Game Day in Enemy Territory

The only reason I am still alive at this moment is because a certain fumble-footed kicker from Dallas couldn't kick a football into the broadside of a barn from 10 yards away if his Momma's life depended on it.
And as thankful as I am that I am still breathing (due to the fact that I, a die-hard Dallas Cowboys fan since the day I was born in the great state of Texas, did not get to celebrate a win over Denver, where I happen to be spending Thanksgiving) I still hope that kicker's Momma whips his ass when he gets home for shaming himself on national television and single-handedly (or footedly) losing the game.
Yeah...still a little bitter. But jesus f*#^*!! christ...It was already unbearably horrible enough to be surrounded by 2 dozen enemy combatants with Bronco Blood pulsing through their veins as they fixated on the game. Christ...my mom and I tossed the appetizers and were gnawing on the china in a desperate attempt not to scream at the refs or cheer with Dallas. And I'm not a quiet girl during a game. When I've been at my parents' house during NFL game days, my dad has come from the back of the house to remind me that no one on the field can actually hear me, "although the neighbors probably can"...and that's from the man who yells at the people on Survivor.
I went outside in my cousin's front yard a couple of times to make phone calls to football buddies so I could vent and jump and curse some Denver and Go Dallas loudly, if only for a few minutes...and then I realized that my cousin's neighbor had company over who were also outside.
Did I mention I was not very quiet?
Well anyway, dinner was wonderful, the game was miserable, I met family I hadn't seen before and discovered that enough good red wine and fine bone china makes it possible to get through game day in enemy territory.