So I've discovered two cool elements to this blogging thing.
First, you learn a lot about your friends who also happen to blog. And, as a result, they learn a lot about you.
Secondly, you become BFs with others. BFs you ask? I'm making it up right now. Blog Friends. Therefore, from now on, I must be credited each time you use that. Well, anyway.
One of my BFs, Clink, is fun to read. Now she's younger than me. Dare I say it, she's a generation behind me. However, she wrote something recently that I felt like I just had to follow up with a post of my own.
You can read her post here.
My point in writing this is to help her understand her fiance's point of view. And, I'm not just helping Clink, I'm helping all like her. Or at least I'm trying to.
If you don't pop over to read Clink's take, and you should, the point is simple: she and her fiance will be merging assets. He has a Patriots garbage can. He wants it. She doesn't. More importantly, I think it's safe to say that she doesn't understand why he would still want it.
That's where I come in.
It is so much more than just a garbage can. And that might be the hardest thing for Clink or anyone in her situation to grasp.
I'm not even sure I can tell you what it is. But it is oh so much more than a garbage can. In terms of the Patriots, that garbage can represents a lifelong journey as a fan. We were down in the dumps (um, no pun intended, seriously) for so long. And now we are the pinnacle. That garbage can is a part of that. To get rid of it, well, who knows what would happen then.
That garbage can represents hours and hours of hope, loss, disappointment and excitement. I know, you think I'm kidding. But, go ahead. Watch a game with a Patriot fan. Tell me that's not true. But it's not just Patriot fans. It's any fan. Or, should I say, it's any guy fan.
We (um, guys) hold our teams in highest regard. We want to have symbols of those teams with us -- and that's anything from t-shirts, hats, mouse pads and, well, garbage cans.
The same goes for bobbleheads and even old issues of Sports Illustrated. I've got stacks of them. Have I ever gone back to read them? Well, no, who has the time? But, I will get back to them at some point. I mean, you don't expect me to remember every play from the 2004 World Series or one of the Patriots Super Bowls, do you? Yeah, I know. You do. But, just in case I don't, I've got Sports Illustrated there to help me remember the key moments -- and to have them forever in pictures.
It's like my favorite blanket. It's a Red Sox World Series blanket. Whenever the feet need a little covering while watching TV, out comes the Red Sox blanket -- not any of the others we have. Why use those when I can use the Red Sox blanket?
While I don't have a Patriots garbage can (attention, Santa), I do have a Red Sox garbage can. Now, of course I don't use it. Again, not the point. The point is that I have it and that I could use it if I wanted to. This Red Sox garbage can was used early on, but maybe my diryting it hindered the team's chances? Hey, you never know.
I mean, since I stopped using it as an actual garbage can, they go on and win the World Series. I'm not going to tempt the gods. That garbage can will never be used as a garbage can again.
But, regardless of what it is used for, it's mine. And I love it. My wife doesn't say anything about it. She doesn't say anything about the bobbleheads. Or even the old Sports Illustrated issues.
She doesn't say anything about that. And I don't say anything about her shoes.
And that's the beauty of marriage. Compromise.
What else? I got nothin'.
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9 comments:
I get it. My WH is a die-hard Auburn fan. Where we live, college football is an organized religion. I am lucky enough not to have any household items emblazoned with Auburn's colors and logo. However, WH is the proud owner of several ratty, holey, old and perma-dirty Auburn t-shirts. I once asked if they couldn't be replaced with new Auburn clothing, silly me. That's when he explained that the ratty ones are irreplaceable, because they were done for specific games. Games that were won years and years and years ago. He does wear a plain white t-shirt underneath them. I live with it.
In return, we do not discuss the practicality or necessity of my approximate 100+ sweaters.
Compromise is a wonderful thing! :-)
There are BOXES of things in our basement that after all these years, we each know better than to even suggest throwing away.
We'll just have to tell Clink, move outta the city, and you CAN have it all! Even a basement for the Patriots garbage can!
There are BOXES of things in our basement that after all these years, we each know better than to even suggest throwing away.
We'll just have to tell Clink, move outta the city, and you CAN have it all! Even a basement for the Patriots garbage can!
Thank you for the insight. And, like I said on my post, I'm going to let him keep it. It's just going to reside under the desk, so that it doesn't clash with our decor.
I know how it is to live and die for a team. I have a Villanova jersey from the 1985 NCAA championship era and if he ever asked me to throw it out, I'd give him the ring back. So, what I'm saying is - I get it. I just needed you to put it in a bit of perspective for me.
I also have coveted Sports Illustrated magazines, many t-shirts that can't be worn.. (namely when Cleveland beat the Yankees 22-0- since I was AT the game) and numerous other items (such as my # 1 greatest fan Red Sox clock). I have a VERY understanding NY YANKEE husband who would never ask me to get rid of any of it. (Although I doubt very much about him letting the Red Sox clock be hung up anytime soon)
It's all about the compromise
So I can just tell Michael that there's meaning behind my piles and he can't say anything?
"we (um guys)"
I probably have enough Phillies/Eagles/Sixers crap to make Clink's boyfriend shudder. And I'm a girl. Hell, even my dog has an Eagles jersey.
But you got it right- all of those pieces represent how much we connect with the team.
On the other, my beloved, Beta Dad, has worn a Marino/Dolphins shirt every Sunday of every football season for the last umpteen years, consumed his coffee out of the exact same orange and green mug and settled under the exact same Miami Dolphins blanket. And what does this get him? Heartache and dissapointment.
Perhaps just a little tough love isn't a bad thing?
Finally! I now understand the obsession my boyfriend has with saving Sports Illustrated issues. Too bad for him that I have an obsession with recycling...
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