Tailgate

I watch every Colts game, and every game is important to me.  But there's one match-up that stands out from all the others, that makes me feel excited and nauseous at the same time.

Colts vs. Patriots.

Beating the Patriots is more than just a W.  It's bragging rights, it's pitchers of margaritas and home field advantage on the line, it's good vs. evil.

Okay, maybe that's taking it a bit far, but we feel pretty strongly about the Patriots around these parts:

Mike and I have been lucky enough to say we were at the Colts-Patriots game that really mattered a couple of years ago.  We didn't have tickets to last Sunday's match-up, but we did score a sweet invite to tailgate before the big game with our friends Jessica, Joe, Lindsay and Jeff.  I've never been to a bona fide NFL tailgate.  These people do not mess around.

Cornhole was played (I suck, by the way).  Food was eaten. Fantasy games were lost.  Good times were had by all, especially by Jessica and me.

As Mike and I got ready to leave to watch the game from the comfort of our own couch, I had a pretty good feeling about the Colts chances.  I mean if Tom Brady is dead, that's a good sign we could win, right?

Turns out, Brady returned from the dead to have himself a pretty decent game.  Him and that Randy Moss character.  I love to see players from the MAC do well and all, but by the end of the 3rd quarter I was ready to see some fireworks from a certain SEC player.  I learned my lesson after the Tampa Bay game way back in 2003, when I wrote the Colts off and went to bed.  So with 4 minutes to go in the 4th quarter, dejected as I was, I hung in there.  We all know what happened from there.  (What's that? You don't? WE WON, PEOPLE!)

Believe in blue.  Believe in Number . . .