An open letter to Doug

Doug, I just want to touch it.

Just once.

I mean, I’ll never have one of my own…

And you should let me touch it. Because we’re friends.

Because we have a history together.

You are my daughter Audrey’s husband’s childhood neighbor. Best friend. Best Man.

Your mother is practically my sister.

I’ve seen your sweet little tush and I must admit that it’s pretty fine. But then again, so did about 100 other women that night. And I have photographs… but that’s a blog for another day.

So can I? Can I touch it?

Can I touch your Super Bowl Ring?

After all, the threads of football are interwoven through our families.

You and Matt (Audrey’s husband) not only grew up together, but were on the same high school football team.

You and Matt are both die-hard Steelers fans… until this season, maybe.

We’ve always had a some decent trash-talking when the Steelers play my team, the New England Patriots. And this year we added the Giants to the mix… but the Patriots have always been victorious. Well, except for that little game last Sunday.

And I’ll never be convinced that Matt chose the name Benjamin for their third son just because he loves the name. Seems to me that there’s another Benjamin… somewhere in the Steelers organization. Hmmmm.

Remember that I text-messaged you congratulations when the Steelers won Super Bowl XL? And if you checked your email on Sunday night, you know that I swallowed my tears and agony and congratulated you on a GREAT Giants effort, even when my heart was breaking.

I didn’t go ballistic when Audrey’s husband dressed my three precious grandsons in Giants gear. I wanted to, but I didn’t. Well, at least not in front of Matt.

Remember that football was the theme when Barry and I flew to your brother and sister-in-law’s wedding at FedEx Field in 2004. Great fun. Got to see where you worked at the time. And still I endured New England Patriots trash-talk.

And let’s not forget that your Godson, Audrey and Matt’s oldest child, is named William Tillman… the “Tillman” in honor, respect and admiration for the Cardinals’ Patrick Tillman.

And let us, too, not forget that William, and his brother Alexander, were actually born in New York City. You weren’t a New Yorker back then. You flew in for William’s birth. We all slept together (in the same apartment, that is!) the night before our darling William was born. Remember?

OK… this is going to come out of left field, or at least mid-field, but Barry was a Giants fan as a kid and didn’t switch over to the Patriots until 1971. In fact, his heroes were and will always be former Giants such as Frank Gifford, Charlie Conerly, Y.A.Tittle, the Roseys (both Grier and Brown), and of course Sam Huff! Barry can still rattle off stats from the Giants’ late-50s to late-60s seasons. Please don’t tell anyone this.

And hey, Doug. We’ve always been in the loop about your job whereabouts… and we’re happy to have you in New York City, close to New England. And we were thrilled for you when you got a position with the Giants organization. I actually thought to myself, “Oh, how cute. Doug is working for that NFC team whose home is in New York. Or is it New Jersey? Or Denver? And maybe Doug will meet that nice man who used to play for Pittsburgh. That guy Plexiglass, or something like that.”

Just another guy traded to another team in another city that means nothing to our Patriots.

Oh yeah. Just another guy who catches a pass by one of those brothers with two minutes left in a game that took immortality from the doorstep of New England. That’s all.

But… if I can just touch that Super Bowl ring. Just once.

Otherwise, those oh-so-sweet tush photographs from Jane’s wedding? They can be posted all over the internet.

I could call your mother.

But… if you let me just touch that Super Bowl Ring you’ll be safe.

Just once!

Love, Your dear friend - practically Aunt - Sharon