It’s been a while since I went to a bar to watch a football game. But last weekend I hit Court Street in Hoboken, leaving behind work to join some friends who’d saved me a prime seat for the Giants-49ers game. Here’s what’s different about this particular activity when you’re in the age 50 range.
First of all, regardless of the raging cold January weather, you wear a tank top and a short-sleeved hoodie because hot flashes will likely occur and there’s no sense having to strip off layers in the middle of a bunch of intoxicated sports fans. Not even sitting near the drafty door — something which would have called for thermal and fleece just a few years ago because you were always cold — affects that decision.
Second, when you’re eating French fries, there’s no guilt because they’ve become such a rare treat. And they are 100 times as freakin’ good as they’ve ever been before.
Third, when the going gets tense in the game (and that was pretty much the entire game this time around), you laugh as your friend hides her eyes from the action like she’s watching a bloody horror movie. Then you tell her what she missed. Meanwhile, you’re trying yogic breathing on almost every down of the last quarter because Eli Manning is calm and focused and you feel like you can at least try to be, too.
Fourth, when you ask the rules- and stats-obsessed guys next to you how the new playoff overtime rules go after each team’s first possession, it’s not because you’re trying to show them how smart they are while you bat your eyelashes. It’s because you’re really wondering and you’re confident enough to just ask.
Fun night. Amazing game. At any age.
