make love, not football
Cue intro music: a bright, upbeat yet intense and anxious march, lots of brass and drums.
Good afternoon and welcome to *insert city* where today the mighty *insert plural noun which represents a generally accepted symbol of strength>* take on the *insert other city* *insert plural noun, preferably an animal, which represents a generally accepted symbol of ferocity* in a battle…for dominance! It’s going to be a great game, huh Jim? Sure is, Bob. We’re proud to be bringing you today’s game in high definition. For more information, log on to the web and visit us at www DOT you’re not going to see your boyfriend until January DOT sucks.
*Insert fancy graphic with website address layered over helmet*
Fall. What empires do. Fall. When football teams become empires. Powdery lines are drawn. Battles are fought on manicured fields. Women everywhere who don’t understand the game are left bewildered, dumping clinking beer bottles and dusting nacho crumbs off the couch.
I used to hate football. When I was younger, my father tried to explain it to me in bits and pieces, often forgetting the very basic basics. His daughter couldn’t be THAT stupid, could she?
Oh, yes.
“What’s happening now, Dad?” Eager.
“It’s the 1st down in 10.” Wha?
“But, I thought they just got a 1st down.”
“They did.” Ok, so…ok. Hm.
“They have another 1st down? (then to myself) Shouldn’t it be the 2nd down then?”
“Yeah, that’s the whole point of the game.” Oh. (beat) Right.
Who’s on First? Apparently the down was or something like that. I’m a girl. Down means bafflebox construction and at least a 400 thread count. And if you asked me about thread count, I could explain it to you.
I was left to my own devices to figure out this puzzling game that involved a ball that looks like a chocolate Easter egg (yum) with men dressed up like astronauts with spandex pants on (possibly yum.) Recently, I’ve spent quite a few afternoons watching “the game” with the boyfriend who is a lot better at explaining its nuances. I’m no armchair quarterback however I know what the downs are now. I'm taking it one yard at a time. But still, after many delving questions and hypothetical situations, near as I can figure, football is popular because it is the dumbest sport out there. Whoa, whoa, whoa…pipe down, boys. Let me explain.
In basketball, you have to get a ball into a hoop. In golf, it’s a cup in the ground. In baseball, you have to hit a ball in the air with a stick. In hockey, you hit the puck in a net with a stick. All these sports require a skill. Everyone has to learn this skill in order to play. In football, you grab the ball and run. YOU GRAB THE BALL. If I’m not mistaken, infant boys are born knowing how to grab their balls. Oh, oh, I’m sorry, you have to grab the ball and then run it onto the other team’s “side.” Fine. That’s the objective then. Listen up ladies, I can sum it up for you real easy-like…to understand football, just know that you have to grab the ball and get it into the other team’s “area” aka endzone. Hard? Intrinsically, no. But, the NFL throws in a gazillion rules and time limits to make it hard. The opposing team is pretty much allowed to do anything short of setting you on fire to prevent you from getting a touchdown. It’s a glorified game of catch mixed with tag.
This is madness.
Does this seem like war to anyone else? I'm not trying to hate. I'm not saying football fans are idiots. But, I mean..men in armor, face paint, lines to cross, territory to invade and of course you have to root for your home town. Alright, alright, since rooting for the home team is inherent to most sports so I’ll let that one go. It's war complete with strategy and individually tailored ranks. Foot soldier linemen. Lieutenant wide receivers and colonel tight ends. Catapult kicker. A quarterback general. The women are abandoned for days on end while the men beat their chests and yell battle cries ("Go Bears!") All they need is the OK to kill instead of merely sack.
Everyone fights for something. We fight for equality. We fight for promotions. We fight for attention. We're fighting for something in Iraq, we just don't know what it is. Grab the object, be it a pig skin or the last pork rind, crude oil or amnesty and make it yours. And when you can't, find solace and satisfaction on the television. Any given Sunday between September and February is your chance to believe in a cause. Beer sponsors paid for the game, enjoy it with a cold one and acknowledge their generosity. It's your chance to find a hero from your hometown with a great arm who can throw your failures to zero. It's the most expensive advertising time for a reason.
I wish a Macy’s sale was more like football because despite the wrong size or offsides, I love possessions too.
Good afternoon and welcome to *insert city* where today the mighty *insert plural noun which represents a generally accepted symbol of strength>* take on the *insert other city* *insert plural noun, preferably an animal, which represents a generally accepted symbol of ferocity* in a battle…for dominance! It’s going to be a great game, huh Jim? Sure is, Bob. We’re proud to be bringing you today’s game in high definition. For more information, log on to the web and visit us at www DOT you’re not going to see your boyfriend until January DOT sucks.
*Insert fancy graphic with website address layered over helmet*
Fall. What empires do. Fall. When football teams become empires. Powdery lines are drawn. Battles are fought on manicured fields. Women everywhere who don’t understand the game are left bewildered, dumping clinking beer bottles and dusting nacho crumbs off the couch.
I used to hate football. When I was younger, my father tried to explain it to me in bits and pieces, often forgetting the very basic basics. His daughter couldn’t be THAT stupid, could she?
Oh, yes.
“What’s happening now, Dad?” Eager.
“It’s the 1st down in 10.” Wha?
“But, I thought they just got a 1st down.”
“They did.” Ok, so…ok. Hm.
“They have another 1st down? (then to myself) Shouldn’t it be the 2nd down then?”
“Yeah, that’s the whole point of the game.” Oh. (beat) Right.
Who’s on First? Apparently the down was or something like that. I’m a girl. Down means bafflebox construction and at least a 400 thread count. And if you asked me about thread count, I could explain it to you.
I was left to my own devices to figure out this puzzling game that involved a ball that looks like a chocolate Easter egg (yum) with men dressed up like astronauts with spandex pants on (possibly yum.) Recently, I’ve spent quite a few afternoons watching “the game” with the boyfriend who is a lot better at explaining its nuances. I’m no armchair quarterback however I know what the downs are now. I'm taking it one yard at a time. But still, after many delving questions and hypothetical situations, near as I can figure, football is popular because it is the dumbest sport out there. Whoa, whoa, whoa…pipe down, boys. Let me explain.
In basketball, you have to get a ball into a hoop. In golf, it’s a cup in the ground. In baseball, you have to hit a ball in the air with a stick. In hockey, you hit the puck in a net with a stick. All these sports require a skill. Everyone has to learn this skill in order to play. In football, you grab the ball and run. YOU GRAB THE BALL. If I’m not mistaken, infant boys are born knowing how to grab their balls. Oh, oh, I’m sorry, you have to grab the ball and then run it onto the other team’s “side.” Fine. That’s the objective then. Listen up ladies, I can sum it up for you real easy-like…to understand football, just know that you have to grab the ball and get it into the other team’s “area” aka endzone. Hard? Intrinsically, no. But, the NFL throws in a gazillion rules and time limits to make it hard. The opposing team is pretty much allowed to do anything short of setting you on fire to prevent you from getting a touchdown. It’s a glorified game of catch mixed with tag.
This is madness.
Does this seem like war to anyone else? I'm not trying to hate. I'm not saying football fans are idiots. But, I mean..men in armor, face paint, lines to cross, territory to invade and of course you have to root for your home town. Alright, alright, since rooting for the home team is inherent to most sports so I’ll let that one go. It's war complete with strategy and individually tailored ranks. Foot soldier linemen. Lieutenant wide receivers and colonel tight ends. Catapult kicker. A quarterback general. The women are abandoned for days on end while the men beat their chests and yell battle cries ("Go Bears!") All they need is the OK to kill instead of merely sack.
Everyone fights for something. We fight for equality. We fight for promotions. We fight for attention. We're fighting for something in Iraq, we just don't know what it is. Grab the object, be it a pig skin or the last pork rind, crude oil or amnesty and make it yours. And when you can't, find solace and satisfaction on the television. Any given Sunday between September and February is your chance to believe in a cause. Beer sponsors paid for the game, enjoy it with a cold one and acknowledge their generosity. It's your chance to find a hero from your hometown with a great arm who can throw your failures to zero. It's the most expensive advertising time for a reason.
I wish a Macy’s sale was more like football because despite the wrong size or offsides, I love possessions too.
posted by Katie at 4:23 PM
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