Back to Football

An early indication came in July when I mentioned to my husband that we couldn't get together with our friends the McClungs because they didn't have any free weekends in August, but they were free in September.

 I knew what Jim would say, "Well, I hope you told them we cannot make plans on Saturdays until after January. Sundays are ok, though.”

 Football season had started.

 And then, on a Saturday in early August, the Ohio State University grad marched into the living room where I was struggling with a crossword puzzle. The fingers of his right hand were spread out as he exclaimed, “You know what this means don't you? I walked right into it with one stupid word.

 “What?” I asked.

 “Its five weeks until football season starts.” He exulted. He’s cagy that one. This was a new ploy. He hadn’t used the digital announcement before so I was taken unawares.

 He skipped the next weekend. I think we were visiting friends who I am sure would have thought it totally adorable.

 But Jim did appear very early a week later when I wasn't quite awake enough to ignore the three-finger salute. “You know what this means, don't you?” He demanded and dummy me actually responded.

 So there I was, playing the game again. I have to look on the bright side and reflect on the fact that he will never start this digital signal over 10 weeks ahead. I know he can’t march in with his toes in the air.

Now I am not going into why I am not also a fan. I am not. I am simply not interested.

 I try not to see the total disappearance of my husband into football mode: red* sweatshirt, marching band cds and even a little scarlet and gray pom pom thing he pulls out for the OSU Michigan game as symptoms of an obsession. After all he returns pretty much to normal in January.

 I have come to see all this as an opportunity to go my own way. I spend many football Saturdays with our daughter, Amy, puttering around Brooklyn, talking, shopping, and walking in Prospect Park. We rent a movie, order in something nice and by the time I return home I can fall asleep totally unaware of the crises evolving on ESPN.

 I try not to stay home on football Saturdays. If I do I will lurk in the bedroom far away from the TV, I will read but I will start to have suspicions. I will shudder about the shouting in the front room; I will get annoyed about watching the old 12-inch TV.

 Also Sat TV is really lousy. Sports programs dominate all day long. I am left with cooking shows, sermons and infomercials. PBS is sports free, but did you know just before its Sherlock Holmes reruns, Channel 21 actually plays the old Lawrence Welk Show?

 Sometimes there are some nice romantic comedies. Queen Latifa movies are my favorites. I love to see a big girl triumph. But the rushing into the kitchen to catch a snack without missing anything is amazing to me.

He whoops and hollers all day long. How can he be that consistently, so relentlessly avid? He will call me in to observe a replay, which is sometimes beautiful in its sheer energy, but I don't seem to want to wait for the next down.

 I know what your saying, “Why is she such a spoilsport?” You are ready to tell me about your Aunt Agnes who just like me hated football and was for many years a real pain in the you know what until she saw the light and joined in. You want to tell me how she learned to love beer and Doritos with very spicy salsa and cheered with her spouse into a blissful marriage.

 Now here’s my insight: I already have a blissful, well maybe not blissful, but a happy marriage. It seems to me that this is our own little thing, a shtick, so to speak.

I mean Jim can march around gleefully annoying me and I can rise to new heights of annoyance. Just to please him. I know he loves it and on some level so do I.

 Its what we do.

 *Scarlet. Even though it would mean using the same word twice in one paragraph, it is against the Rules to ever use the word red when referring to the old Scarlet and Grey.