Tuesday, December 4, 2007

"run three yards fall down, run three yards fall down...."


I watched football with my husband last night. (well, o.k., during commercials from another show I had been watching; I had the remote)
Roger and I have, for over 30 years, spent most of our evening sitting together watching programs on TV. We consider this our together time. The work day is over for him, dinner is over, the kitchen cleaned up, and we sit, together, watching, and remembering the things we want to tell each other from the day. Small talk; we find this relaxing.
I can watch football for so long, thinking that I know what is going on, then something happens, I make a comment, get a weird look, that basically says, “honey, you don’t know what you are talking about.”, then quietly get up and leave the room, leaving him to watch alone.
He tries to bait me to come back and watch TV with him by switching to something he thinks I might like on commercials (he will have the remote this time), but it usually doesn’t happen.
I simply don’t get it. I realized while I was sitting there that I was stiff as a board, and tense, and well—bored.
I have watched football all my life on different occasions, and I simply don’t understand it or the point of it. I know skill, athleticism, camaraderie, team work, money, money, money.
I have tried my best to understand it, 4th down, sacking the quarterback—I do get the touchdown part. I have even tried asking questions, which don’t seem to be received or appreciated during the game.
My daughter Audrey understands football, loves to watch it and is a huge Packers fan (she even has a cheese head)
Last night I actually found myself laughing at the things that happened to these guys (maybe it was the tension), and not always at an appropriate time.
I say all this to say that I am preparing myself for bowl games, and the ultimate football game—SUPERBOWL—spare me please!!! In the meantime, I’ll get a lot of other things done, and enjoy being bribed by my husband to join him in front of the T.V.

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