I Am Slowly Becoming The Woman Who Throws Her Arm Across The Passenger Side and Decorates In Cubs Blue

I grew up in one of those households who screamed at the TV whenever sporting events were on. My parents saw no oddness about screeching and jerking and jumping up and down when any of the various teams they supported were doing well or mostly, doing badly. This includes, in short succession, the Bears, the Bulls, the Cubs (mom); a majority of the screeching dealt with any team either of my parents felt in any way threatened their team's dominance and/or good cheer. Which was everyone. There were nights I would stare at my ceiling as they screeched downstairs and I wished for parents with pearls, good china, and inside voices.

Somehow, I ended up not being a sports watcher. This, of course, bars the Olympics (by which I mean Summer; the Winter Olympics are iffy -- as Kenneth says, "From the glory and the pageantry of the summer Olympics, to the less fun Winter Olympics..."). In fact, one of my primary reasons for working is to be able to buy cable for this summer's Olympics so that I can orgy out on multiple events that no one else wants to watch, like Judo and Trampoline. My parents know this about me and it was never a big deal, more like a lovable quirk, the kind of patronizing grin you'd give to Joey on Friends after he said something so boneheaded you weren't sure that his brain wasn't composed of chimps pounding on broken typewriters. The fact that I have no Cubs throw pillows or Bears blankets is just one of those "look what we made!" moments of parental amusement.

But, like flu season, the Superbowl arrives and somehow, my TV is on and I am watching. Like the summer Olympics, there's a lot of pageantry, in the form of truck commercials, jets streaking smoke, and Tom Petty on a guitar shaped stage. Sometimes, this watching is as my most cynical teenage self, sometimes as an indifferent passerby, and once in a while, as genuine interested participant.

It was in this last capacity that I heard myself yesterday. Because late in the fourth quarter, as the ball was launched, I leaned forward, clenched my fists, and screeched.