As a single woman and a football fan, February is admittedly turning into my favorite month of the year. Granted, it is only the second month of a new revolution around the Sun. But it’s leaving such an impression. I can’t help but fall in love.
For starters, the New York Giants won the Super Bowl. Rather, the New England Patriots lost the World Championship and ruined their perfect season. Woops. Maybe next year Tom Brady will strive for passion rather than perfection.
Not that the Giants played to any high standard of excellence.
The beauty of it all is that the Giants’ ordinariness and average status makes them perfect in every way. It was a fairy tale ending and it was perfect because they were not necessarily playing their best game, but because they were playing with determination and passion.
Passion is defined as “any powerful or compelling emotion or feeling, as love or hate.” It is also the theme of what some women will describe as an “evil” holiday. The infamous St. Valentine’s Day.
I miss the good ole’ days back in grade school when I would make homemade cards for my mom with runny paste and Necco candy hearts. “Be Mine” and “Kiss Me” soon became a little girl’s mantra as pink cupcakes were handed out, smiles exchanged and dreams of Prince Charming dodged.
I’ve witnessed about twenty-one of this holiday by now (not that I remember all of them). And you know what? My absolute favorite Valentine’s Days are those spent with loved ones, with my family and friends who know me better than I know myself.
My Valentine’s Days have become a celebration of a different kind of passion: a passion for life, for living it to the fullest and being genuinely happy doing so.
February has quickly become significant because of these special “ones.” The one game that changed everything. The one day of the year dedicated to a warm-and-fuzzy feeling that should last forever. The one man every single woman longs for on Valentine’s Day. The one catch that will go down in history.
After this year’s Super Bowl, I sat in the victorious glow of the television feeling satisfied and sensing an impending happiness. (I’m already looking forward to the Eagles kicking butt next season, by the way.)
If Eli Manning can have his fairy tale ending, then so can we all. Whether or not this happens on Valentine’s Day is irrelevant. It’s only a Hallmark holiday after all.
PHOTO: Footballs, the color pink and the Eagles. Just a few of this author’s favorite things. Not my most attractive angle, by the way. At least I don’t throw like a girl. (Melissa L. Gaffney)