Mrs. Rousseau's Famous Bye Week Guest Column

Editor's note: As a public service to the regular readers of Kevin's column, once a year during the Patriots' bye week, his wife gets to say her peace. The lovely and talented Mrs. Rousseau somehow manages to put up with him and this is her only outlet. So please, lend her your ear once again.

Well, it's that time of year again. My bye week column is becoming like one of those Christmas newsletters you get from friends and family members - usually the ones you scratch your head and wonder for a minute just who they are before you remember the last time you heard from them was last year's newsletter.

This year has been eventful on many levels, particularly with the birth of our little Patriot, Jacob, and with another little Patriotette on the way "right smack dab around Wild Card Weekend." I draw the line at the $35 Patriot jersey onesie - I don't care "how good of a deal it was." And please, no Patriot Cheerleader outfit just because "It is so cute I couldn't resist!"

Our ultrasound for our baby due in January was originally scheduled for Monday afternoon on November 7. "Um, how set in stone is that?" I'm asked. So now on Monday morning, I will have to call and try to reschedule so that he doesn't miss the big Indy game and his TV gig coming up in a few weeks.

And that brings us to TV.

You probably have seen from his shameless self-promotion over the last year that he is doing some occasional TV work for a local ABC station and NECN. This has lead to the purchase of a nose hair trimmer, conversations about different types of rouge makeup, and thoughtful discussions on the virtues of shaving off the "playoff" goatee. And please, no more talk about "Hey, this TV stuff, it's a high-wire act, I tell ya."

Oh, this one kills me.

Last November, he starts fretting about losing his frequent flier miles from bankrupt US Air. "What do you think about me shooting down to Florida the first week of February and spending a few days with my grandmother? Haven't seen her in a month of Sundays," he says. "Maybe I'll swing up to Jacksonville and take in a day during Super Bowl week while I'm at it."

I'm sad to report that Grandma got a token lunch on his way out of town after he spent three days staying at Grandma's best friend's house in Jacksonville Beach while toiling away in Super Bowl nirvana.

Ok - now on to business. The continued purchases of e-bay "just had to have it" football items has now become the segue into a nice relationship with our UPS driver. Another brown cardboard envelope from somewhere in the USA has become a weekly delivery at our house. It's the usual routine: around 5pm on a Thursday, the brown truck rolls in, backing in, sounding its backup "beeps", the dog gets a pat and scratch on the head, followed by a bone and then the thud of the precious item dropped on the porch. I load up the child onto one hip, open the door, wave hello to the driver, exchange greetings, pick up the delivery and plop it in a visible place where I know Mr. Rousseau will see it when he comes bounding through the door, tripping over himself at first sight of this parcel.

On occasion, if a package arrives earlier in the day, I will call him at work just to tell him a package has arrived, knowing full well what this will do to him. "Where is it from?," he will ask. "I don't know, some place from someone I have never heard from or from the NFL "official something or other", I will reply knowing full well this will send him into a tizzy of curiosity for the rest of his work day. "Oh, I hope it's my Super Bowl XXXIX visor. Either that or that Kevin Faulk game used jersey card I won," he'll squeal like a girl.

By the time he gets through the door, he's barely able to function until the package is opened. Of course, the response is "Oh yeah. Honey, you don't understand how good of a deal this is!" Please....

I've mentioned our dog, Timber, in past bye week articles. Have I mentioned that he is a quick running Siberian Husky? If I have, forgive me. But I still wonder why Mr. Rousseau feels the need to pretend to be Tedy Bruschi on the front lawn with our dog. A tackle may be made after he gets loose from his kennel, but at the end of the day, the dog comes right to me when I tell him he is going for a ride. A minute later, Mr. Rousseau comes hobbling into the house. What a hero!

Our son, Jacob was born on October 20th last year during the Red Sox playoffs and the Patriots winning streak. You can imagine the excitement in our house. Mr. Columnist insisted on Jake sitting in his lap while he watched the games so that the good karma would continue. How pathetic, really. I finally had to put an end to Mr. Rousseau using our newborn son as the "Good Luck Buddha."

Yet another piece of glassware has entered our home. This prize-winning, highly-collectable piece is shaped as a football, with the Super Bowl XXXVI logo on one side and Miller Lite logo on the other. Yes, my friends - only the finest in drinkware in my house. Oh, I almost forgot that more circa-1970s gas station Patriot glasses found a good home as they were had for only $1 at the local fire department yard sale. This collection of mix-and-match football glasses nicely complements the Pfaltzgraff glasses that we got for our wedding.

Bobbleheads are still an issue. What's up with the Bobblely Gator Super Bowl XXXIX bobble head? Hey, then again, anything beats the Surferboy from Super Bowl XXXVII.

On occasion, once the "season regulars" that go to the games with Mr. Rousseau suddenly will be unable to attend, the game of survivor begins. Who will get voted off the list of potential game-goer wannabes? Well, I am happy to report that I FINALLY got to see the inside of Foxboro's very own mecca known as Gillette Stadium against the Chargers a few weeks back. Yes, I finally won the game of survivor, and during regular season I might add. No crummy fourth pre-season ticket for his bride. What a guy!

Also, I have to add my two cents about the draft. I have simply stopped feeling sorry for Mr. Rousseau every year when he whines and complains about how he wasted a whole weekend in April. It's self-torture that goes on and on and on......

Have I mentioned that my house is turning into a theme park? Well, after finally reaching my wits end, Mr. Rousseau and his base operation has been relocated to the dreaded place where most diehards end up with all their erroneous crap: the basement. Now before you start feeling bad for him, keep in mind that it's newly renovated, it's warm and tastefully decorated, I might add.

This season's tragedy was that the Super Bowl XXXVI plastic ticket holder broke. Shaking and nearly in respiratory arrest, he handed me what I thought would be shreds of plastic clinging to life by the cord displaying the Super Bowl XXXVI logo. "This is the ticket holder they gave out at that Super Bowl I went to," he cried. Wrong. The small hole where the cord clips into the plastic had torn. Handling the precious item with care, I punched a new hole just below the old, clipped the cord on, and like magic - voila! New again. The world became perfect again and a Wednesday night was saved.

Finally, one last image for you all. Mr. Rousseau got his first "fan recognition" while playing golf at a fancy pants golf course recently. So.... the story goes (which of course I have verified with reliable witnesses) that an employee at this golf course came up to Mr. Celebrity and asked, "Are you Kevin Rousseau from Pats Fans.com?" "I am", replied the now swollen head with a mouth. Apparently, Mr. Rousseau's praise was then sung by this man and his golf cronies realized they were in for a long round of golf that day including a lot of unsolicited "Do you know who I am?" outbursts.

On his way home, he calls and says "Guess what?" OK, I take the bait and hear the story. Obviously still aglow and walking on air, the conversation ends with "Do you want me to pick you up something for dinner?" WELL, YEAH! So he comes home with a calzone - from a gas station - oops I am sorry -"from the sub shop 'inside' the gas station." Helluva guy!

Well, that's it for another year. Thanks for letting me say my piece.

This column also appears in the American Journal (Westbrook/Gorham, Maine), the Current (Scarborough/Cape Elizabeth/South Portland, Maine), the Lakes Region Suburban Weekly (Windham/Naples, Maine), the Citizen (Sacopee Valley, Maine), the Reporter (Waterboro/Hollis, Maine), the Sun Chronicle (Saco/Old Orchard Beach, Maine), and online at VillageSoup.com (Belfast, Camden, Rockland, Maine).