Monday, February 05, 2007

Are You Ready For Some Football?


Nobody’s Opinion; Is it me? Or have these monumental American sporting events become almost interstellar celebrations?

You would have thought Hailey’s comet was going to appear in only one spot on Earth, on Super Bowl Sunday--- right over the Gator Bowl. I take that back. Most people could care less about Hailey’s comet, but football…ahhhh… that’s the final place on earth where men can be REAL men, and bash each other ruthlessly just for fun. Who wants to miss that?

Football is the game that most closely resembles the last of the Roman gladiators. Even Condoleezza Rice wants a part of it. In fact, she means to rule it. (The women mean to seize power everywhere.) Because there is NO way any feminist would last two seconds on a football field filled with 200-pound men coming to crush her. It’s one of the only jobs that a woman just can not compete.

This tells you something about the woman, Condoleezza Rice.

Frankly, I had a big problem yesterday. My husband HATES football. I’m not really crazy about it either. In fact I’ve never understood why perfectly reasonably thinking grown men and woman want to sit outside in sub-zero weather for hours freezing their tails off just to witness a game where a bunch of men in tights run into each other trying to get a ball. Why do that when you can be snug in your home with vast plates of fattening food not yet outlawed, and fat relatives and friends who love to come and get fat and get drunk with you?

Some other fans like to go to the parking lots and freeze sitting on the end of their car bumpers, which gave it the name of “tailgating.” I’ve never tried it, but with lots of beer to warm oneself against the cold, millions of Americans swear its great fun.

Who am I to argue?

Tailgating is going to soon be outlawed due to the fact that there just might be a tailgating terrorist driving his bar-be-queue pit into the front gate. They outlawed it in Miami this year. Which is another great American tradition being thrown out by radical Islam.

Another great tradition which they are also trying to get rid of is betting on the game. Although I don’t think we can blame the terrorists on this one.

Sunday, my husband and I thought we’d go out to lunch at our local mall, and noticed that our “Bank of America” ATM’s at all the branches in our area, were “temporarily” out of order.

I was SURE it was an indirect way for the “powerful” to keep the American people from losing most of what was left in their checking accounts (since they have no savings) from going down some Las Vegas Hole of Super Bowl Lottery.

After all, they “the powerful” have other plans for our money.

My husband of course thinks I’m crazy.

“Well, they outlawed it on the internet because of that reason!” I said.

“No, you’re too paranoid.”

I’m so glad he got some food in him. That was the first contest I lost that day. Score, husband 7, wife 0.

So, why is this Superbowl game so popular?

Let’s fact it…there is something about a “ball” that drives men crazy.

My son’s first word was “ball.” This was incredible frustrating because for months I had been saying “say Mama, say Mama” so many times to him, I was starting to annoy even myself.

But then, as I was waiting patiently with camera in hand to record his first word, it was not "mama," it was not pass the baby powder, it was “ball.”

Then he learns to point at the ball. Mama goes and gets the ball.

This starts the basic life of mother and son. Also why there must be a father to talk sense into the mother, who just doesn’t get it.

Then, as if to add insult to injury my son’s second word was “daddy.”

Not fair! Daddy is never around! Who feeds you, or changes your diapers? Who devotes her entire existence into your every moment of happiness? Who the first one to play ball with you?

When my son was three he stared calling me by my real name. He would say “Joy, go get me a coke!”

The word “mama” is still not in his vocabulary.

(Let’s not go there.)

Of course, he grew up loving sports, any sports where you had to hit or roll, or catch a ball. He knew exactly what was important in life.

I could only be proud that he was a natural at sports. Of course, he got none of this from me. At puberty, I lost all ability to even run down a street without looking like a jiggle farm.

He obviously got his genes from a distant uncle who had been on the Cardinals farm team.

This is why I lean toward the idea that genetics will trounce “environment” every time. Yes, men love to chase balls, something they have in common with most dogs, which is why they bonded in the first place. (dogs and men)

Maybe we should drop a big “football” in the middle of Bagdad and let everyone try to get it out of the city, may the best team win. The rules being, no one could use explosives to move it.

And nationalize it on TV. Men would be all for it, especially if you could convince the Arabs that explosives would be waiting for them at the goalposts and they could blow themselves up at the moment of victory if they wanted to.

Whole industries would disappear, so there you go, it won’t happen.

Anyway, it was not easy for me to figure out how in the world I was going to get my husband to at LEAST let me flip to the game once in a while to watch the commercials, or half-time, because I do think Prince, however you think him a nutcase, is an extremely great entertainer. And secretly, I wanted to see the score. (Don’t tell anyone)

My strategy was, “Honey, look there’s a MONK marathon on! I’ll watch that while you rest!”

I knew since he was tired and he wanted to spend the day in bed. Therefore, I thought, sooner or later he will fall asleep, and then I would get my chance. I would just start out turning to the game during the commercials. Saying “Oh I hate commercials on USA, and the ones on the Superbowl game happen only once a year, honey.”

This didn’t work. Every time I turned to the station, the game was on. He would then grab the controller so fast that I was afraid the sheets would spark.

So no…I lost the second fight. In fact, I lost the game. I was down in the slimy gutter with the Bears.

I missed Billy Joel, I missed Prince, I missed watching the people who paid half their yearly salaries for seats get really miserably wet…I missed watching the hours of speculatative x-football jocks introducing endless PR videos trying to clean up the images of convicted felons, drug dealers, and rappers…

I missed the promotional products of beer and sex. I missed the once in a lifetime catches.

I missed it all, because my husband is bored by sports. (Actually, it’s one of the things I love about him.)

But then again, sports are so important to the American culture, that it’s sadly being replaced by video games. Once, all the kids in American would get out of the house on Saturday and Sunday and go play baseball or football with the other kids. They could come home and eat a whole package of cookies without gaining weight.

No more. Now, we see that boys are being snatched off their bikes, and kids are ending up dead in ditches our American culture has changed fast.

And since the women are now working eight hours a day, there IS no “village” to watch out for the kids. The new village now works for the government.

Football is now a huge entertainment industry, marketed as soon as the season begins.

And I was going to actually write about the game, but unfortunately, I missed it.

Blame it on my husband. He now can be seen on ESPN doing the touchdown “husband has the last say” dance.


Nobody's Perfect: Maybe one of the reasons the Arab men are so easily recruited for “war” is because they have no national sports to give them the avenue for competition.

I know...pretty lame. But then again, it’s a great way to get all that testosterone directed into something that is less harmful. Someone should be dropping football’s or soccer balls in the Mosques.

Nobody Knows; Don’t you think that if you had paid $10,000 for a ticket, you should get at least a high-priced two hour concert afterwards with free food, drinks, and a date with Brittany Spears?

And a Lear Jet to take you home?

Nobody Cares: Touch football was my favorite game to play when I was around seven, mostly because I was actually taller than all the boys in the neighborhood, and could tackle each and every boy around…and we played in the sand. No one every got hurt and it was great exercise. And no adults thought anything about it. It was just fun.

Now, little girls play...just what do they play now?

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