Sunday February 01, 2004

My digital confessional

Forgive me, internet community, for I have sinned. I've committed the unspeakable blasphemy against this great nation in which I live. I am a despicable heretic, and deserve no pity.

I seriously don't care for NFL football.

WAIT! Wait! Put down that stone, and let me explain myself. I know, what I've said is quite shocking (and very un-American to boot), but there is, I believe, a worthy explanation for it all. Just give me sixty seconds of your time, and I'll show you that I really do deserve your mercy.

Although I'm very much an American, and care about this country more than I could possible express on my itty bitty little blog, my upbringing makes it hard for me to get so excited about watching 300 pound bulls tossing a ball back and forth. You see, I'm Croatian. My parents hopped over to the United States from this little peanut-sized country called Yugoslavia way back in the day. And in my Croatian household, soccer reigned supreme.

Sure, we watched other sports. Tennis was always popular, and even football had its place. You could very well call us Browns fans (you can't be from Cleveland and escape physical assault without at least claiming to bleed orange and brown). But as wonderful as American football is, soccer is the real "football" as far as the Croatian universe is concerned (showing my true American roots, I'm placing the blame squarely on those backward Europeans).

I think it's in my genes, or something. I bet we Euros have perfectly round soccer ball-shaped cells in our body, while the whitebread American set has the pinched-end variety. I'm sure I read it in some journal somewhere. You really can't blame me for my genetic influence. I am without choice here, people.

So, today, I will go to a SuperBowl party (I may be different, but I'm not stupid), eat some chips, and pretend to be excited about the game if only for my own safety. I guess I don't really deserve forgiveness, considering my unrepentant heart, but please try to understand. Football just ain't me. It's not in my genes, not in my blood. As a child, nobody tossed me a football, and until I turned 14 I though a pigskin was the leftover product of the Croatian center's outdoor roast.

In closing, I'd like to say that if I were raised in a different environment, perhaps loaded with different DNA, I might be a little more excited today. You could probably even find me wearing a generic team jersey from Walmart. But all these variables, they were out of my control.

Mercy, anyone?