Of Garbage Cans, Bobbleheads and Old MagazinesPosted: August 20, 2007
So I’ve discovered two cool elements to this blogging thing.
First, you learn a lot about your friends who also happen to blog. And, as a result, they learn a lot about you.
Secondly, you become BFs with others. BFs you ask? I’m making it up right now. Blog Friends. Therefore, from now on, I must be credited each time you use that. Well, anyway.
One of my BFs, Clink, is fun to read. Now she’s younger than me. Dare I say it, she’s a generation behind me. However, she wrote something recently that I felt like I just had to follow up with a post of my own.
You can read her post here.
My point in writing this is to help her understand her fiance’s point of view. And, I’m not just helping Clink, I’m helping all like her. Or at least I’m trying to.
If you don’t pop over to read Clink’s take, and you should, the point is simple: she and her fiance will be merging assets. He has a Patriots garbage can. He wants it. She doesn’t. More importantly, I think it’s safe to say that she doesn’t understand why he would still want it.
That’s where I come in.
It is so much more than just a garbage can. And that might be the hardest thing for Clink or anyone in her situation to grasp.
I’m not even sure I can tell you what it is. But it is oh so much more than a garbage can. In terms of the Patriots, that garbage can represents a lifelong journey as a fan. We were down in the dumps (um, no pun intended, seriously) for so long. And now we are the pinnacle. That garbage can is a part of that. To get rid of it, well, who knows what would happen then.
That garbage can represents hours and hours of hope, loss, disappointment and excitement. I know, you think I’m kidding. But, go ahead. Watch a game with a Patriot fan. Tell me that’s not true. But it’s not just Patriot fans. It’s any fan. Or, should I say, it’s any guy fan.
We (um, guys) hold our teams in highest regard. We want to have symbols of those teams with us — and that’s anything from t-shirts, hats, mouse pads and, well, garbage cans.
The same goes for bobbleheads and even old issues of Sports Illustrated. I’ve got stacks of them. Have I ever gone back to read them? Well, no, who has the time? But, I will get back to them at some point. I mean, you don’t expect me to remember every play from the 2004 World Series or one of the Patriots Super Bowls, do you? Yeah, I know. You do. But, just in case I don’t, I’ve got Sports Illustrated there to help me remember the key moments — and to have them forever in pictures.
It’s like my favorite blanket. It’s a Red Sox World Series blanket. Whenever the feet need a little covering while watching TV, out comes the Red Sox blanket — not any of the others we have. Why use those when I can use the Red Sox blanket?
While I don’t have a Patriots garbage can (attention, Santa), I do have a Red Sox garbage can. Now, of course I don’t use it. Again, not the point. The point is that I have it and that I could use it if I wanted to. This Red Sox garbage can was used early on, but maybe my diryting it hindered the team’s chances? Hey, you never know.
I mean, since I stopped using it as an actual garbage can, they go on and win the World Series. I’m not going to tempt the gods. That garbage can will never be used as a garbage can again.
But, regardless of what it is used for, it’s mine. And I love it. My wife doesn’t say anything about it. She doesn’t say anything about the bobbleheads. Or even the old Sports Illustrated issues.
She doesn’t say anything about that. And I don’t say anything about her shoes.
And that’s the beauty of marriage. Compromise.
What else? I got nothin’.