Over the holiday season, I had inquiries asking if Santa Claus delivered my San Francisco 49ers George Kittle jersey.
It was the subject of a letter to the big guy that I published in the weeks prior to Christmas, to which Santa’s response was non-committal. The answer is, no.
Did the Carpenter come through with my special gift? No (act surprised). However, he did wrap the San Francisco 49ers T-shirt that I bought for myself to be wrapped up by him, so he could take credit. He wouldn’t do it. It was wrapped with a gift tag that read: “To Kelly, From Scout” (our dog Scout is has pledged no allegiance to an NFL team).
Let the record show, I gifted the Carpenter a Seattle Mariners ball cap and T-shirt, because I knew he wanted it. Also, I’m really kind and thoughtful (ahem). He was thrilled. To his credit, he did gift me the Margaret Atwood autobiography that I really wanted. I mean, it’s not a Kittle jersey, but my writer’s heart was happy.
But don’t count this fan out yet, because Santa’s elves are everywhere, like life angels, you just never know who, where or when. Like James Bond has “M” in the movies, I have a special M of my own in a long-time friend, the kind that rides the highs and lows with you, who not only kept me gainfully employed when I needed a job, but kept me on as a freelancer even after I chased other opportunities.
On Christmas Eve, as we were both coming off a long day, Miriam pulled up in the driveway and handed me a red bag, red tissue paper popping out the top, and inside, my red George Kittle jersey.
Shock isn’t a big enough word. Gratitude also won’t do it justice. Joy. Pure joy. Miriam doesn’t even watch football, but she does cheer me on in all things in life, so here she was again, doing just that. She made my Christmas wish come true.
I ran inside, ducked into my room, threw on the jersey and walked down the stairs to do a quick fashion show for the Carpenter. His face. I wish I’d recorded that. Truthfully, he was happy for me. He wasn’t the least surprised by M’s generosity (she’s known for it), but he had to admit, I looked good in red. But the spark in his eye wasn’t flirtatious. Not even a little. Let’s just say, let the rivalry of the battling jerseys begin. Suit up.
The first time I wore my Kittle attire was against the Chicago Bears, and Kittle was on the sidelines with an injury. But, my boys brought home the win, and with it, the excitement that our next opponent was, you guessed it, the Seattle Seahawks, in the battle for top seed.
The tension in our house on Saturday night was legit. Duelling jerseys. Polite chirping. Loud cheering. Mild jeering. Gestures were tolerated. It didn’t help though. Seattle earned the win fair and square. It was what it was. Enduring my Seahawks fan’s win was honestly entertaining.
Look, marriage is hard.
So is our couch, where, at the end of the game, after his show-boat dance routine, I threw a pillow and his Seahawks flannel blanket down and suggested he sleep well. Oh, I added, and the winner makes breakfast.
My Kittle jersey is ready for Philly next weekend.
Red really is my colour.
