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Football with the guys
is a Sunday ritual

I was careful to get to bed at a reasonable hour on Saturday night and checked my alarm clock a few times to ensure I had set it correctly. Oversleeping was simply not an option. We're talking about Sunday football here.

Now, I don't really like football if you're talking about the actual sport. To be honest, I don't understand all the rules. To be totally honest, I don't know any of the rules. I've never bothered to learn them and doubt I ever will. That just doesn't interest me.

I do, however, love Sunday football.

One of my girlfriends looked at me skeptically when I told her about my Sunday plans, "Why would you want to sit around with a bunch of guys drinking beer all day long?"

Is that a trick question? Why wouldn't I want to do that?

My friend didn't understand and told me that it sounded like a waste of time.

I don't understand why any red-blooded single female wouldn't be interested in a party full of guys.

Ask me to meet you at a sports bar on a Sunday morning? You're on! Which bar and what time?

At 9 o'clock on a Sunday morning, the bar is packed! Everyone is wearing jerseys, cheering loudly, booing angrily and drinking beer, ordering nachos and talking excitedly. It's an event, with an energized buzz in the air. I love it. I can't help it.

Sure, there are games on the TVs, but that's not the point. It's the atmosphere that I love. OK, and maybe the excuse to have beer for breakfast. And maybe the fact that 90 percent of the people in a sports bar on a Sunday morning are male. Those aren't bad odds in the dating world. Conversation starters are easy: "Hey, what's the score?"

SUNDAY MORNING at just about any sports bar on this island is a party. It's as if football fans have created a weekly holiday, and I'm happy to join in.

My mother raised me to celebrate every holiday to the fullest. Our house was the one covered in bunnies and plastic eggs at Easter, and our walls were plastered with turkeys and pilgrims for Thanksgiving. It is genetically impossible for me to pass up a festive occasion.

Holidays and celebrations are a fabulous excuse to break from routine and do something fun. If you dressed up like a fairy and ate little Snickers bars by the pound on a sunny June day, people might think you're odd, but not on Oct. 31.

But such holidays happen one measly time a year. Not so Sunday morning football, when it's customary to put on a big, bright jersey in support of your team, drink a pitcher of beer for breakfast and yell at the TV like a madman. I think that is great.

This might seriously offend true football fans out there. I'm sorry I don't fully comprehend your passion, and I apologize if I'm making light of this amazing event, but I will be there cheering and booing with you -- even if I'm not sure what I'm cheering or booing for. See you on Superbowl Sunday!

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