Living Our Dream in Pueblo

My Sweet Al is eye candy on my arm. We’re decked out in red Thunder wolves’ tee-shirts and blue windbreakers. We have Team Wylie Blankets, game bags, red sparkling pompoms, red and blue Mardi Gras beads, and red megaphones. We have I-phones ready to take pictures for our Facebook friends.

The four of us, Sweet Al, myself, Allison and Al are looking like the circus has come to town. We are only missing the bearded lady and the sword swallower. We are sitting in our red and blue seats at the playoffs in Pueblo ready to cheer on our grandson’s football team, CSU Pueblo. They’ve had a four-year winning streak with only one loss.

During the Playoff game we were winning big, I leaned over to My Sweet Al and said, “I think we are living our dream.”

He responded, “I didn’t know this was our dream.”

I said, “I didn’t know our dream was going to be in Pueblo, either. It’s kinda like crusin’ Espanola. When we’re with the kids, we’re having fun and laughing a lot.

We were enjoying listening to some of the Mamas and Papas of these hugh football players. The parents could’ve been out on the field and played with the same fierceness of their sons. One Mama was singing, “Sack that quarterback. Hey sack that quarterback.” Then others started adding rhythm and smack. It was a new beat of music. One of the Mamas was yelling like a mad woman, “Jackson, get me the ball. Make your Mama proud. Jackson, bring me a quarterback. Hit someone and play nice, Jackson.”

My daughter leaned over and said, “Apparently she’s living her dream, too.”

Local fans come to the games and fill the stadium. I asked My Sweet Al if he was getting cold. He assured me he wasn’t, and if he did he’d snuggle up to the Hottie who had been sneaking in hot toddies in her bra all afternoon. She was passing them back and forth among her friends. Living her dream?

The expert in back of us had ten empty beer bottles in front of him when the game was over, and he insisted we do the victory dance. We all had to sing with him.  Na, na, na, Hey-Hey Goodbye and Turn out the lights, the party’s over. I don’t know if he’ll remember his dream tomorrow.

My Sweet Al counted the empty beer bottles and said, “He spent a lot of money. Do you know how much money he drank up?”

“No, honey, how much?”

“I don’t know, but it must be a lot.”

One of the mothers, a redhead hot mama, must have been a cheerleader in her day. She yelled, did the car wash dance and high fived everyone in reach or out of reach. Every boy was her son on the field.

I pictured her on top of the table with a lampshade on her head. She could’ve pulled it off. After that win, and the way I was feeling, I could’ve been up on the table with her. Victory makes a person feel different.

I am getting good at HOWLING like a wolf and My Sweetie is yelling, “Get me the ball.” I’m not sure what he would’ve done with the ball. We’ve learned the “Get me the money” sign and Beep, Beep, Beep.

As soon as we had won, we were planning for the next trip to the next game. We made hotel reservations, secured tickets and had our bags partially packed for the next playoff weekend. We hadn’t even left the stadium. I am hooked! For five days we talk football, players, winning and the next playoff game. We are ready to hop in the car and chase the next thrill of Victory.

Our grandson is red shirting this year, he’s not even on the field, and we’re acting like Jackson’s mother. Our grandson was picked to replace Tony Campton, Number 92, nose guard.

The coach says Creede moves quick like him and his mannerisms are the same. He’s athletic, built like Tony, and they want him ready for the defense line. He will be Tony’s replacement after he graduates. Of course that makes us feel proud, tickles us and keeps us buying more red and blue memorabilia.

It makes us totally invested in this team, the coaches, the teammates and the program. Will it happen? Who knows, but it’s living in a dream today. Does it mean a future professional league? Probably not, it’s just the dream of the moment.

Final Brushstroke: My Sweet Al would rather be home on his Kubota, digging holes and having Whiskey, his dog, next to his chair at night. For me, it would be easier to write a book or study Greek and stay home. But, I wouldn’t be doing the victory dance and singing Na, na, na, na, Hey-Hey, Goodbye. And I would’ve missed hearing my grandson say,  “Grandma, I’m glad you’re here.”