Jersey Girl
I like jersey girls.
Not the movie and not some chick from Exit 27 – I like girls that wear jerseys.
Imagine a bar. Any bar. A woman walks in. Any woman. If she enters and sits, the guys in the place will wonder who she is, if she’s waiting for someone, is she wearing a wedding ring, will she kick my ass if I say the wrong thing, et al. It’s natural to do that; we all do. She might be just popping in for a post-work drink. Maybe she’s meeting friends or a date. Maybe she’s an edgy drifter looking to bash someone’s skull. Probably one of the first two.
However, if she’s wearing a jersey, a Tiki Barber Giants jersey or a Chad Pennington top or a silver and black Mark Van Eeghan retro #30, everyone in the room immediately assumes she either knows what she’s talking about or knows someone who does and they like that.
Yesterday I wore my Jets jersey. The bank teller wanted to know if I thought it’d be the year for ‘his’ Jets. Today I wore my John Randle Vikings jersey. Two guys in a car parked outside the bookstore yelled out “Vikings! This is our year!” and drove away happy.
You adorn yourself in a football jersey and, like magic; you emerge from your cocoon of a home with a family. A family of strangers, of outsiders. A family of people who you might not even speak to on the bus or waiting in line. People who would normally have nothing do you with you and that’d be okay on your side. But walk into that same room and wait in that same line wearing your Chiefs jersey and every other Chiefs fan sees one of their own, a like spirit. Immediately the talk begins with favorite games, players, stats and stories.
“We’re you at the overtime game last year?”
“Did you go to that game when it was so cold?”
“How many games have you seen?”
The laughs come quicker and the feelings don’t bruise so quickly. Jabs that might result in a punch to the face instead are taken as light banter and friendly jest. If the guy next to you has been through the same hell you have felt, seen the same heart-breaking losses and aggravating penalties, if that woman you didn’t know three hours ago is cursing the referee with the same zeal you exhibit – you’ve found yourself a Jersey Girl.
