Super Ball
Could someone please explain football to me? I don't mean the “downs” and the “snaps” and yardage. I've sat through enough games and had my husband explain it to me enough times that I mostly get that part. (My husband just noted that “mostly” is being generous. Ha, ha, Dear.)
My question is bigger than that. Maybe I should ask, “Could someone please explain the whole fascination with balls to me?”
Golf balls, soccer balls, basketballs have been favorites in our house, but watching football reigns supreme.
And the king of all football games is coming up.
Super Bowl LXII will kick off this Sunday, Feb. 3, at 3:18 p.m. PST at the University of Phoenix Stadium in Glendale Ariz. But of course, if you are fortunate enough to have tickets to go see it live, you know that already. For the rest of us schmoes it will be broadcast on FOX. Pre-game shows kick off at 8 a.m., which I think is a bit early . . .
The fascination starts early, too. One of the first words each of our three boys mastered was “ball.” Lucky for them it came after “Mamma,” or they'd still be playing in the National League of guilt trips.
What is it about those spherical objects (footballs excepted) that so fascinates some people? Is it because it's one of the first things babies can control? Is it learned from their parents? Or is it just fun to prevent something from smacking you in the face by catching it? I wouldn't know.
And the allure is not limited to males. I had female friends in high school who kept stats for the boys' teams. They stood there on the sidelines, making neat little tally marks as they carefully watched the game. I don't know what they where seeing. If I were standing on the sidelines, just knowing where the ball was would frighten me. Which probably explains why I had a junior high P.E. teacher tell me I caught a football like it was a teacup.
The ball fixation is not even limited to our species: think dogs, cats, polo horses and those clear plastic balls hamsters and gerbils run around in.
Even I am not completely immune. I love that satisfying crunch
as I pop my back over a huge, Swiss, exercise ball.
And in high school I loved sitting close to the action and cheering for our
football team – after all, I knew them all by name. Of course, I went
to a school so small that I could probably name the grandparent each member
of the student body was named after.
In college, I even bought season tickets to the football games. But that was more about the group of friends I sat with and the halftime show. But I did enjoy cheering for my good friend Steve Young. Not exactly good friend, but we were friends. Or, at least, acquaintances. Well, he did date my friend's roommate's cousin's sister. (Hey, my boys were still impressed.)
And I always loved hosting a party to watch our alma mater on TV in a bowl game. I could jump and cheer as loud as anybody when the game called for it, and sometimes – oops – when it didn't.
But as for Monday night football . . . I just don't get it. For the most part, sitting thousands of miles away from the field, watching a game that often confuses me, trying to keep track of a ball that I seldom know the location of, involving people I've never met who get paid ridiculous amounts of money to play a game . . . well, I'm sorry, but someone needs to explain this to me.
That, and why they have shackled prisoners hobble out there to measure the ball while they're still chained together.
I can only be tempted into watching by the half-time show, but I much prefer the good old-fashioned marching bands to the “wardrobe malfunctions” of pop stars.
Unfortunately the best entertainment is often found during the commercial breaks. But at a cost of $2.7 million for a 30-second spot I'd expect Oscar-worthy performances rather than clapping monkey commercials.
Tickets are outrageously expensive, too. Originally priced at $700 to $900, tickets are averaging $4,450 at online resellers. Maybe those of us stuck at home aren't the schmoes, after all . . . no explanation needed.
Send comments to RoniSMiller@yahoo.com
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