Being a girl (way back when, now I’m a woman) I wasn’t particularly interested in football. Oh, sure, all the girls put on their cutest jackets, scarves, and gloves and faithfully attended all of the high school football games, but, it wasn’t because we had a clue what was going on. No, it was because the biggest, handsomest, jocks were playing and every girl on the sidelines was drooling at the prospect of dating one of them – maybe even going steady with one. Even those perky, peppy, bouncing boob-ed cheerleaders didn’t know a touchdown from a fumble. It was all about being noticed by the guys and of course, being a cheerleader was an advantage. I wasn’t a cheerleader because I couldn’t jump high enough, so I was a side-line girl. Until college, and then I learned and joined the university drill team. We were noticed.
Then came marriage and football. Suddenly, it wasn’t a Saturday afternoon only affair. It was college football on Saturday and professional football on Sunday – on television – in my home – with a husband (my first) glued to the TV. Since we both worked during the week the weekends were supposedly for “us.” Yeah, sure. If I watched football that is. So, I watched – still as clueless as before.
Then I got religion – sports religion of a sort. I decided that rather than be bored with the whole thing and watch it in form only, I would learn the nitty-gritty of the game. Now mind you, this was before instant replay, microphones on referees, announcers who drew pictures for you on the screen, or graphics that showed you the line of scrimmage and the “down” line. Let me tell you, learning a game with invisible lines and men in striped shirts making weird hand signals was a challenge. It was a full season before I understood the line of scrimmage and another year before I memorized all those hand signals. I must say though, as a young girl I did enjoy watching those young men’s buns!
Fast forward fifty years. Now my husband (the second one) is really impressed with my sports prowess and complete understanding of and engagement in his favorite sport – yes, football. I knew every coach, every quarterback, every standing, every receiver by name and number. I was awesome. We went to his college homecoming games, we watched the Saturday and Sunday games and then some idiot invented “Monday Night Football.” Oh, God, not more football. Well, at least modern technology has given the referee a voice and the instant replays, arrows, lines, graphics, jerky circles and lines showing past plays make it much more understandable. Even a two year old should be able to understand the game these days.
But, quite frankly it is getting out of control. Another idiot decided we now needed Thursday night football. (Finger down the throat). Four out of seven nights we have football to watch and not only watch, but act like idiots ourselves screaming and yelling for our team and at the other team, using terminology reserved only for this insidiously weird game where grown man try to kill each other over an oval ball but in some legal way that doesn’t bring on a penalty.
Well, I am going to get my revenge and get this football fanaticism under control, by gosh. From now on I have picked one team, my team, The NY Giants, and I will only watch their games – period! Don’t care what the others are doing, just want to cheer on my Giants and see them win the Superbowl from time to time. Cuts out the riff raff, after all they only play once a week, and after sixteen games and some playoff time on the field, poof, off to the Superbowl and I’m done for the season. I can be done sooner if my team doesn’t make the playoffs. And finally, when my guy is off into basketball or soccer or hockey or what other silly ball game he wants to watch, I will take his credit card and go shopping big time. He won’t even mind; in fact, he won’t even know I’m gone if he’s glued to the TV watching the game!