And He's All Yours...

A male colleague informed me last week that he planned to take Monday off due to Sunday night's Big Game. It was the responsible thing to do, he said. Due to the late hour he would be up and the excessive amount of beer he expected to drink.

And the excitement, of course. History is in the making. The exhilaration from witnessing a once-in-a-lifetime episode in the annals of athletic competition - it would exhaust even the heartiest football fan.

Plus, you know, he'd be up late getting drunk.

Seven hours prior to kickoff, I imagine my colleague is getting ready to go pick up whatever last minute junk food his wife "forgot" to get, plus maybe another six pack for reserves. Just in case.

He has to go now, see, because pre-game coverage starts at 1:30.

I wonder what Eli Manning is doing?

At Patriots practice on Thursday, the players wore pads. Brady didn't limp and his ankle wasn't taped. He threw well.

At work on Thursday, my colleague struggled to stay awake at his desk. His kids didn't sleep through the night.

And Monday, while the Super Spectator sleeps off his beer and wings, where will the players be?

Celebrating. Giving interviews. Nursing their sore bodies. In some cases, thinking about the Pro Bowl ahead.

As a former football widow, I feel for this colleague's wife. What does Monday look like for her?

Kids to feed, entertain, lasso. House to clean up. Sluggo passed out in bed, wrecked - frisky and giddy if his team won. Frisky and surly if they lost. Either way, a complete nuisance.

Where's the big ring? Where's the big check? Where's the island getaway?

Then again, she married him. We all make choices. Foxboro is only an hour away.

Surely there are ways to infiltrate a locker room.