like it's a football tryout. Most football players who reach the NFL have the physical attributes to excel. The same is true with potential spouses. It's character issues that determine who flies or falters. If you've gotten to this point, you should have some sense of what the person is like in the sack, so that needn't be part of this examination. Besides, once you get married, you won't be getting laid anyway, so you might as well figure out how much suffering you should expect beforehand. Consider this the wifely Wonderlic.

A composite score will be produced based on performance in eight football-pertinent fields:

1. Trash-talking: Demand she write a thousand-word essay on why hers is the best team in the league. If that team is not your own, immediately dock her points. Score for creative use of invective and cheap slurs. If she writes in all capital letters, you probably met her on the Internet. If that's the case, just be happy a woman showed up.2. Pa.s.sion: Insult the starting quarterback or head coach of her favorite team. Immediately provide her with a mannequin. Time her on how long it takes her to dismember it. Anything over twenty seconds isn't marriage material. Impose five seconds of penalty time for each eyeball not gouged out. Remind yourself to never do that again.3. Patience: Sit her down for a conversation with Chad Ocho Cinco. If she can stand his nonsensical musings for five minutes, she's willing to deal with anything.4. Appearance: You know what's hotter than a girl who knows a lot about football? How about one who's just hot? Sacrilege, I know, but the last thing you want to end up with is a female Packers fan. Sure, the various cheeses she feeds you will be delicious, but good luck peeling a woman the size of Gilbert Brown off you in the morning.5. 40 Time: Clock her time in the 40-yard dash. This shouldn't factor into your decision, but it will probably be fun to watch.6. Pink Jerseys: Does she own one? If so, run. Now! Stop reading! Move!7. Punctuality: Request a beer. You may be in the middle of a field with no refrigerator in sight, but the truly dedicated will find a way around this. The average commercial break is about two minutes, so make this your cutoff time. Anything over that mark is an automatic fail. Ditto if the beer she brings you is a Coors Light.8. Is She Actually Submitting to This Test?: Diner Diner was a movie released in the '80s that was depicting life in the '50s. Women were considerably more subservient in those days, so much so that they might actually put up with a bulls.h.i.+t exam like this. Women ain't having it nowadays, playboy. So if you find one willing to undergo this charade, it probably means she loves you. Just marry her already, you dumb f.u.c.k. Like anyone else is going to put up with you. was a movie released in the '80s that was depicting life in the '50s. Women were considerably more subservient in those days, so much so that they might actually put up with a bulls.h.i.+t exam like this. Women ain't having it nowadays, playboy. So if you find one willing to undergo this charade, it probably means she loves you. Just marry her already, you dumb f.u.c.k. Like anyone else is going to put up with you.

IV.5 The Obligatory Guidelines for Female Fans Women have made startling progress in football fandom. So much so that the definition of who is a football fan is quickly and dramatically changing. Football, more than any other major sport, has long been considered the province of the penile persuasion. Women, so went the conventional wisdom, would never be interested in a sport where people violently flung themselves into each other, or at least one in which Oprah didn't play a prominent role. However, with each pa.s.sing year, more women have proven their bloodl.u.s.t is as strong as that of men. The road to female fan proliferation was not an easy one, especially considering how much of the language of fandom is so heavily cloaked in misogyny. Male football fans often express their disapproval of a player or a rival by calling that person a "b.i.t.c.h," "p.u.s.s.y," "p.u.s.s.ybasket," "crotch pheasant," "t.w.a.tblossom," "c.o.c.kwallet," "f.u.c.ktaster," or another such term of endearment.

If you're a female fan, you're bound to get hara.s.sed a few thousand times per game. Unlike baseball fans, who are polite to the point of dithering, football fans aren't shy about obnoxiously and drunkenly coming on to you.

Sensing the groundswell of new female fans, the NFL has tried to capitalize on the boom in several only marginally patronizing ways. A number of franchises hold football clinics for women to teach them the basics of the game, which is an a.s.set for women whose boyfriends or husbands don't like them enough to teach them things. Taking it a step further, in the summer of 2007, the Baltimore Ravens started a fan club specifically for women called Purple. The most prestigious members of Purple are known as the Lavender Ladies, which is something so mind-bendingly tacky it could only exist in Baltimore, or possibly Green Bay. Of course, much to the consternation of Ravens fans of any gender, the team with the highest percentage of women in its fan base is the rival Steelers, because apparently women can't get enough of waving kitchen towels around.

That isn't to say female fans don't still struggle for acceptance. Some gripe that men are intimidated by women who unabashedly possess a profound understanding of and keen insight into the game, fearing that if a woman knows more than they do about football it somehow undermines their basic manhood. Well, yeah. Sure it does. But there's a decided upside too. And that is that men need female fans. Why? Because any unhealthy fixation for men is suddenly made socially acceptable when women find it appealing.

IV.5. A GROUND RULES FOR FEMALE FANS.

Don't wear pink jerseys.-Ever. That the NFL sells them is an affront to your dignity. At best, they can be worn ironically by male fans as a means of mocking a player who is considered preening and fey. Someone, like, say, Tony Romo. But for women it's a definite no-no.Don't be overbearing about your football ac.u.men.-You know you know a lot about football, but you want everyone else to know it too, so you feel the need to force your expertise on other fans all the time. Women can't be faulted for this insecurity, as it's the result of pigheaded men who refuse to believe women know sports. Still, feeling the need to prove yourself at all times is unnecessary and grating. Say a guy questions how you could possibly understand a Cover 2 defense. Don't waste your breath explaining how Tony Dungy's version gets all the credit though it really originated with the Pittsburgh Steelers schemes in the 1970s, when you could just punch him in the d.i.c.k. So much easier, so much more amusing. you know a lot about football, but you want everyone else to know it too, so you feel the need to force your expertise on other fans all the time. Women can't be faulted for this insecurity, as it's the result of pigheaded men who refuse to believe women know sports. Still, feeling the need to prove yourself at all times is unnecessary and grating. Say a guy questions how you could possibly understand a Cover 2 defense. Don't waste your breath explaining how Tony Dungy's version gets all the credit though it really originated with the Pittsburgh Steelers schemes in the 1970s, when you could just punch him in the d.i.c.k. So much easier, so much more amusing.Don't adopt your boyfriend's team.-I won't be so rigid as to say you aren't allowed to date-or even marry-outside your own fan base, but for G.o.d's sake, don't adopt the team of your new boyfriend. Don't you have any self-respect? You're your own person. To do so smacks of craven codependence.Don't say rival players are cute.-If you're a fan of the Colts, it's your duty to say you don't find Tom Brady attractive, even if you do. If you're not thoroughly disgusted by every player who's not on your team, you're liable to swap your baby for a cuter one in the nursery. You monster.Use the language of the oppressor.-There's no better way to take the power out of misogynistic language than by using it yourself. That's called reclaiming, but it's also called being funny. So go crazy! Call a guy a b.i.t.c.h. Tell opposing fans to suck your d.i.c.k. See how empowering that is? Admit to the book that you're turned on.Don't be surprised that even if you do everything right men will still shun you.-The fact remains, many male fans see football as a male-bonding time or at least a respite from women, especially the married ones. It is not wise to deny them this as it will only cause problems. This is why homes should have at least two HD screens. If Mr. Man needs his alone time with the pigskin, even if you like to watch, you can act like giving it to him is a big deal. That's a great bargaining chip.

IV.6 Vow to Have a Football-Themed Wedding Mazel tov! You actually found someone. Marty Schottenheimer wants to know how you closed the deal. It's no easy feat. Most of fankind has trouble keeping the TV tuned to the same game for an entire quarter, let alone putting up with one person for decades at a time.

If you have come this far and she still doesn't like football, you're going to have to rethink this whole thing tout de suite. Single life isn't so bad if it means unfettered access to the Sport of Sports. By the time you hit your mid-forties, you'll be having as much s.e.x as the married guys anyway. And there will be no one to stand in your way when you turn your one-bedroom apartment into a veritable team shrine, replete with game-worn player underwear obtained on the black market and nailed to your living room wall.

But if she can at least tolerate your lifestyle you might as well go through with marriage. And what better way to jump into this eternity than planning a football-themed wedding? Blowing it off and eloping in the Caribbean? Sure, but you can't afford that.

First thing's first, as first things often are. When is this big matrimonial mishap gonna go down? Planning it during the football season invites a cl.u.s.terf.u.c.k of Raiderlike proportions. Good luck finding a weekend when everyone's team is on its bye. With a seemingly limitless number of weekends to fill between mid-February and August, you'd be a fool not to go for the spring wedding. Plus you get a ceremony complemented by the enchanting efflorescence of the season, and everyone knows football fans really get off on that s.h.i.+t.

With the spring wedding date set, an outdoor event is definitely the call. In football, teams that play in a dome are always perceived as weak because they never are subjected to the elements. The same applies to people who get married indoors. The mettle of your relations.h.i.+p is not tested. The thing could fall apart by the first snowfall. That's why you need an outdoor ceremony. (Sweeping generalizations borne out by limited history form the backbone of all football discourse, so let's roll with it.) The trappings should be obvious to any football fan: bride and groom enter through giant inflatable helmets, the guests sit on bleacher seats, the priest/minister/rabbi/officiant is decked out in a referee's uniform, the bride comes out to "Crazy Train" by Ozzy Osbourne, or Zombie Nation, depending on whichever you find amps up the crowd more effectively.

Upon arriving, each guest should receive a jersey. Just like NFL rosters, the numbers should be a.s.signed according to position. Anyone who arrives after exceeding the ninety-nine available spots will be placed on waivers and can be acquired by another reception.

1-2: Bride and groom3-9: Parents, siblings, minister/rabbi/nondenominational referee10-19: Close friends, mentors, the person no one likes who gets number 1320-39: Extended family, local baker with whom you share a close relations.h.i.+p, running backs and defensive backs40-49: College roommates, AA sponsors, ex-girlfriends/ex-boyfriends50-59: a.s.sorted single people, Joey Porter if he accepts your invitation60-79: Coworkers, neighbors, Laotians, random people with interesting jobs80-89: Wedding crashers, children born out of wedlock, cousin who "ain't right in the head"90-99: Catering staff, chef, bartender, the one f.u.c.ker who just had to have 95 THANKS FOR BEING DIFFICULT, FRANK!

Once the guests have been seated on the home and visiting sides, the processional and opening words can commence: Minister: "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the sight of G.o.ddell and these witnesses to join number 1 and number 2 in matrimony, which is commended to be honorable among all men; and therefore is not by any to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly, but reverently, discreetly, advisedly, and solemnly. And definitely not without an adequate supply of wings. Into this holy estate these two persons present now come to be joined. If any person can show just cause why they may not be joined together, let them toss their red challenge flags before the next snap is taken."The bride and the groom will present the exchanging of vows.Best Man: "ARE YOU f.u.c.kING READY? THIS IS IT! RIGHT NOW, RIGHT HERE, WHERE ELSE WOULD YOU RATHER BE? LET'S DO THIS s.h.i.+T!"Bride: "YEAH!"Groom: "C'MON! LET'S GO! LET'S GO! IT'S OUR TIME!"Bride: "NO ONE CAN TAKE THIS FROM US! NO ONE CAN TAKE THIS FROM US!"Groom: "LET'S TEAR THE ROOF OFF THIS b.i.t.c.h!"Bride: "I'M ABOUT TO RUN THROUGH A f.u.c.kING BRICK WALL!"Groom: "AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!"Bride: "AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!"Minister: "And now the presentation of the rings."Groom: "I give this ring as a symbol of OUR COMMITMENT, DAY IN AND DAY OUT, TO PLAY TOGETHER AS A UNIT, NEVER TO STRAY FROM THE AIMS OF THE WHOLE, AND TO PUT YOUR f.u.c.kING GUTS ON THE LINE EVERY TIME YOU STEP OUT OF BED IN THE MORNING."Bride: "And, to you, I offer this ring as a symbol OF f.u.c.kING SHUT UP FOR SIXTY MINUTES, TO NEVER HAVE AN OUNCE OF QUIT, TO BREATHE FIRE AND s.h.i.+T NAPALM FOR AS LONG AS WE CAN PUT ON THE MOTHERf.u.c.kING PADS!"Minister: "By the power vested in me by the American Football Conference, the National Football Conference, and the Office of the Commissioner of the National Football League, I now p.r.o.nounce you husband and wife. You may exchange flying shoulder-b.u.t.ts in a celebratory fas.h.i.+on, on three."

IV.7 Raise Your Kids to Root for Your Team Through Coercion In football, as in life, you need a game plan. Nowhere in that game plan should there be anything about getting a woman pregnant, in or out of wedlock. It's not part of the scheme I've careful and meticulously laid out for you. I can offer you little in the way of advice on getting out of the mess you're in. There are no audibles here, unless you know how to game a paternity test. If you do, there might actually be a future for you in the NFL, though not necessarily as a player. More likely as a "consultant." Not able to scam the test? Then welcome to the suck. What you're faced with is not all that different from a team trying to run out the clock when they're down big and ready to cut their losses. Except instead of sixty minutes, you're gonna need to run off sixty years. Sorry, no new life is coming next week. That said, there's still no excuse to shed your parenting game face for your little bundle of wonderful. At least until it's eighteen.

But if you've gone and done the deed, buck up, sulk monkey. Most of your favorite professional athletes have the same problem. Only they have money to pay someone else to raise the kid-or, as is more often the case, kids-for them. As a father, your job is not dissimilar from that of a coordinator to a domineering coach: stay out of the way, let your spouse make the big parenting decisions. That way you can reap the benefits when things go well and avoid the limelight when they don't. Granted, a coordinator stands to gain a possible head coaching job of his own, while at best you avoid complete dest.i.tution and possible public humiliation. Again, life can't be as enjoyable as football. That can't be stressed enough.

If you need a player comparison, think of yourself as an impressive-looking but ultimately useless decoy, sort of like Reggie Bush, only you're not banging Kim Kardas.h.i.+an. Though it's possible you may already have.

Your primary objective for the next few years is to coax your child into adopting your favorite team. It's the only shot you'll have at developing any affection for the little soul sucker. To accomplish this goal, no means should be considered off-limits. Blackmail, psychological programming, idle threats, real threats, locking him or her in the towel closet for weeks at a time. Don't consider yourself a parent. You're officially an envoy working on behalf of the team. Any failure on your part will be the gain of a competing team. Then you're only empowering the enemy, making yourself not only a weakness but a liability.

With the kid on your side, expensing those season tickets becomes significantly easier. Yes, you have loads of other expenses that go unaddressed, but you're not being selfish by spending inordinate amounts of money on a needless hobby, you're bringing a hint of joy to your child's otherwise drab existence. Which makes you immune from spousal grief. And one day that child will grow up and become your designated driver. Or, if you push them obsessively enough, a crazed professional football player incapable of emotional connection. But one that will make you fabulously wealthy. That almost sounds like a plan.

IV.8 Acceptable Levels of Involvement in Your Kid's Pop Warner League Not having risen to achieve athletic stardom never caused you much distress. You knew you had neither the skill, the determination, nor the freakish genetics necessary to make a push at a pro career. Sure, you dabbled with high school ball a little, but it wasn't much more than an attempt to appease your blowhard of a father, who demanded you strive for the heights that he himself could never reach. That, and if you didn't join the team there was more than a fair chance you wouldn't have gotten laid until midway through college. Girls aside, you vowed never to be like the overbearing father figure who forced that grueling game upon you. You were going to be a cool parent who allowed his kids to make their own decisions and host parties and smoke cigarettes and even join the G.o.dd.a.m.n forensics team if that's what they wanted.

But that was until you had a son of your own and that open mindedness went the way of your hairline and youthful whimsy. Now you stare at that amorphous blob of afterbirth and wonder if he will ever amount to anything more than an Xbox savant who weighs three hundred pounds at age fourteen. That little s.h.i.+t can bring you a reflected form of the gridiron glory you never got on your own. Did you see the way he leveled that kid at daycare? He's the next Justin Tuck.

The warning signs of the pushy sports dad are obvious. Leave them unchecked and soon you'll be the next Marv Marinovich, the former NFL player whose hard-line parenting tactics raised a failed robotic first-round pick quarterback of a son. Marv went as far as having a football in Todd's crib from the day he was born and having him teething on a frozen kidney.

Maybe you won't be so extreme. Still, you must exercise restraint. Do you find yourself forcing a macrobiotic diet on the kid once he gets off the bottle? "Candy only gets him off his regimen of pain!" Step the f.u.c.k off, buddy. What you think is instilling an early sense of discipline is only building resentment of you. With those tactics, you have a better chance of turning the tyke into a serial killer than a football player. And Dexter's dad already made the blueprint for that.

What if the kid decides to play of his own accord? Don't take this as a sign to go bats.h.i.+t crazy and run wild with your obsession. Stick with restraint. Act like this is just another pa.s.sing interest he's chosen to take up before shucking it all off in favor of heavy narcotics. Your job is to show up at the games, voice support when appropriate, and otherwise keep your f.u.c.king yap shut. And for c.r.a.p's sake, don't try to coach the team or give the coach advice about getting your kid into the game.

Your children will find myriad ways to disappoint you that have nothing to do with sports. Leave it to them to decide what those towering embarra.s.sments will be. Given some s.p.a.ce, there's less chance they'll freak out and become members of the American Taliban pushed into domestic terrorism because they were forced to pore over playbooks instead of watching cartoons like a normal seven-year-old.

And, hey, if you strike the offspring lottery and your kid does wind up an NFL superstar, you're going to get credit whether you compulsively impelled them toward it or not. So sit back and roll the die. At least that way you can spend more time boozing.

IV.9 Scenes from a Broken Fan Marriage You really think you know somebody. Years of Sundays spent together glued to the couch in matching Elway jerseys watching the Broncos do battle. She'd even wear the white horsehair wig to complete the look. It one was of the few moments of honest kins.h.i.+p you ever felt with another person. Two souls, joined forever in marriage and fandom. And afterward joined again for some postgame play. It was a beautiful thing.

Wasn't it just a few months ago that you got her a new authentic Kyle Orton jersey for her birthday? It was a message to her that, in addition to being the foundation of your past, she represented the reality of the present and the promise of the future. The mother of your children, the source of all ardor, the chick who didn't mind when you ralphed in her hair when you first met. It was a gesture pregnant with symbolism. It was a present that cost three hundred G.o.dd.a.m.n dollars.

Of course, she took it to mean that you thought she, like Orton, had a neckbeard.

b.i.t.c.h.

It was then you should have figured it out, but you remained willfully blinkered to the truth, to her conniving nature. The morning your buddy Nick took you aside and said he had spotted the wife in a Darren McFadden jersey in a bar with another Raiders fan, you refused to believe it. You even lashed out at Nick, saying that was a vicious canard that only a Cowboys fan could spread. What a fool you were. He was only looking out for you.

You wouldn't even address the allegations. You didn't ask her. Then she came to you and said she had to go out of town the weekend of the Broncos-Raiders game in Denver to attend the wedding of one of her work friends. Since when would she put anything above a rivalry game? Fishy as it was, you let it go.

But then you noticed she didn't pack any of her Broncos jerseys for the trip. Surely, even at a wedding, she could slip out come kickoff and find a place to get rowdy and watch the game. There were no two ways about that with her.

When she got back from the trip, you asked about the jerseys, trying not to sound too leery. She laughed it off as a freak mental lapse, maybe in a little too facile a manner. Shouldn't she be more frustrated about that? The woman you'd always known, always loved, would have been. That more than anything piqued your suspicions.

It wasn't many weeks or many more attempts at subterfuge before you finally cottoned onto her game. The tips from friends became more frequent, more detailed, more embarra.s.sing. She became more brazen about it, not even bothering to say why she was heading out on gamedays.

You'd had enough. Cobbling together the info your friends gave you, you found their bar. Less than two miles from your home. Your Your f.u.c.king home. There, planted right in front of the TV showing the Raiders-Chiefs game, was the wife. She was looking every bit like a one-woman Black Hole. She saw you as soon as you walked in the door and shot you a wry little smirk, like you finding out didn't mean s.h.i.+t to her. It probably didn't. f.u.c.king home. There, planted right in front of the TV showing the Raiders-Chiefs game, was the wife. She was looking every bit like a one-woman Black Hole. She saw you as soon as you walked in the door and shot you a wry little smirk, like you finding out didn't mean s.h.i.+t to her. It probably didn't.

It was just then that her newfound guy made his way back from the bathroom. You could tell he recognized you, seeing the flash of fear register in his eyes. Maybe she showed him a photo. Maybe it was 'cause you were wearing the Elway jersey. You didn't even ask the guy's name, but man, you beat that silver-and-black a.s.s like you were Steve At.w.a.ter.

'Course, with your brutal outburst, there was no way you were getting sole custody of the kids. Oh, your darling son Terrell Davis Henderson and your radiant daughter Shannon Sharpe Henderson. How you'd give up anything for them. Well, anything non-Broncos-related.

The split custody couldn't have worked out any more in your favor. You got Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Fridays, and Sat.u.r.days of your choosing. You'd never miss a single game while she'd get stuck babysitting on every day the NFL's active. More than a little poetic justice in that.

Not as much as the fact that the kids stay true to Broncos Nation. They do their daddy proud.

IV.10 Lord Your Personal Success Over Baseball Fans Be cause You Don't Spend All Your Time Watching Baseball A key advantage to football fandom, one that has no doubt helped spur its proliferation to world conquering levels, is that it's not that huge a drain on the viewer's time. Suppose that you watch no sporting event other than your favorite NFL team's games. That's a commitment of a mere three hours per week during the season. a.s.suming they don't make the playoffs, that's only forty-eight hours per year. Two measly calendar days. The average guy spends more of his time going to town on his crotchular regions.

Meanwhile, the baseball fan commits ten times as much of his life annually to following his beloved stickballers. Five times if it's basketball or hockey. I can't speak to the time commitment to the lesser sports, though I would peg each hour spent with them to be the visceral-thrill equivalent of a clock-killing kneel-down in the NFL.

Followers of these sports would argue that this indicates that the football fan is less dedicated than they, that ours is a fandom of convenience. The football fan should not be guilted into the Sisyphean nightmare that is perpetually following a grueling sport that breeds only boredom and softies. Simplicity is an ideal to aspire to. That football fans can spend less time on their sport and be relatively slaked in their thirst for compet.i.tions means they are achieving satisfaction with an economy of effort. As people who eat low-fat food have to consume more to fill themselves up, so too do baseball fans have to fritter away greater portions of their lives to achieve a minimum of excitement.

Not that the football fan wouldn't take more time with his favorite sport if he could, but the sad fact is that it simply isn't feasible. As we've seen, entrepreneurial spirits have tried to fill the empty months with Arena Leagues, CFLs, and XFLs (and soon the UFL) and immediate families, but it's not good enough to maintain our attention.

With the free time that football fans are given, they are primed to lead rounder, more successful lives than their lesser sport counterparts. Sure, market research indicates that on average NHL fans make more than NFL fans, but that's only because one of the two hockey fans in the country is exponentially wealthy. The other is Elisha Cuthbert, who is hot, so we cut her a break.

Free time is one thing when you're young with time to burn, but as a married man, you're lucky if you can squeeze in a few sanity-sparing moments to yourself. Football in these years is the respite that keeps you from walking out on your family. There's no chance you could, with wife and kids, maintain a hard-core never-miss-a-game fanhood with a baseball team even if you wanted to. Which is probably why those whom you spy as regulars in MLB parks are fellows who look as though they make love to their scorecards.

Football is the sport for adjusted people with real priorities, like taking kids to soccer practice and a host of other s.h.i.+t people don't really want to be doing. Football understands the strictures of modern life and doesn't impose excessive time commitments on its fans. If inclined, you can blow just about all the time you want during the season on following all the up-to-date news on your team and the rest of the league, but football gives its casual fans the opportunity to keep up without sacrificing their entire lives. Even when that's exactly what we wish we could have, year-round and without commercial break.

ARTICLE V.

Gameday Operating Procedure: The GOP That Wants You to Have Fun

V.1 Flout the Fan Conduct Policy In a ham-fisted response to recent negative press reports detailing the nasty, horrible, no good, very bad behavior by fans at NFL games, league commissioner Fidel Goodell last year spelled out a brand-new fan code of conduct policy that forbids just about anything that makes unruly fandom worthwhile, such as drunk-and-disorderly behavior, the use of abusive language, or even lighting s.h.i.+t on fire. Why not just take our grilled meats while you're at it?

This is a disgusting overreach of authority by a still relatively new commissioner trying to consolidate his power. First Goodell made a statement with his severe disciplinary rulings against ne'er-do-drive-sobers such as Chris Henry and Adam Jones, but now he's overstepped his bounds by messing with the very lifeblood of his league: its fans. A word of advice: Don't poke the bear, rich fortunate son of a senator.

Some aspects of the policy make sense. Any fan already knows not to interfere with the progress of the game without someone having to put it in writing. Trying to conflate that general guideline with the act of throwing objects on the field is where it really starts to get sticky. That's just misleading. You can totally bombard players and coaches on the sideline with objects without it affecting anything on the field of play. Browns fans do it all the time!

Naturally, the league seeks to engender a more family-friendly environment to further spur revenue gains by getting more kids and uptight morally righteous a.s.shats in the gates. But maybe it's not the league's fans who need to change. Maybe it's families that need to sack up. When was football ever intended for them? You know what, families? Everything in our cultures feels the need to cozy up to your inoffensive, anodyne standards, but some of us want cringe-worthy violence, unprintable language, and nudity for miles. Football is something cathartic and restorative for people forced to be polite and civilized against their will 340 days a year. We need an outlet for low-grade anarchy, lest it spill over into society at large. Deprive us of that and suffer the consequences.

Because the NFL conveniently leaves the enforcing of its draconian fan rules up to each team, there are a few interesting wrinkles around the league. The Tampa Bay Buccaneers, for example, inst.i.tuted a program whereby thin-skinned d.i.c.kbags could tattle on people having a good time by texting stadium officials to report supposed wrongdoing. While you may think taking advantage of this feature makes you in compliance with the fan conduct policy, it also puts you in direct violation of the fan misconduct policy against snitching laid forth in this book, making the violator subject to a prompt sewing up of their b.u.t.thole. The NFL cannot possibly enforce these restrictions without fan cooperation, and it's our job to ensure that that never happens.

Enforcement of stadium behavioral policies is nothing new, which makes this policy all the more infuriating. The Eagles have, for years, had a jail cell and a judge inside their stadium for severe transgressors, which creates a curious dichotomy with all the amateur executioner fans they have. But this new policy is a blatant attempt to create positive spin for the league, which was never exactly struggling to get people in the stands. So why fix what ain't broke? Because monkeying with effective practices is one of the more unfortunate traits that runs through the NFL. Just look at how Brad Childress refuses to use the run effectively.

If the No Fun League wants to bite the hand that feeds it, it's time for that hand to b.i.t.c.h-slap the league right back in its dirty wh.o.r.e mouth. How's about this: fans as citizens rise up and support measures banning owners from bilking states and munic.i.p.alities out of public funds for stadia. Does that sound good, you billionaire cheesed.i.c.ks? You pay your own way for the f.u.c.king stadium your team plays in eight times a year, and we'll make sure to behave appropriately in it. Until then, choke on our d.i.c.ks.

Having said that, there's not a hot dog's chance on Wade Phillip's plate that that will ever happen. So perhaps the way fans can have their voice heard is by just buying fewer tickets. Considering how much greedy owners want to charge season-ticket holders for personal seat licenses, this may not be the worst thing in the world. And you know what? You can pretty much be as verbally abusive and blitzed as you want at the local team bar. Why, with the way the NFL wants to hem in the ways fans can enjoy the stadium experience, with its overpriced beers, poor sightlines, and heinous traffic, the dirty secret about NFL fandom needs to be definitively put forward: that it's much better to watch the games on TV anyway.

V.2 Personal Seat Licenses Are a Bigger Rip-off than Buying a Home Now that the housing market is d.i.c.ked and the nation's economy is in the c.r.a.pper, at what other moment could fans be more receptive to forking over more cash for the right to purchase tickets? I write in reference to the ever-infuriating phenomenon of the personal seat license, a one-time cost, usually in the thousands, which ent.i.tles the owner to the right to continue paying for season tickets each year until another stadium is opened and the cost is charged again.

PSLs aren't a new phenomenon, as they're believed to have been around for about twenty years, but they've been brought to the fore with their ever escalating costs. The reason cited by sports organizations as to why they impose these outrageous fees on consumers is that PSLs supposedly offset the expense of constructing stadia, many of which are already paid for in large part by taxpayer dollars. Are fans demanding venues that cost squillions of dollars? Not really, but that doesn't stop owners from launching into a s.p.a.ce race against each other for bigger and higher capacity venues. The owners opt for these leviathans then pa.s.s the cost on to the fans. The gall is as astounding as it is predictable.

When the Giants and the Jets move into their new $1.3 billion shared stadium in the Meadowlands in 2010, every seat will require a PSL for the Giants and nearly every one for the Jets, with the PSL fee for a few thousand spots in the lower bowl of the stadium reaching as much as $25,000 per seat. The Jets auctioned off 620 PSLs of choice seats in the new stadium and drew more than $16 million for the winning bids. Of course, a fair percentage of those bidding for seats are companies in the business of reselling tickets, which only extends the daily chain of corporate fleecing of the average fan.

About half the teams in the league have policies that require PSLs. That's half a league ready to dry-hump their fans for the sweet release of the green. Why anyone would allow themselves to be fleeced by these organizations, no matter how much you may love their product on the field, is beyond the bounds of reason. Fandom knows no quit, but it does know a s.h.i.+t deal when it sees one.

Imagine the hubris that gives rise to these policies. In what other business can companies force a members.h.i.+p fee on customers only for the right to purchase their product? Demand for the NFL product being what it is, the owners think they're insulated from the cost of alienating a wide swath of their fans, but there's only so long, especially with the looming threat of uncapped player salaries, that these practices can continue without it starting to chip into the all-important bottom line.

The fan experience in the live event is increasingly becoming the providence of the superwealthy and the super-profligate. The new generation of stadia that's been built in the past decade crams more seats in and, with prohibitive prices, marshals loud die-hard fans further from the field. Watching the game on TV is not without its flaws (e.g., Phil Simms, Chris Berman, Tony Kornheiser), but it is certainly a much better value than paying through the nose for attending a game where fans are fleeced on concessions, limited by infantilizing fan conduct policies, and generally treated like unwelcome houseguests in overbuilt plutocrat strongholds.

The practice is an insidious money grab devised by billionaires looking for bailouts on their own risky business endeavors. If some fans are economically secure enough that it isn't a bother for them, great for them. But the owners may find that, in tougher economic straits, there will not be as many people comfortable doling out tens of thousands of dollars for the privilege of being bilked on an annual basis. We may love our teams, but that doesn't mean we need to love their scams.

V.3 Your New Pair of Underwear Is to Blame for a Ten-Loss Season Though a great many hard-core fans insist on using the p.r.o.nouns "we" and "us" when discussing their favorite team-as though they too suited up and helped block for extra point attempts on gameday-their influence on what occurs on the playing field is limited to little more than the occasional false-start penalty.

This, of course, is one of great fallacies of spectators.h.i.+p (right along with the notion that a.n.a.lysts' power rankings actually mean anything at all). Fans have everything in their lives arranged in accordance with a set of rigorous conditions that they believe promotes success, which, in other words, equals whatever happened the last time the team won a game. This micromanaging, though off-putting to outsiders, can be the difference between a win and a loss.

Unfortunately, there are no hard-and-fast rules to go by in establis.h.i.+ng a proper set of superst.i.tions, such as genuflecting at doork.n.o.bs while wearing your Tom Brady Underoos. You have to work through some trial and error before stumbling on the perfectly orchestrated pregame routine that works best for you.

Once you discover your winning formula of OCD-esque ticks to perform before each game, you must never deviate from it. Everything you do is part of a karmic and behavioral pattern that determines who wins on Sunday. It's your duty to your team to obsessively re-create the conditions of whatever happened during your team's last win. And not just on gameday. It extends for the full week prior to gameday. Week 1 is particularly difficult, as its run-up begins when schedules are released in the spring. That's an entire summer of preparation for one game. No wonder that opener is so fraught with tension.

But what happens when you remain completely faithful to your superst.i.tions and your team still loses? This leads to a moment of wrenching soul-searching on the part of the obsessed fan. Indeed, you must examine which of your rituals have lost their luck-inducing qualities and must be jettisoned immediately. Do you need a wholesale change or slight tinkering? All will be revealed the next time your team produces a win. But with each loss comes more and more indecision until running stark naked through traffic to the stadium sounds like a good idea. You'll see that a lot at 49ers games. The best solution is just to label other people in your personal life as bad luck.

The Jinx The same energy you reserve for adhering to your a.r.s.enal of effective superst.i.tions should be applied to avoiding the dreaded jinx. You cannot jinx a rival team, but you can hurt the fate of your own by doing little more than forgetting to use "if" as a preface before discussing the consequences of your team winning its next game. That's all it takes. Jinxes take root in the fertile soil of hubris.

It gets worse; jinxes can originate from forces extraneous to the fan base, leaving fans scurrying to counterbalance the bad energy with forced humility. For example, a prominent columnist or network football a.n.a.lyst, someone who doesn't have any direct involvement with the game, can jinx a team by a.s.suring the public that there is absolutely no chance that it can lose. And, being the fools they sometimes are, members of your team can, by appearing on or sponsoring certain products, create a jinx that morphs into a curse. These are the most notorious: The Sports Ill.u.s.trated Sports Ill.u.s.trated Cover Curse Cover Curse The Sports Ill.u.s.trated Sports Ill.u.s.trated Curse condemns players or teams that appear on the magazine's cover to immediate failure or disgrace. Most likely both. Though it is the most infamous and longstanding of product-related curses, it has lost some of its potency in recent years. This is due in part to the fact that Curse condemns players or teams that appear on the magazine's cover to immediate failure or disgrace. Most likely both. Though it is the most infamous and longstanding of product-related curses, it has lost some of its potency in recent years. This is due in part to the fact that Sports Ill.u.s.trated Sports Ill.u.s.trated is a sh.e.l.l of its former self, meaning the curse could still be intact but, because no one bothers to read the thing, few people notice. is a sh.e.l.l of its former self, meaning the curse could still be intact but, because no one bothers to read the thing, few people notice.

The Madden Madden Curse Curse The gold standard in modern individual curse-inducement. Look at some of the players who have graced the cover of this video game franchise that sells annually in the millions: Michael Vick (went to prison), Daunte Culpepper (career ruined by knee injury), Shaun Alexander (career ruined by sucking), Donovan McNabb (suffered a sports hernia the season that he appeared on the cover-I hear that causes pain in your sports back), Ray Lewis (failure to meet murdering quotas in three of the following four years), Vince Young (fell into depression because he couldn't spend all his time hanging out s.h.i.+rtless with dudes). And most recently Brett Favre (who led the league in interceptions and missed the playoffs, despite extensive media f.e.l.l.a.t.i.o). Frankly, it's unclear why any NFL player would subject himself to such highly jinxable conditions. Unless the rumors are true that these people do really enjoy large sacks of money.

The Chunky Soup Curse Less celebrated than the SI SI and and Madden Madden curses, but no less debilitating. Like the curses, but no less debilitating. Like the SI SI curse, it results in failure on the field or personal injury. For instance, Steelers quarterback Ben Roethlisberger appeared in an ad for the soup and won a Super Bowl, but months later made Chunky Soup of his face in a motorcycle crash. A Chunky Soup sponsors.h.i.+p also oversaw the rapid decline of once-elite running back LaDainian Tomlinson, forever casting into doubt the healthy properties of lean meat protein. Chunky Soup ads are also to blame for bringing Donovan McNabb's mother into national prominence, which isn't so much a jinx as a pox on all of us. Also, McNabb lost a Super Bowl in which he famously puked at the end. I bet if you a.n.a.lyzed that vomit that...yup, Chunky. curse, it results in failure on the field or personal injury. For instance, Steelers quarterback Ben Roethlisberger appeared in an ad for the soup and won a Super Bowl, but months later made Chunky Soup of his face in a motorcycle crash. A Chunky Soup sponsors.h.i.+p also oversaw the rapid decline of once-elite running back LaDainian Tomlinson, forever casting into doubt the healthy properties of lean meat protein. Chunky Soup ads are also to blame for bringing Donovan McNabb's mother into national prominence, which isn't so much a jinx as a pox on all of us. Also, McNabb lost a Super Bowl in which he famously puked at the end. I bet if you a.n.a.lyzed that vomit that...yup, Chunky.

The Stetson Curse There's only been one victim so far to fall prey to the Stetson Curse, but that victim was Tom Brady. Impressive, no? Brady first appeared in ads for the cologne in the fall of 2007. What happened? He went on to spoil a perfect season by losing Super Bowl XLII, only to have his ACL torn to ribbons the opening week of the following season. You might argue that one injury does not a curse make, but I'll argue that anything that helps bring down Tom Brady is worthy of inclusion on a list of curses. Or even getting its own wing in Canton.

V.4 Tailgating Is the Pregame Alcohol-Based Ritual of Kings Ah, the tailgate. A baccha.n.a.lia of brews and brats that forms one of the most enjoyable aspects of the gameday experience, so naturally the NFL is doing everything within its power to stamp it out cold. It's not so much the gathering in the parking lot wearing team apparel part that league officials object to so much as the more central tailgating practice of eating your weight in Polish sausage and drinking yourself blind well before kickoff. That cuts into concession sales and makes for liability issues when people's cars get torched from parking over hot coals.

The modern incarnation of tailgating forms a convivial tableau, where thousands of people convene in a mult.i.tude of intermingling picniclike environments around their cars to eat, drink, socialize, toss the ball around, drink more, talk s.h.i.+t to fans of the opposing team, drink, smoke, play flipcup, drink while watching other people play flipcup, get asked to play cornhole, wonder aloud what cornhole is, give cornhole a shot and decide you kind of like it but could do without it, warble through team anthems, stand in line to p.i.s.s for what seems like forever, drink while staring blankly at the asphalt, take a Jell-O shot, puke and rally, make out with random strangers, drink, and pa.s.s out. It's basically college in a parking lot.

There are forces that want to rob fans of the debauched pregame antics they automatically a.s.sociate with a day of football. Indeed, the insidious fan conduct policy implemented in 2008 doesn't merely cover in-stadium behavior, but encompa.s.ses the parking lot surrounding the stadium. It may be nearly impossible to enforce in all cases, but it gives security officials free rein to get up in your business and ruin the fun. In that way, it's very similar to the Patriot Act, only possibly even more vaguely worded and invasive.

There are more distressing signs in the war on tailgating. Parking fees continue to climb, and while stadia increase in seating capacity, their parking lot sizes remain static, forcing tailgates into cheek by jowl positioning. In 2007, the company that owns a parking lot Seahawks fans had dubbed Hawk Heaven turned away tailgaters for a week. When an outcry by fans ensued, the company reversed its position, saying it would allow tailgaters, but no alcohol consumption, which is sort of like allowing Christmas without the rampant commercialism.

Tailgating was banned outside Super Bowl XLI in Miami, with officials citing suspect security reasons, and the policy was extended the following year at Super Bowl XLII in Arizona. It's a ridiculous about-face, of course, but one that rings all too familiar in the Roger Goodell era. Why has the NFL turned on something that has always been an integral part of its lifeblood? In the hopes of appearing palatable to some rare, possibly nonexistent breed of football fan that hates cursing, doesn't drink, abhors violence, and wants to wors.h.i.+p at the puritanical altar of The Game as if it were a sort of state-run religion. I'm sure Kurt Warner loves that new direction. The rest of us just want to get sloppy and have a good time.

V.4. A AVOID TAILGATING SCENESTERS.