My husband loves football, especially New England football. And I love my husband, so I try my best to be enthusiastic. A casual fan, he is not. Football superstitions, he says, are fact.
In our house, there are superstitions about what he wears, where he sits, and, most importantly, what he eats, that is, snacks.
There is a special thift store trip during which Mr. Nuttle chooses the loudest, most Larry-the-Lounge-Lizard-worthy polyester monstrosity he can find. He wears it faithfully on Game Days, and adheres to one simple rule: The shirt must not be washed.
So come Game Day, he dons the shirt, and chooses a spot on the sofa. That is his “spot,” unless, of course, they lose miserably the first time he sits there. Then he will tempt The Fates and choose another seat. His attempts to get the cat – Miss Puddin’ – to follow his “spot” superstition have not yet worked.
Shirt, seat, and now, the snacks. Fritos or Funyons? Ranch dip or salsa? Salt and vinegar chips or barbecue? It’s a long aisle in the grocery store, and he chooses carefully.
And when it all comes together – stinky shirt, same spot on the sofa and the special snacks, I enthusiastically support the Pats from another room, where I sit working on crossword puzzles.
Michele Nuttle can be reached at mnuttle@ledgertranscript.com.