Editor’s note: In a December issue, Barbara Munson declared herself “a jinx” to the New Orleans Saints after realizing they lose when she watches them on TV, and win when she doesn’t. This week, she tells what it was like to see their playoff game with the Philadelphia Eagles after the fact - on videotape.
The Morning After
Sunday, January 14, 7:30 a.m.
I sit here bleary-eyed, achy, and exhausted. No, I don't have the flu, I have Saints fever.
All week long people have been asking me, The Jinx, not to watch the playoff game. A friend of mine posted on a message board we both frequent asking me not to watch. Another friend several states away e-mailed me begging me not to watch the game. True to my word, I did not watch.
I did, however, tape it.
My husband watched the game at his dad's house. I set the recorder to tape the game, called my family asking them not to call me about the results, then piddled around nervously all night long.
I was on my favorite message board, chastising my Philly friends, when someone posted, "Oooh, that was some hit Reggie took."
I signed off for fear someone would reveal the score.
I half-heartedly watched a few shows on TV, but I don't remember them. I tried playing Sudoku online, but I couldn't concentrate.
I felt like a hungry caged lion who knows a gazelle is prancing around the outside of his cage.
I fidgeted, I paced, I brushed the dog (and got bitten).
The call came around 10:23 p.m. Game's over, you can start watching now. I sat there, gripping the remote like it was a football and I was a running back, and proceeded to watch. I caught the tale end of the pre-game show where Terry Bradshaw said, "I'm nervous!" Ah, Terry, a kindred spirit.
At around 10:25 my neighbors started popping fireworks. Ha! That must mean the Saints won! Crud, the little rats just gave away the ending. But maybe not.
Around here they pop fireworks constantly, celebrating such things as Thursdays.
Oh, how did Reggie Bush get up from that hit? Deuce!!!! The man's a freight train.
About that time my husband walked in, sat down stony faced, and watched the rest of the game with me.
He didn't crack a smile the whole time. At the end of the first half, when the Saints scored a touchdown that was ruled an incompletion, my husband started talking about how the play should have been reviewed. He was right, it should have been. But did that mean it cost us the game? His demeanor gave away nothing.
My arm hurt from gripping the remote, my neck was in knots, and it was only the beginning of the second half. I didn't know how much more I could take.
The second half was excruciating. Oh, he should have had that interception! How do these guys keep getting to Drew? When will this stupid clock run out?
With a little over five minutes left in the game, my DVR ran out. Argh, I forgot to set it for an extended amount of time! I ran to the VCR in the back room to watch the rest of the game on tape.
Fumble! I dropped the remote. No! How could he have caught that ball? Tackle him! Thank you, Mr. Ref, for that beautiful yellow flag.
Less than a minute left, but I refuse to let down my guard and get my hopes up. Drew Brees is celebrating. Now I can breathe. Thank you, Saints.
By the time the game ended, I felt like I had played it. I was exhausted, but not too exhausted to sign back onto the message board and post a few WHO DAT comments, and definitely too keyed up to go to bed without watching the news.
This morning my neck and arm are still in knots, and I could use a massage from a team trainer about now. If next week's game is anything like this week's, I may be on Injured Reserves for the Super Bowl.