Number Nine

There's something so fantastical about flying on a cloudy afternoon. You sit, dreary wet runway, impatient, to suddenly be lifted up and popped out on the other side, blue skies waiting. A bright sun on top and the most perfectly plump blanket of clouds below. It just makes the world feel... a little softer, I guess, for awhile. Like magic. Magic, fluffy, pillowy mountains. Makes me want to pick the perfect one and spend some of the afternoon making cloud angels.

Girl, You One Fiiiiine Filly.

I'm one of those girls who like sports. Like, actually, genuinely enjoys watching sports.

I was raised an Ohio State Buckeye fan, and have become more and more loyal to and dependent upon them the longer I've been away. It's a wonderful connection to my family, my home, and it's an excuse to drink beer and eat pizza in the middle of most fall Saturday afternoons.
As arranged by my dad and my Chicago-based uncle, I am a Cubs fan. (My cousins were taught from a very early age to line up in a tiny little o-h-i-o tableau, and I reciprocated by embracing the knowledge that Wrigley Field is sacred ground.)
As decided by my current hometown and my ex-boyfriend, I am a Yankees fan and a Giants fan. I get genuinely insulted when ignorantly jealous people make ridiculous statements about buying championships, and although I think San Diego is one of the loveliest places on Earth I will always have a chip on my shoulder for the way they booed Eli during his draft.
So, on all fronts, it's been a great week for me sports-wise.
I got to spend a lovely, sunny Friday afternoon at a parade, celebrating the Yankees winning the World Series. (At some later point I will have to discuss with you my issues of calling this contest the "World" Series, and dubbing its winner "World" Champions, as it is an entirely intra-national competition. But that's not for now.)
I got to spend an even lovelier, somehow sunnier Saturday afternoon watching the Buckeyes pound on Penn State, looking for the first time in a long time like a really excellent team with a leader for a quarterback.
And now it's Sunday - still lovely, still sunny - and I get to watch the Giants host the Chargers.

But none of this is why I'm writing.

If you could care less about sports, if you choose teams by their colors or how cute the QB is, if you have to think twice about what QB means, if you're annoyed at perfectly good weekends being spent in divey sports bars or your significant other's friend's basement -- in other words, if you're a girl -- this one is for you.

Because sometimes, sports are for girls. And this weekend, a girl dominated. No one should be talking about anything other than this beautiful, triumphant, exemplary display of (please pardon the completely apropos cliche) girl power.

Zenyatta, you gorgeous sexy piece of man-stomping, eat-my-dust excellence... this one, my dear, is for you.