My Mother Owes Me Brunch

Every year, I make a bet with my mother on the Super Bowl. Even though the New England Patriots were favored to win the Superbowl this year, I bet on the New York Giants to win. I had no other choice: my mother wouldn’t let me bet on whether or not the Patriots would beat the spread. Neither of us knew the spread. So I reluctantly bet on the Giants to win the game.

I wanted the Giants to win. I’m actually a New York Jets fan, which means that just about every year is miserable for me, professional football wise. But the Giants represent New York City, or at least the New York City area (they play in New Jersey). And the New England Patriots have earned by spite by being the mainstream media’s treasured darlings, from Boston and by their screwing over the state of Connecticut. I don’t hate the Patriots like I hate the Dallas Cowboys, but I rarely root for them

I actually pay very little attention to professional sports, though I do make a habit of watching the Super Bowl, because it’s an excuse to sit on the couch, eat food and maybe see some funny commercials.

So when my mother called a few hours before kickoff, I agreed to a bet out of deference to our family tradition. My mother has wanted to meet me in Yonkers for brunch at a nice restaurant by the Hudson River. If the Patriots win, I would have to pay. Should the Giants win, my mother would pay. The Giants upset the New England Patriots 17-14.

Congratulations to the Giants for their win, and to me for my fortuitous gambling.