The Football Fan’s Diet

By Matt DeReno
On The FFD

PITTSBURGH – Very odd, but go figure that the key word driving people to my humble site is “footballer’s diet.” That is interesting but probably no cause for drunken jubilation.

I am not a footballer? I am a football fan. I am a fan of American football and like most middle-aged American male fans of this violent and poetic sport – I got a huge beer gut as a result of my POV from the gladiatorial cheap seat of my game room potato patch. In particular, I am a fan of NFL action? I am a proud Art Rooney-fearing Steelers fan. Goddamn. Here we go Steelers, Here we go!

To be more (Mel) blunt: I am an old ex-high school footballer—eh, football player—from the heralded grounds of Western Pa. Unfortunately, I wasn’t heralded. I was “unheralded.” My name is not Harold. It really is Matt. Matt really is fat. Fat Matt sat on his hat? That is not to disparage ol’ Dr. Seuss. Rather it is an accurate description of my footballer—eh, football days—in Al Bundy heaven: that magical land of Friday night lights, the kingdom in western Pa. we call high school football. That is what I did: I sat on my hat (mostly).

Today, I love watching football. But, I must do something so I am not a fat slob watching football. That “something” is the footballers, eh—The Football Fan’s Freaking Diet! (Feel free to insert your own expletive)

I know diets suck. I know diets are wrong. I know that Kristie Alley might one day maul Oprah if another one of her diets fall. I know that Casey Hampton, a nose tackle for the Steelers, who goes by the name “Big Snack” is a whole lot of man. He is a big freaking snack to say the least – probably closer to 400 bills than his mythical roster weight would indicate.

I am not that big of a snack. Still, I need to get down to the “little appetizer.” To do that, I created the Footballers Diet – damn it, the Football Fan’s Diet. The diet for football loving fans everywhere – whether footballers or football fan’s.

I know all this may come as the machinations of a gluttonous mad man on a mission and not those “Mad Men” on AMC. I mean “Mad Men” as in I am pissed off at my looming large gut, which hangs over the tool like an over-sized shed roof. You see The Football Fan’s Diet is about one day looking down and seeing the tool for the tool box.

The Football Fan’s Diet is more than a diet. It is about actually having to buy a new belt that is smaller thus conserving the cow population. It is about getting off your hat! It is about loving your footballer games and footballer lifestyle – damn it, am I using key words again – it is about playing the game of life like your favorite sports time does. One day Wang in his Chinese province will say “Hey, I have to make smaller pants now – what the fuh is going on over there in America?”.

What is “going on” Wang is the Footballers, eh, Football Fan’s Diet.

The Football Fan’s Diet is about management of your health as if it were some sort of professional football franchise.

The way I see it, it makes for a fun and frivolous metaphor. Although I am reminded of a Clint Eastwood film line: “People that speak in metaphors should wash my balls…” Don’t quote me on that – that is just a paraphrase. And if Clint didn’t say it, someone surely did; and if someone didn’t, I am saying it now.

Anyway, Coach lit a fire under my ass.

Coach’s scathing press conference (preceding blog post) blasted me and my lackadaisical footballer, eh, dammit, football fan’s diet effort I have been putting out as of late. I had spoke out to the media – being you – about the play calling earlier in the week. I blamed my head coach – which is really a metaphor for my brain (Okay, get that sponge away from my bag).

I was pissed at the head coach for his scathing attack on his Prima donna star player: me. I wallowed in the bad movie review for a day but yesterday, a switch flipped, or I flipped. Yesterday: I had the best damn day that I can remember in years in terms of both being healthy and kicking some major ass at the gym. I hit the hamster wheel for over an hour. I even did some weights. God forbid I do some weights.

Speaking of the Almighty: Is it written on a stone tablet that I can’t change my world view from that of a loser to a champion? Is it preordained somewhere that I can’t become a Super Bowl champion? Coach says in ain’t over until the Fat Matt sings. Fat Matt ain’t going to sing – not anymore. Not today. Not for anyone. Not for you footballers looking for a real diet.

In the end, I say “thank you coach.” You lit a fire under my ass and that is no small accomplishment, especially considering its enormous size. But, once size gets going – it is hard to stop. I think that was an Isaac Newton law or something: F=MA. Force equals mass times acceleration. In my book, that is merely a fancy pants way of saying, “When the going gets tough, the tough get going.”

I am now going!

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