My Only Vice

When my wife and I were engaged to be married, I told her "I don't drink, I don't smoke, I don't do drugs, I won't cheat... but I do watch football."

I love football. Its the only sport that I will actively watch from start to finish, even if my team is not one of the two on the field. I don't know where this passion comes from. I played one year in sixth grade on a winless team. I was unimpressive and a team was even less so.

I certainly didn't have a local pro team to emulate. After all, I grew up primarily in Tampa Bay, which makes me a life-long Buccaneer fan. For a very long time, that was not an easy thing to be.

I had attended at least one home game every year since 1977, so I had my fair share of bad, bad, bad football. Oh, and it sucked too. And it was ugly to boot. Not only was there an awful product on the field, but it was all dressed up in a silly looking orange uniform. I will admit, however, that I was partial to the Bucco Bruce logo, but the creamsicle uniforms were hard to swallow.

My patience was eventually rewarded when the Bucs finally won the Super Bowl a few years back. My brother Steve, with whom we share our passion for Buc Ball, found ourselves gleefully stating "The Bucs are Super Bowl Champs! Can you believe it?" The mere idea that the Bucs could be world champs was unfathomable when the team has such past leaders such as:

• Mike "Now We REALLY Miss Doug Williams" Rae
• Vinnie "Intercepteverde"
• Jack "The Over-Throwing Samoan" Thompson
• Chris "But I Want to Start Too" Chandler
• Rod "Toast" Jones
• Steve "What Team Am I On Again?" DeBerg
• Booker "Bust" Reese
• Keith "Pro Football Sure Is Fast" McCants
• and Alvin "Paging Mr. Irving" Harper
  

We had only wished such great ex-Bucs such as Leroy Selmon, Paul Gruber, James Wilder and Rickey Bell could not have tasted such victory.

And now, we are only a few short days away from the kickoff of the 30th year of Tampa Bay Bucdom and it doesn't look pretty. I'd be happy if we have a winning record, though I feel the difference between a 10-6 and 6-10 record is too close for comfort. We are in a state of transition and its a painful process.

But, as my vice rear its ugly head again this season, my wife will patiently avoid me Sunday afternoons as I watch every painful, joyful and tearful moment of my addiction called the National Football League.