Nope, 9/11 only hit me like it hit most everybody in America: with the resulting fear and loss of personal freedoms. (Oh, when 9/11 happened, I was working for an aquatic design firm that sent me on trips all the time and I had to walk around in a bunch of airports and try my best not to solicit the attention of all the machine-gun toting soldiers the airports offered back then. That wasn't fun.)
But 9/11 did cause me a (mild) type of suffering. That suffering? Why it's the Super Bowl bye week. I don't think anything bothers me more about any given football season than the Super Bowl bye week.
Back before some Saudi Arabians crashed a plane into a skyscraper and caused us to go to war with Iraq (you figure it out), there was no bye week before the Super Bowl. The Super Bowl was firmly entrenched in its signature spot: the last Sunday in January. That was where it belonged and that was where it should have stayed. But then terrorism happened and we missed a week of football and every thing got pushed back a week, making for a very messed up year. When this initially happened, I was cool with it. After all, that was a crazy and messed up time. It made sense that nothing should ever seem normal that football season. That was the year we were attacked for Vishnu's sake.
But the NFL idiots, in their infinite wisdom, decided that we needed a bye week before the Super Bowl in case another national tragedy occurred and required us to miss another game.
I am as serious as whale shit, here. That's what they actually thought. They thought, “Hey, if we get attacked by terrorists again, causing a nation to mourn the loss of thousands of loved ones, well, at least we won't have to worry about switching the date agreement with any of the stadiums.” In my opinion, people who are even capable of thinking like that should be drug out in the street and beat with Vespa scooters (accept no substitutes).
But, as is my custom, I digress.
There are four major reasons why I hate the Super Bowl Bye week. They are:
1. No football for a week.
2. The birthday switch. Growing up, the Super Bowl always happened within no more than six days from my father's birthday. Hell, sometimes the Super Bowl was on my father's birthday. Awesome, right? What kind of man wouldn't love that coincidence? Now, thanks to the terror bye week, the Super Bowl lands in February and, last year, landed on my sister's birthday. Girls, try getting attention from your boyfriend when your birthday falls on the Super Bowl. Hell, even I forgot to call her that year. And I'm her oldest brother. Poor girl. When the Super Bowl was on my father's birthday, I'd call him anyway just so I could talk with him about the Super Bowl, but I've never once thought to call my sister on the Super Bowl. The whole thing is just messed up.
3. February used to be my cleansing month. In college, I discovered that the month of February offers no drinking holidays of any kind. It's a short month, a boring month, and a cold month. So, every February, I would go the entire month without drinking (or at least until the first day of March Madness, which is in February). Throw the Super Bowl into February and you're basically guaranteeing me a pickled liver. Clearly the NFL does not care about me or my liver. Bastards.
4. Gasparilla. The Gasparilla Day Parade (which I will be attending tomorrow) traditionally occurred the weekend after the Super Bowl. The day parade was a twinkle of awesomeness thrown into a desolate and otherwise boring month for sports fans. Now, it's just something to do the weekend before the Super Bowl. Ain't right. Ain't fair. And really ain't cool.
Anyway, the Super Bowl bye week is this crappiest idea since the Ford Pinto. And I really wish it would go away.