As I wake Sunday morning the calling is in the air. I jump in the shower, wash up, and spike my hair. Sportscenter is blaring and all my dogs are in sight. I'm smiling because I know what's coming later in the night.
I go to my closest—a tough decision to make. Should I wear McGahee or Spikes or should I paint my face? As I put on my jersey I feel even more of a man, and I can't wait to watch the game with my other Bills fans.
I dress my truck with magnets and let my flags wave in the air. I run red lights and stop signs and pass people without care. As I get to the bar I see Jeremy, Tom, and Sean. Andrew's usually late, but when he gets there it's on.
Bud Light in the Pitcher, I get my 32 card. Then out comes the Bills, ready to stomp the yard. Willis looks pumped. Lee Evans does, too. Ralph Wilson Stadium is covered in red, white, and blue.
The game’s going great as we take an early lead. Evans scores on a 78 bomb, ‘cause you can't teach speed. High fives fly in the air as Jeremy yells, "That's my dog!” Then I press the button on my Bills Dancing frog.
“We'll take another pitcher,” I say with a smile. This ballgame is over, but we still got a while. Beer after beer and the time keeps tickin’. The chicken wings are hot but they sure are finger lickin’.
Everything tastes sweeter when the Bills have the cards and the deal. Watching poetry in motion as J.P Throws the pill. As the game comes to an end we hug and start victory cussin’. Then Eryn pours a round of tasty White Russians.
"Let's go, Buffalo! Get some, son!" a rat terrier barks. We pound the celebration drinks until dusk turns to dark. Another Perfect Sunday, a perfect victory for my boys. Same time next week, same passion, same noise.
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