You have this ex that you tell your friends you would never get back with. You talk a massive amount of shit about her amongst your peers and your friends about how many times she’s broken your heart. You typically do a great job avoiding any communication with her and you feel like you’re at a point in your life that you’re completely over her. You live your life happy and free. She’s not even in your head anymore.
Sometime down the road, you get that 2am “hey.” Nothing more. You know you shouldn’t respond. You think to yourself “put the phone down, you fucking idiot.” You might even do so. At least at first.
That Friday night you’re sitting at the bar. Your face resting in your hands because you’ve had a stressful week. You’re a couple brews deep. Your guard is down. All of the sudden, your phone vibrates on the wet bar counter.
Nothing more, nothing less.
*imprints thumb on phone and opens text*
Your mind starts scrambling. You don’t know what to do. Your mind is at war with itself. You know what she’s done to you before. You know where this road leads. It’ll be fun at first. You start rationalizing. You know you haven’t gotten laid in a while. The booze brings you this memory of better times.
You muster up the energy and bravado to send the most Shakespearean response you can think of:
The text bubble comes up. This is the defining moment. What is she going to say? Is she going to profess her love for me? Is she fucking with me? She’s probably fucking with me.
“Let’s catch up. Coffee tomorrow?”
You think “I’m definitely not falling for this. I’ve seen this before. Say no!”
“Sure! *smiling emoji*
Did you just send a fucking emoji?
You brush it off, play it cool. Agree to a time and place, and roll it on home.
As the great philosopher John Clayton Mayer said, “Moving on and getting over are not the same, it seems.” Maybe you’ve moved on, but you certainly haven’t gotten over her.
You meet up for coffee. The small talk comes up. You sell yourself and tell her how great you’re doing. You’re clinging on to every word she says. You’re both laughing, stealing glances from one another. She smiles and does that thing with her hair you like. You’re all in. You’re hooked. Maybe this time can be different.
She asks you, “What’re you doing tomorrow at 1pm?”
Tomorrow is Sunday.
You’ve seen this movie before but “this time is different.”
You show up that Sunday at 1:00pm. You’re laughing and you’re holding hands. You feel alive again. This is it. This is what you’ve wanted all along! Your heart is full! You’ve finally learned to love again!
You’re looking at her dead in the eye. She bites her lip, she’s running her fingers through your hair. You want this moment to last forever. It could never be better than this.
You finally summon the courage to lean in and kiss her.
All of the sudden, she pulls away. The clouds are grey. You hear thunder in the distance.
“I can’t do this. I don’t love you like that.”
And she walks away and leaves you standing there, alone and broken.
You’re at a loss for words. How can you be so stupid? How can you let your guard down again? You knew this was going to happen. This always happens.
This is what being a Dolphins fan is like. Every season, year after year, it’s the same shit. You always tell yourself you’re done. You’re never going back. You’re giving up on football, but you and I know you’re full of shit.
We get so excited by the preseason hype. Every year is our year. This is the year we win the division and get into the playoffs. The offense is explosive, the defense is tenacious, and they promise us that THIS is the quarterback that will take us over the hump.
The first game of the season comes around and you’re reminded of the love you have for the team. You tune in with the beer in your hand and the jersey on your back and you couldn’t be more excited. You don’t think about what’s to come, you’re just happy that the Miami Dolphins are back in your life. There’s no room in your brain to think about the fact that this is the millionth QB to start for the Dolphins since Marino. You don’t think about how the last Fins game you watched, they broke your heart by getting their ass kicked by the Steelers in the first round of the playoffs. This is the year baby! The Dolphins are back!
We win week 1! Jay Cutler has the same initials as Jesus Christ! We’re headed to the Super Bowl! Let’s fucking go! We play the Jets next week and we’re going to win by a million!
You’re tweeting all week and calling your local radio shows to shower the Dolphins in praise. They deserve it! Fuck the past! Here we are! This times different! You feel it. You know. There’s no way this can go badly!
Until it does. Two weeks in a row. The GOD DAMN JETS rip us to shreds for us only to score a garbage time touchdown.
We fly across the pond and get shut out by the Saints.
You should’ve seen this coming. You look in the mirror and think to yourself “How can I be so fucking stupid?”
So you find yourself back at the bar. You have a cold beer sitting on a coaster in front of you. Your face is resting on your hands. You don’t want to talk to anyone. You don’t want to do anything. You just want to drown your misery in a sea of microbrews and IPA’s.
Your phone vibrates in your pocket. You take it out and look at the screen, and you can’t believe what you’re reading.