Heartbreak is not new to Vikings fans. Heartbreak is what we expect.
So when the Vikings led for most of last Sunday’s playoff game only to lose by missing a field goal in the last few seconds — Vikings fans were not surprised.
We are the kind of people who maintain low expectations so as to avoid disappointment.
This character trait — of expecting life to be disappointing and to probably get worse — is the same reason we all still live in Minnesota. Those with weaker constitutions have moved to warmer climates while we remain here.
It’s the reason we say things like, “Could be worse,” when things are bad. (Because things could be worse.) It’s the reason we survey a picture-perfect summer evening and say, “Won’t be long now and the snow will be flyin’.”
Being a Vikings fan means having a tiny little voice in the back of one’s mind that, no matter how far ahead the Vikings are, says, “Don’t expect to win. It can all slip away and it will.”
I should have recognized it as a sign when our TV screen went black Saturday evening —18 hours before the Big Game. I think the Universe was telling me, “You really don’t want to see this.”
But I did not heed the warning of The Universe. We found a replacement TV.
A vat of chili simmered on the stove. A case of beer was chilling in the garage next to a giant bag of corn chips.
Sixteen guests were expected. They had been invited to the house to watch the Vikings (possibly, but probably not, but just maybe) defeat the Seahawks. One Seahawks fan had been invited for the sake of rivalry — (in a sort of Minnesota Nice/Lutheran way.) “We’re probably Number One! Or maybe not! We’ll see!”
Any real animosity was covered over with cheese dip.
And that’s where the unattended toddler comes into the picture. While the adults and teens in the room were trying to be hopeful — but not overly or underly hopeful — that the Vikings could win this one, he found the cheese dip.
The adults were not watching. No one was watching. This child had lived most of his 16 months consuming breast milk and floor crumbs. Until now cheese dip was just a dream and here it was right on the coffee table! He could almost touch it!
He leaned over the table reaching for the delightful bowl of slippery stuff. His pudgy little fingers grasped the edge of the bowl. Victory was within reach.
And then it wasn’t.
Somehow, some way, the cheese dip was whisked away and the child stared at a blank, empty space.
Won’t be long and he’ll be a Vikings fan.