At the conclusion of every Super Bowl Sunday, I have a peculiar ritual.
As the clock is ticking down and the confetti is about to fly punctuating another football year, I drift off into my own personal never never land. Suddenly, a sea of Honolulu Blue jerseys overtakes the faceless, nameless teams I just watched compete. The broadcasters, be it Al Michaels, Joe Buck or Jim Nantz (in my dreams I prefer Nantz because of his puns) begin to wax poetic.
"This win is immeasurable in scope for the city of Detroit," Nantz bellows, then angling for his big finish. "The Lions' pride is back in Motown!" Don't dare laugh. When it happens on CBS and Nantz regurgitates that line, you'll think of me.
I digress. Helmets scatter through the air. Gatorade is dumped on a coach. The trophy presentation ceremony commences, complete with uniform clad gridiron heroes from Detroit rubbing the Lombardi Trophy. An MVP is selected, probably the quarterback being he's the one Detroiters always love to ride the most. People in the stands hold up makeshift copies of the Detroit Free Press and Detroit News proclaiming the Lions' triumph. There's a Disney World commercial the next day.
A parade in downtown Detroit comes next, with shots of the "Spirit of Detroit" decked out in a Lions jersey, and scores of people lining the familiar route down Woodward Avenue. In recent years, the Red Wings, Pistons and Tigers have all enjoyed championship moments downtown. The only team left out? The Lions, until this day and their stunning celebration. It's almost too good to be true.
Then, something or someone always jolts me from my stupor with a quick "what did you think of that play?" or "hey, aren't you going to finish the chips and salsa, you always do!" Damn. I thought the Lions had actually pulled it off this time. For the 25th year in a row, no luck.
If you can dream it, you can do it, we're always told from a young age. If that's the case, the Lions should have won the Super Bowl about a million times by now. I'm sure that growing up, countless others around the Detroit area have tried to have the same premonitions of glory during the biggest sports Sunday of the year. You'd think all these good feelings combining together would help to shift things in the metaphysical sports atmosphere, wouldn't you?
Imagine how much pandemonium would erupt if the Lions were to make the Super Bowl, let alone win it. The excitement would likely trump New Orleans in the wake of the Saints winning Super Bowl XLIV. Speaking with a woman I met from Louisiana at Metro Airport in July following that big win a few years ago, she claimed the happiness over that night was still raging on six months later.
I want that for Detroit and the Lions' fans so bad I've been dreaming it up at the conclusion of every Super Sunday for ages. Even though reality always seems to unfortunately intervene and shake me from a perfect stupor, the Lions are undefeated in Super Bowls contested in my head. That's a mighty good feeling.
This year, wherever I happen to be watching the game and whenever it ends, just make sure to leave me alone when all that celebrating is going on and the confetti is falling. I've got a dream to preserve. One day, it might even become reality, but I certainly won't believe that until I actually see it.
In the meantime, don't worry, I'll always finish off the chips and salsa later on.
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