If I’m being honest, I gave up on watching the Buccos of Suckitude about two weeks ago. I think it was when they lost their seventh straight or something? I don’t know. All I know is I saw the score and said, “You know, nothing is worth this misery I’m putting myself through every night. Hanging on to some fading shred of hope that something will happen to show that these guys care. Anything at all.”
Because I gave up, I wasn’t watching last night when my self-united husband Doug Mientkiewicz gave a couple of damns.
He gave a damn at 1:58 when he desperately swiped the ball from Miles’ hand and he really gave a violent damn at 2:26 when his angry words managed to empty both benches completely of their respective teams.
And if that wasn’t enough, because I quit reading about them too, I missed this:
“It’s tired,” he said. “I’ve only been here six months, and I’m already sick of hearing about the future. I know it’s important, but you’ve got to play well now. It’s frustrating. It is. We’re just going to have to keep plugging along, figure out who can play and who can’t. And everyone has to understand it’s a privilege to be here. It’s not given away. Give me 25 guys who fight. Give me that over talent. … Let’s win now.”
He has never been sexier than he is right at this single moment and it has nothing to do with his socks or his forearms.
This damn-giving. It is a beautiful thing on Dougie and for that I shall apologize to him for turning my back on him and the team and I will promise him that from now on, I will once again place myself in front of my television so that I can witness those few small moments of shining awesome that we’re fortunate to find hiding within the giant mass of sucking suck.