Buffalo Bills, Give Me Something More

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Buffalo Bills, Give Me Something More

Oct. 8, 2007, was the day I felt everything in the universe and beyond was aligned in my favour. All except for the fact that Buffalo was to get their butts handed to them on a silver star platter that night.

It was Buffalo's first Monday night game at home in 13 years.  But it was much more personal for me.  It was the one year anniversary of my mother's death.

I prayed all day to the Big Man upstairs, asking Him to let my mom come down and watch the game with me.  Heck, maybe even let her have a hand in the game.

Little did I know, He did...

It just didn't have the outcome I had all planned out, up in my head.  Luckily, I was able to look past the loss and find so much more.

Rejuvenation.

Buffalo has dished out more than its fair share of heartache.  If this were a relationship, I would've left long ago.

Am I a sucker for punishment?  Maybe. However, I absolutely love, appreciate, and thrive off of the high that an amazing Buffalo play continues to give me.

The few years prior to that Monday night game, Buffalo's playing was, shall we say, lackluster.  And I think that's being generous.

I needed romance.  A spark.  I wanted that flame to burn inside of me again.

That MNF game gave it to me.

It was more than Greer stripping Owens of the ball on their two-point conversion try.  Or DiGiorgio's interception.

We can't forget the touchdowns by Wilson and Kelsay off of interceptions, and as exciting as McGee's 103-yard kickoff return for a TD was, there was still an underlying "something" there.

Heart.

Every woman's prized possession.  We always give all of ours.  We need and want all of yours in return.  Buffalo gave theirs to me that night.  Again.  I took it happily.

Pride.

I proudly watched one of the most exciting players to ever play the game receive his Hall of Fame ring at halftime.  Congrats, Thurman!

Whenever I talk about that dynasty team, everyone seems to remember that they lost four Super Bowls in a row.  I gently remind them of the talent that got them there.

Great players are just not made, or remembered, by their stats.  Their legacy lives on in us because our parents instilled stats, combined with their love of the game, and a dash of excitement in their voices.

Jim Kelly, Thurman Thomas, Bruce Smith, and the likes thereof, will always be remembered in decades to come.  I will teach my kids about them, and why they were so great.  Just like my mother taught me.

God.  Thank you for sending her down.

Mom.  Thank you for being you.  Thank you for the reminder that there is so much more than just winning (although it sure is nice).

Buffalo.  Thank you for the emotional roller coaster.  I'm staying on this ride for the rest of my life.

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