Published: September 17, 2008 12:04 pm            

VALLEY: Sure, I’ll go to the game — probably

Two years ago, I wrote a column describing our trip to a Buffalo Bills game. It has become an annual event to gather family and friends to make the excursion. The tradition was started about 10 years ago by my sons and their cousins. The number of participants has steadily ranged around 30 to 40 people — with a core of about 20 veterans who have made every trip.

It takes a well-organized machine to put this operation in motion: One of my sons secures the tickets (no small task trying to get that many seats together), my nephews distribute tickets to qualified relatives in the northern part of the state, my brothers-in-law plan the menu and, accordingly, bring 100 pounds of meat from every edible creature on the planet, and I watch the Weather Channel looking for any lame excuse I can find to get out of going.

The participants include war veterans, correction officers, coaches, college football players and state police officers among their ranks. An eclectic group for sure, but there is a common denominator. (Sing along with me ...) “Macho, macho, man!” Don’t get me wrong, it’s not a false bravado like the insecure punks with unbuttoned shirts, pants hovering below their butt cheeks and necklaces heavy enough to anchor the Queen Mary. These are classy guys who carry themselves well. They’re the real deal.

I do my best to fit in with this group of he-men by lowering my voice several octaves and mentioning some obscure fact about the opposition’s quarterback that I discreetly looked up before leaving the house. I’m not trying to impress as much as I’m trying to not embarrass myself. God forbid if I brought something to the tailgate party that wasn’t manly. For instance, I’d be shown no mercy if I showed up with a gelatin salad or vegetable-laced quiche. Admittedly, though, I did screw up when I brought the dessert. How was I to know that mincemeat pie didn’t have real meat in it?

Women do participate and are a welcome sight. They give the group a much-needed sense of balance. Also, I love it when my wife comes along because if the weather is inclement or I’m too tired to keep up with the guys after the game, I can tell them, out of her hearing range, “The little lady wants to get going. She can’t handle all this football stuff, I’d better take her home. Women, huh?”

This year, the Bills played Seattle in their opening game. We got to the parking lot about four hours before the game started. The younger guys like to get there early so they can “tailgate” and get some football-bonding in before kickoff. I ate for the full four hours and got so uncomfortably bloated that I wasn’t sure if I could waddle over to the stadium, let alone fit into my seat.

Needless to say, I did make it to the game. Unfortunately, our seats were so high that we had to request clearance from the airport just to sit down. Kick-off was approaching and I was starting to feel much better. I had my game-face on and I was experiencing the testosterone-fueled frenzy that was rampant throughout the stadium — it was opening day of football season.

And then the Buffalo Bills paid an extremely touching tribute to Tim Russert on the huge TV-like scoreboard. Suddenly, I’ve got tears running down my face. There I was: One minute I’m all pumped up and ready to crack heads open, the next minute I wanted my mommy to tell me everything was all right.

But I wasn’t the only one — there wasn’t a dry eye in the house. That’s because a torrential downpour struck just as the game began. Oh, I was the only sap who had gotten emotional — the rest of the crowd was just being pelted by the elements.

And it rained hard! And the wind blew even harder! And that’s when I leaned over to my sons and said, “Your mother wants to get out of here. Can you believe it? Gotta go!”

And that’s the way it looks from the Valley.

Tom Valley is a Medina resident who writes a column every Wednesday for The Journal-Register. Write to Tvalley@rochester.rr.com.

        

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