Open letter to our downstairs neighbors, in anticipation of the Super Bowl

Dear neighbors:

By and large you are a lovely couple to live above. I remain grateful that you tolerate my child's occasional bouts of "dancing" (repeatedly throwing himself on the floor) and that you seem to be happy, well-adjusted, and not abusing each other. Sure, you like throwing parties, but as long as the racket is celebratory and does not leave us wondering if we should call the police, we say: carry on with your crazy young lives!  

But once football season fell upon us, I have grown increasingly puzzled by your behavior during games. (Matches? Bouts? What are these things called, again?) I must admit that my husband and I, as well as our son, are not exactly "les amateurs de sports," as the French would say. Oh, sure, we enjoy the occasional game of catch-the-ball, and sometimes we play toss-the-frisbee-and-then-CRINGE-AND- DUCK-when-it-is-returned-because-those-things-hurt. But when it comes to watching any activities wherein people fling themselves into other people and try to make their way in one direction or another on a given field, we know little or nothing. Oh, sure, we've attended Super Bowl parties, but that was only for the queso dip. Who can say no when queso dip is involved? And then we've fallen asleep near the queso dip until the host has asked us to leave. Which we have. (After we got the rest of the queso dip into the tupperware container we brought with us in case there was any queso dip left.)

At any rate, as I said, we have some questions, and as we are anticipating that our puzzlement will only increase this Sunday, we'd like to approach the day with some measure of understanding.

First of all, you're going to scream a lot, aren't you. Don't answer that. I didn't even put a question mark on it. We both know the answer is yes. You're going to scream a whooole bunch. Is "bunch" a unit of screams? Don't answer that either. Conserve your energy for the real questions.

Now: While I'm sure it feels good to cheer on your team, you know the players cannot hear you, yes? I'm just making sure. Do you think that if you yell loudly enough you might be helping in some way? This worries me. I'm worried for you.

Also: you do realize it's not you who's playing, right? Because I must tell you, the waves of euphoria shimmering up through our floorboards while you whoop it up seems to indicate that you believe that you are somehow responsible for your team's goal-making. Do you believe that you're remotely projecting yourself onto the field and invisibly whisking your heroes toward their objective? Again: just curious. Also concerned.

And if you're so happy, why is there so much cursing? I can understand the hooting and hollering (sort of), I even get why maybe you might feel the need to stomp on the floorboards until the building shakes (not really), but why must you then cry out "HOLY FUCKING FUCK THE MOTHERFUCKING BITCH FUCK ME OH MY FUCK"?! (I am paraphrasing.) You seem to be fairly even-keeled otherwise, so what is it about SPORTS! that makes you lose your mind and also educate my child even more than he gets educated around here whenever I step on the cat?

Hey, did you hear during that last game, how I was upstairs shouting, "Sports! SPOOOORTS!"? Scott was annoyed me for doing that, but I was highly amused by my joke and wanted you to be as well. I really don't mind that you love your sporting things. I am pretty sure you're insane, but whatever. You're not murdering each other, and this is all I care about.

Finally: will there be queso dip?

Love,
Alice