“It’s only weird if it doesn’t work.” I love that commercial because it’s so true. I’m sure every Ravens fan reading this has SOME kind of silly superstition that they hold true week over week. I’m no different.
Last week, we watched the Indy game at a friend’s house. It was just us and one other couple, and we sat in their bonus room/loft/man cave watching the Ravens struggle through the first half. At halftime, we went outside (we live in Florida) to hang by the pool, chat about the game, and watch the halftime report on their tiny outdoor TV. When the 2nd half started, us girls went back up to the loft and the big TV while the boys (for some odd reason) stayed outside watching a teeny tiny TV. Their plan was to come back upstairs eventually, but then something happened. The Ravens turned it on. Hard. This was enough to seal the boys’ fate. They were relegated to watch the remainder of that game on the porch while us gals were stretched out comfy in the man cave.
Fast forward to this week. Same bat place. Same bat channel. The boys accepted their sacrifice, knowing they would see zero game time in the man cave. We had a few more people with us this weekend, but the four of us took our seats at kickoff and remained there solidly for about 59 minutes of game time.
At that last minute mark, I didn’t lose faith. But I also couldn’t watch. I already hold my breath when Flacco throws the ball. This last minute, I knew I wouldn’t survive. Their man cave is not very big and we had six people up there so there was no place for me to do my normal pacing ritual. I needed room. I needed space. I needed a runway, to pace this last minute out. I had to leave the man cave.
So down I went and headed outside. Everyone yelled at me to get back to my seat. I explained. I just couldn’t watch it. I know my heart would fail me. My head would certainly explode. So I paced. Around their pool I paced. I prayed. I breathed. I believed.
Then the screams. The cheers. The OH MY GODs. HOW did we just DO that? The game was tied. This night was going to drag on forever. And I was going to miss the whole damn thing.
It wasn’t even a question. Nobody had to convince me. No one said a thing. I walked over to the TV to look at the score with my own two eyes because I really still wasn’t convinced that they weren’t pulling my leg. Sure enough, there was the ref, explaining the OT rules and getting ready to flip that blessed coin. The players got into position, and so did I.
I paced clockwise when the Broncos had the ball and counter-clockwise when the Ravens did. I didn’t see one play during the OT or OT2 until the post-game highlights. When Tucker took the field, my heart just skipped every third beat. How are we here? Another playoff game that is dependent on our kicker? If I had trouble watching Flacco’s TD attempt at the end of regulation, I certainly couldn’t handle a Field Goal attempt to win a playoff game. Been there. Done that. Hurts way too much.
Except this time it didn’t hurt.
I was an emotional bonk at that point. I think I kind of blacked out because the next thing I know, I’m in the pool and so are four other people. Fully clothed. And yes, we’re in Florida, but that pool is about 65 degrees. And it didn’t hurt a bit.
I’m sad I won’t get to see the last few minutes of the AFC Championship game. But you can count on me, Chix. I’ll be pacing that damn pool even in a thunderstorm.