Most women just don't understand this passion that drives men in the Fall.
|Come September this malady befalls|
a majority of American males.
After months of dormancy, fall recalls,
rekindles this passion that soon prevails.
Men may wear strangely colored apparel,
with peculiar hats and even body paint.
Banding together to act wild and feral,
they’ll scream and jump without restraint.
Small groups will gather to share the event.
An abundance of food, drinks, loud revelry
marks the occasion, with great effort spent
in strenuous exaltation of traditional rivalry.
Shouts of joy clash with groans of dismay.
Emotions run high; victory brings fulfillment
and happiness lasting for days -- the world is okay.
Gloom descends with defeat, awaiting atonement.
Much time is spent worshiping this ersatz religion,
with its all too numerous facts to be remembered,
until a man’s emotional state gets tied to this addiction.
His weekly mood is by his favorite team engendered.
Most women simply fail to understand how deep
a man’s passion runs. They just don’t get it at all.
If they had any inkling, then they wouldn’t keep
saying, “Why get so excited? It’s only football.”
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