When watching a sporting event, I try not to get too emotionally invested – particularly if it’s a Bills game. With statistics as my guide, I’m always fairly confident they will lose. The fun part is trying to figure out how they might go about doing it.
During most games, though, somewhere along the way, I build up a sliver of hope – somewhere deep inside – that the Bills might win, defying the odds and taking down the New England Patriots, for example.
This was the case last Sunday, when the team held a second-half lead. Of course, that lead was eventually destroyed, and the game reached its expected result.
When there’s hope – unfortunately – oftentimes there is also a letdown. Despite my plan to remain emotionally unattached to the game, I failed. I sat on my brother’s couch in disgust after the game and prepared to leave.
As I walked toward the door, several of my brother’s guests told me to hold my infant nephew, Seth, who has been with us for just a few weeks. Holding him would make me feel better, they said.
I was skeptical. Normally, I try to avoid holding babies. I don’t want to be the one to drop them or to trip while carrying them and cause harm.
They didn’t want to hear it. Before I knew it, I was holding the baby. It was peer pressure, I suppose.
Surprisingly, holding him actually did make me feel better. Why? I don’t know. Maybe it was his innocence, or maybe I just cooled off and realized football is a stupid thing to get mad about.
Whatever the case, it was a good stress reliever. Maybe in the future I’ll watch the Bills from a hospital’s maternity center.