Self-Inflicted Stress

I’m under a lot of stress right now. My wife and I have a child on the way, we’re trying to get our house ready for it, I have a book deadline I’m working on night and day (at least I’m finally catching up there), and I’m trying to manage a complete technical redo of Ghostvillage.com for some exciting developments in 2007. My work days typically start at 7:30 in the morning and unless I have an appointment or some other event I simply need to be at, I’ll work until about 9:00 at night.

I’m not writing all this for sympathy or anything like that. Everything I’m working on right now I love doing, it just happens to be piling up at the moment. But this isn’t about my “have-to” list. This is about self-inflicted stress. I’m talking, of course, about Patriots football.

I don’t consider myself your typical American guy. I love to read and write, cook, I love art museums, classical music, and lots of other eclectic interests. But man, when Sunday comes I transform into Joe-Twelve-Pack and plant my ass in front of the HDTV, I raise the volume of my surround sound stereo, and I yell for my team. There’s no rationale for it, but I feel like if I’m not watching and pulling for my team, they won’t do as well.

I admit I’m very biased, but I consider the Patriots the thinking-man’s football team. They play a delicate game of chess combined with a rigid discipline to the fundamentals (most of the time) that I admire and even yell for. But last night my stomach was in a knot for about three and a half hours. Last night the Patriots played in a playoff game against the San Diego Chargers. By just about every measure, the Chargers outplayed the Patriots. They were faster, bigger, and stronger. And they mostly dominated play… but they made some critical mistakes and the Patriots did what they often do in big games — they capitalized.

In the fourth quarter the tide turned just enough that a win actually looked possible. I spent the second half of the quarter kneeling in front of the TV — not in some form of pagan worship — but because I was tense and knew that jumping up and down after every play was going to get someone (probably me) hurt. As the seconds ticked away after the Patriots tied the game and put themselves in game-winning field goal position, suddenly all the doubt I had the entire game was erased. When the San Diego kicker missed his final (and very long) field goal attempt, I remembered why I love this team — they find a way. They don’t usually blow their opponents apart, they pick them apart and strike at just the right moments. It doesn’t matter that you’re bigger, faster, and have a better record. When it counts, the Patriots and their football savant coach know what they’re doing.

I have no expectations of next week’s game against the Colts. The Patriots have taught themselves and all of their true fans to take it one game at a time. I’m sure they’ll keep me at the edge of my seat because they usually do.

For an hour after last night’s game I felt the stress slowly leaving my body. Kind of like the feeling after almost getting in a car accident. You realize you dodged a bullet. I kept saying to my wife, “Why do I put myself through this?” I mean, if the Patriots lost last night, I still would have had a lot of work to do today. Whether they won or lost should have no impact on my life at all. But it does. There’s a spring in my step today as I toil away at the projects that were waiting for me regardless, and there’s anxious anticipation of the next game — like a good party you know is coming up this weekend.

Nope, I don’t need any added stress in my life. But the drama, technical acumen, and excitment the Patriots bring me each week is worth every knot in my stomach.

Go Pats! (Now back to my regularly schedule intellectual pursuits…)