Peyton Manning Fans – Super Bowl, Blame Me

Super Bowl fan

None of our teams made the Super Bowl so I prayed for a boring game.

Dear Peyton Manning Fans,

I know Peyton Manning and the Denver Broncos are taking a lot of heat for the loss in last night’s Super Bowl, but I have to tell the you

Peyton Manning and the Broncos are not to blame.

I AM.

And for that, I apologize from the bottom of my heart.

You see, being a single mom of five boys is a lot of fun, but it’s also a lot of work, and events like the Super Bowl can go ether way!

I am a single mom of five of the most amazing boys that God has ever graced the Earth with.

To say my boys worship the football would be stretching the truth – but only a bit.

And each of those five boys likes a different team.

And none of those five teams is the team I grew up liking.

And none of those six teams made the Super Bowl this year.

I’m sure Peyton Manning’s mom would understand when I try to explain the adrenaline flow, the testosterone rush, the loud, pushing-shoving, semi-brawling, raucous behavior that emerges from my normally sweet, angelic, near-perfect children upon opening kickoff every Sunday.

I’m sure Peyton Manning’s mom would understand when I say I cannot even begin to explain how that insanity increases on Super Bowl Sunday.

So, due to my own selfish quest for a peaceful Sunday and since none of our favorite teams were in the game, I prayed for a boring Super Bowl.

All I wanted was to sit and eat yummy appetizers with my boys and enjoy one of America’s great pastimes.

And so I jinxed the game, not so much for you or the Broncos in particular, but by praying for a boring game. It just so happened, fate, through no fault of his own, chose Peyton Manning’s team to take the fall.

Super Bowl at Our House

I was in the kitchen preparing our annual Super Bowl appetizers:  potato skins, chicken wings, pizza rolls, and of course a veggie platter, not because the boys actually eat the vegetables, but because it makes me feel better as a mom!

I figured, “So what if I miss opening kickoff. There’s an entire game ahead.”

Little did I know my prayers for a uneventful game would be answered in the opening kickoff.

I could hear five voices chatting excitedly, talking about their picks, making predictions, ribbing each other as only a houseful of brothers can do; Eli and Peyton Manning must have spent Super Bowls like this growing up.

The Super Bowl kickoff was announced and a moment later –

NOTHING!

Silence.

Absolute, stunning, empty, voided, silence.

Anyone who’s been around boys knows, silence isn’t golden.

Let me tell you, Peyton Manning fans, that no thought rushed through my head as the silence induced befuddlement baffled me beyond my ability to sort out what happened.

That silence didn’t last long; in fact, it had barely registered before high-pitched cracking shouts of

“WHAT THE HECK???”

filled the house.

I imagine Peyton Manning and all the Broncos felt the same way.

So the Super Bowl I had looked forward to but had prayed to be bored through ended up being more boring than even I had prayed for, which meant there was no outlet for boy-aggression built up in Super Bowl anticipation. 

I think I threatened to send several of them to bed no less than 20 times in the 2nd quarter alone.

After that I lost count.

So Peyton Manning fans, while your loss was painful, place the blame where it belongs – on a simple single mom’s whispered prayer in her kitchen for a boring, quiet game.

The good news is – God really does answer prayers. The bad news is – We need to give more specific instruction.

How do you apologize when your prayers cause the worst game in Super Bowl history?

You don’t.

But I swear next year, whether any of our teams make it to the Super Bowl or not, I will wish for a close, blood-pumping, emotionally charged game during which I will sit happily listening to my boys yelling insults at players and each other, criticizing officials, and generally denigrating one of our uniquely all-American pastimes.

And I will not complain.

And I will never again wish for a Blah game.

Unless, of course, next year my children are still driving me crazy, and I forget.

God Bless…

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