A Beautiful Mind
God, Country, Notre Dame.As an undergraduate at the University of Notre Dame, this mantra comprises the very fiber of every student who has stepped foot on the Indiana campus established by Father Sorin and the Brothers of the Holy Cross over one hundred fifty years ago.
Today, the phrase assumes an elevated level of near deification status when chanted amongst the throngs of football-obsessed followers of the Fightin’ Irish. Since 1966, crowds have filled Notre Dame Stadium to the gills just to catch a glance of the gridders in action on hallowed ground once graced by gods such as Rockne, Leahy, the Four Horsemen, and Beuerlein. And since my freshman year in 1986, I have joined those very throngs on no fewer than forty times in the House that Rockne built.
Alas, since those early days of my youth I have grown and matured--or at least got old--and am now married. With children. Actually only one child, but you get the idea. And because since well before my college days I had also been a diehard New York Yankees fan, I’ve often mused that ensconced above the portico of our estate would be the formula,
God, Country, Notre Dame, Yankees, Val (my wife).
She doesn’t think it’s nearly as humorous as do I when I repeat it with a childish snicker. Further, I don’t know that she gathers much consolation when I tell her each September, “Hey, at least you’re in the top 5—you still have a shot to make move up a bit before the end of the season!”
I don’t mention my family situation so as to bemoan that I am a stereotypical sports-crazed TV-watching lunatic with a nagging wife and screaming kids (or kid). In truth my wife is a wonderful woman and my just-shy-of-3-years-old son screams quite rarely, though almost reliably when I have a headache or am thoroughly exhausted. Or both (aka, hungover). I swear he has a sixth sense in that regard.
Rather, I mention this because it is a reality that with a family comes other responsibilities, and sometimes those responsibilities may conflict with your other priorities…such as watching football. Because of this reality, I find myself in a protracted balancing act from September through December each year, and sometimes August. And definitely January, too.
I have been quite fortunate in one regard. Since 1992 and not long after I graduated from Notre Dame in 1990, Fightin’ Irish football has been broadcast on a major network for 169 straight games over the course of fifteen years. That is, until the second weekend of November, when the streak was broken.
The Notre Dame-Air Force game would not be broadcast on any major network station. Not NBC. Not ABC. Not CBS. Not ESPN or ESPN2. Not even The Ocho. Rather, the game was to be shown on CSTV (College Sports TV), a small but up-and-coming cable network. Because I am one of the cheapest bastards ever, I opted not to pony up the $12/month to enjoy this programming as part of DirecTV’s premier SportsPack.
While I can plan in advance to make a road trip to see a game or two a year, or as many NFL fans might do, spend a day at FedEx field or the Meadowlands or wherever, the argument for “road tripping” to a local bar just to watch a game on TV is a bit tougher to make when there are diapers to be changed and leaves to be raked. How could I in good conscience spend these beer-drinking, TV-watching hours in gridiron bliss, no doubt suffering a crushing blow to my Catholic guilt?
My mind immediately sprang into action. It seemed pretty simple:
1) Locate friend in area with CSTV access;
2) Invite self over to friend’s house;
3) Concoct reason to be presented to wife as to why such an endeavor is a worthwhile expenditure of my time.
Steps 1 & 2, I thought, would be fairly easy. Step 3 would likely prove to be a bit more problematic.
My wife is a very smart cookie (though at times I wonder just how smart…after all, she did marry me) but I like to think that I far outdistance her in the conniving sneakiness department. Still, I needed a plan that would put me on the couch at some random friend's house on that Saturday afternoon without emptying out my full allocation of kitchen passes.
Indeed, I needed a good plan. A really, really good, evil, sinister, diabolical plan. And I got my inspiration in a most serendipitous manner.
On the Friday night two weeks prior to the game, my wife and I were out enjoying a nice dinner together. At one point she noted rather sheepishly that she had succumbed to a “very small, teeny-tiny, inexpensive shopping trip” at some place called the Ann Taylor Loft. I guess they have chick clothes and stuff. Of course, she always knows to mention these trips a) after the fact, and b) when I am in a good mood such as over a nice dinner with a few beers in tow, aka almost loaded. And as predicted, I took it in stride, but made a mental note in my semi-inerbriated state for future reference.
I don’t mention my family situation so as to bemoan that I am a stereotypical sports-crazed TV-watching lunatic with a nagging wife and screaming kids (or kid). In truth my wife is a wonderful woman and my just-shy-of-3-years-old son screams quite rarely, though almost reliably when I have a headache or am thoroughly exhausted. Or both (aka, hungover). I swear he has a sixth sense in that regard.
Rather, I mention this because it is a reality that with a family comes other responsibilities, and sometimes those responsibilities may conflict with your other priorities…such as watching football. Because of this reality, I find myself in a protracted balancing act from September through December each year, and sometimes August. And definitely January, too.
I have been quite fortunate in one regard. Since 1992 and not long after I graduated from Notre Dame in 1990, Fightin’ Irish football has been broadcast on a major network for 169 straight games over the course of fifteen years. That is, until the second weekend of November, when the streak was broken.
The Notre Dame-Air Force game would not be broadcast on any major network station. Not NBC. Not ABC. Not CBS. Not ESPN or ESPN2. Not even The Ocho. Rather, the game was to be shown on CSTV (College Sports TV), a small but up-and-coming cable network. Because I am one of the cheapest bastards ever, I opted not to pony up the $12/month to enjoy this programming as part of DirecTV’s premier SportsPack.
While I can plan in advance to make a road trip to see a game or two a year, or as many NFL fans might do, spend a day at FedEx field or the Meadowlands or wherever, the argument for “road tripping” to a local bar just to watch a game on TV is a bit tougher to make when there are diapers to be changed and leaves to be raked. How could I in good conscience spend these beer-drinking, TV-watching hours in gridiron bliss, no doubt suffering a crushing blow to my Catholic guilt?My mind immediately sprang into action. It seemed pretty simple:
1) Locate friend in area with CSTV access;
2) Invite self over to friend’s house;
3) Concoct reason to be presented to wife as to why such an endeavor is a worthwhile expenditure of my time.
Steps 1 & 2, I thought, would be fairly easy. Step 3 would likely prove to be a bit more problematic.
My wife is a very smart cookie (though at times I wonder just how smart…after all, she did marry me) but I like to think that I far outdistance her in the conniving sneakiness department. Still, I needed a plan that would put me on the couch at some random friend's house on that Saturday afternoon without emptying out my full allocation of kitchen passes.
Indeed, I needed a good plan. A really, really good, evil, sinister, diabolical plan. And I got my inspiration in a most serendipitous manner.
On the Friday night two weeks prior to the game, my wife and I were out enjoying a nice dinner together. At one point she noted rather sheepishly that she had succumbed to a “very small, teeny-tiny, inexpensive shopping trip” at some place called the Ann Taylor Loft. I guess they have chick clothes and stuff. Of course, she always knows to mention these trips a) after the fact, and b) when I am in a good mood such as over a nice dinner with a few beers in tow, aka almost loaded. And as predicted, I took it in stride, but made a mental note in my semi-inerbriated state for future reference.
The future came quite quickly. I presumed, very accurately, that since her Dad was visiting us and occupying the spare bedroom, she likely hadn’t had time to lay out her new clothes for the purpose of matching them up with current outfits (all married men recognize this silly ritual.) Later that night after dinner and while she was talking to her Dad before bedtime, I snuck into the spare bedroom, found the Ann Taylor Loft booty, and using a pair of scissors, snipped a small hole in the armpit of one grey sweater. Taking a pen and paper from the bedside table, I made note of the size, color and style of the item and returned the sweater along with the other items to their previous hiding spot.
Saturday with my morning coffee, I continued my reconnaissance work. I Googled all the nearby Ann Taylor Loft locations. Rutt-ro, Shaggy! There sure were a lot of locations. Of the numerous locations somewhat near our home in Alexandria, VA, roughly twelve qualified as “local”, as in ones which wouldn’t be too far for my wife to travel to in order to perform some type of shopping for an elusive but much sought-after grey sweater. I then called these twelve stores later that morning, and asked if they had the specific item in question. Lucky for me, it was a popular sale item, and many stores did not have it in stock. Five of the locations did have one (or more) of said item. I asked them to hold them under my first name through the weekend.
On Sunday I was working a baseball doubleheader in Alexandria. Prior to the games, I visited the Ann Taylor Loft stores at Landmark Mall, Old Town and Clarendon. The second game ended early due to darkness, and I sped off to complete my missions with visits to the stores in Georgetown and Pentagon Row. In true Grinch-who-stole-Christmas manner, I bought up the entire local supply of Ann Taylor Loft grey Petites XSP sweaters. I bought up the entire local supply, that is, except from the store in Reston, VA.
It just so happens that my friend Big Pete lives in Reston, VA. Big Pete has the DirecTV SportsPack programming. Big Pete also has a brand-spanking new 60-inch High Definition TV.
Big Pete is my friend.
I emailed Big Pete. CSTV? Check. Me at your place 4:00pm Saturday with beer offering? Check. Like I said, Steps 1 & 2...very easy.
On to Step 3. There were some tenuous moments early that next week, as I made almost daily calls to the nearly dozen area Ann Taylor Loft stores to verify any possible incoming shipments for the grey sweater, returns/exchanges and the like. By Tuesday evening, my wife had fully consumed the bait. After dinner, again with much chagrin, she asked if, by chance, my errands and travels during the week might take me out to the Reston area.
I responded in a manner as guilt-inducing as possible, “Well, not really…though I guess I could swing out there Saturday afternoon...maybe I'll stop by Big Pete’s place while I’m in the area.” This was a calculated risk, as I wagered that the last thing my wife wanted to do after a full work-week was to spend two hours driving to and from Reston. I calculated correctly. Likewise, my wife knew I probably didn’t want to make such a drive on the weekend, and opted to not disclose the full details of her inquisition at that point in time.
As expected, the next day I got an email from her detailing the injustice of her having purchased a damaged Ann Taylor Loft grey Petites XSP sweater, and the further inhumanity that none of the multitudinous locations had any in stock. Except the Reston store, that is. Then in a continued shower of gratitude, she begged me to “please, please, please!” make this special trip for her.
I “hesitantly” agreed to fulfill her request, again with attempts to incite as much guilt on her part as possible. Later in the week she made several feeble forays to release me from my task, revealing new information that the exchange might not be as straightforward as one would expect, since there were to be some price adjustments, sale percentage considerations and other flim-flam. Yet again I submitted to agreeing to perform the onerous task, sprinkling in such phrases as “due to my undying love and devotion” and “for better or for worse.” The kudos in my account were quickly accumulating.
Saturday afternoon, I collected the now-infamous Ann Taylor Loft grey Petites XSP sweater, a stack of receipts, and performed one final walkthrough of my instructions. I walked out amidst yet another shower of kisses and thank-yous. By the time I reached the Beltway, I was as giddy as a high school senior with a six-pack on prom night. Giddy, that was, until I realized that the beer offering I’d planned for my visit to Big Pete’s was still back in our refrigerator. This was only a small hiccup in the soon-to-be successful completion of my masterful plan.
The exchange at the Ann Taylor Loft was quick and painless, and I had enough time buffered in to make a stop at the grocery store for some beer. I managed to arrive at Big Pete’s with a few minutes to spare before the 4pm kickoff. Later that evening I called Val to check in, and let her know that the new grey sweater had successfully been procured. Not being one to stop a good thing from getting even better, I told her that the exchange was a nightmare, and that I had to return to the store at halftime to speak with the store manager and finish the exchange, thereby missing a good portion of the football game’s second half (I lied.) And despite not arriving home until close to 1am, the following day the kudos parade continued.
There’s an old saying that ‘Honesty is the best policy’. Personally, I prefer, ‘Never let marriage stand in the way of a good football game…or a good story.’
God, Country, Notre Dame.
Saturday with my morning coffee, I continued my reconnaissance work. I Googled all the nearby Ann Taylor Loft locations. Rutt-ro, Shaggy! There sure were a lot of locations. Of the numerous locations somewhat near our home in Alexandria, VA, roughly twelve qualified as “local”, as in ones which wouldn’t be too far for my wife to travel to in order to perform some type of shopping for an elusive but much sought-after grey sweater. I then called these twelve stores later that morning, and asked if they had the specific item in question. Lucky for me, it was a popular sale item, and many stores did not have it in stock. Five of the locations did have one (or more) of said item. I asked them to hold them under my first name through the weekend.
On Sunday I was working a baseball doubleheader in Alexandria. Prior to the games, I visited the Ann Taylor Loft stores at Landmark Mall, Old Town and Clarendon. The second game ended early due to darkness, and I sped off to complete my missions with visits to the stores in Georgetown and Pentagon Row. In true Grinch-who-stole-Christmas manner, I bought up the entire local supply of Ann Taylor Loft grey Petites XSP sweaters. I bought up the entire local supply, that is, except from the store in Reston, VA.It just so happens that my friend Big Pete lives in Reston, VA. Big Pete has the DirecTV SportsPack programming. Big Pete also has a brand-spanking new 60-inch High Definition TV.
Big Pete is my friend.
I emailed Big Pete. CSTV? Check. Me at your place 4:00pm Saturday with beer offering? Check. Like I said, Steps 1 & 2...very easy.
On to Step 3. There were some tenuous moments early that next week, as I made almost daily calls to the nearly dozen area Ann Taylor Loft stores to verify any possible incoming shipments for the grey sweater, returns/exchanges and the like. By Tuesday evening, my wife had fully consumed the bait. After dinner, again with much chagrin, she asked if, by chance, my errands and travels during the week might take me out to the Reston area.
I responded in a manner as guilt-inducing as possible, “Well, not really…though I guess I could swing out there Saturday afternoon...maybe I'll stop by Big Pete’s place while I’m in the area.” This was a calculated risk, as I wagered that the last thing my wife wanted to do after a full work-week was to spend two hours driving to and from Reston. I calculated correctly. Likewise, my wife knew I probably didn’t want to make such a drive on the weekend, and opted to not disclose the full details of her inquisition at that point in time.
As expected, the next day I got an email from her detailing the injustice of her having purchased a damaged Ann Taylor Loft grey Petites XSP sweater, and the further inhumanity that none of the multitudinous locations had any in stock. Except the Reston store, that is. Then in a continued shower of gratitude, she begged me to “please, please, please!” make this special trip for her.
I “hesitantly” agreed to fulfill her request, again with attempts to incite as much guilt on her part as possible. Later in the week she made several feeble forays to release me from my task, revealing new information that the exchange might not be as straightforward as one would expect, since there were to be some price adjustments, sale percentage considerations and other flim-flam. Yet again I submitted to agreeing to perform the onerous task, sprinkling in such phrases as “due to my undying love and devotion” and “for better or for worse.” The kudos in my account were quickly accumulating.
Saturday afternoon, I collected the now-infamous Ann Taylor Loft grey Petites XSP sweater, a stack of receipts, and performed one final walkthrough of my instructions. I walked out amidst yet another shower of kisses and thank-yous. By the time I reached the Beltway, I was as giddy as a high school senior with a six-pack on prom night. Giddy, that was, until I realized that the beer offering I’d planned for my visit to Big Pete’s was still back in our refrigerator. This was only a small hiccup in the soon-to-be successful completion of my masterful plan.The exchange at the Ann Taylor Loft was quick and painless, and I had enough time buffered in to make a stop at the grocery store for some beer. I managed to arrive at Big Pete’s with a few minutes to spare before the 4pm kickoff. Later that evening I called Val to check in, and let her know that the new grey sweater had successfully been procured. Not being one to stop a good thing from getting even better, I told her that the exchange was a nightmare, and that I had to return to the store at halftime to speak with the store manager and finish the exchange, thereby missing a good portion of the football game’s second half (I lied.) And despite not arriving home until close to 1am, the following day the kudos parade continued.There’s an old saying that ‘Honesty is the best policy’. Personally, I prefer, ‘Never let marriage stand in the way of a good football game…or a good story.’
God, Country, Notre Dame.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home