Sudden Death Overtime

How many times have I been here before
The end of the fourth quarter, clock ticking down
 
The room full of tension, transfixed by the spectacle on the the big flat screen
As if our own very life and death held in the balance
 
Sitting on the couch, surrounded by my friends
Enjoying that male ritual of bonding thru football
 
Still, I have never felt more empty, more alone
Is this truly as good as it gets
 
Laughing, joking on the outside, full of smart ass comebacks
While inside I want to cry, but again the tears won't come
 
Surely I can't be the only one, feeling this isolation
Thirsting for connection, reassurance, affirmation
 
So much I want to say, share about myself
But feeling like I have buckled myself in my own straightjacket
 
Don't the other guys feel it, the maelstrom of emotions
Dissatisfaction with their marriages, the loss of their strength and virility, the creeping finality of death
 
Wanting there to be real meaning in life, a divine purpose
Beyond merely getting thru the week so we can watch the game
 
Why is it so hard for us men, to open up and feel
To take off the armor, stop holding that stiff upper lip
 
Be more like our spouses who sit together, one on one
Share, cry, and truly hear one another
 
Then I rebuke myself as so often do, for thinking too much
Being silly for all this emotionality, maudlin flood of feelings
 
"WHAT A PLAY" Mike says hitting me on the shoulder
Jarring me out my introspection, my inner questioning
 
I reluctantly return to the game, sip my beer
Once again surrender to the hoplessness of my situation, to the superficiality that defines my life

A final fieldgoal, our team has lost
But I sense a much deeper feeling of losing, of profound loss