The Original Reality TV

I love football. Not playing it, but watching it. In my household I am the only football fan. Living in a house full of males, this is a bit unusual. There have been seasons when I would watch all three games on Sundays, making hubby feel like a widower. Not very fair of me, but I do get it. I understand why men do this and why some of my friends complain about football season. To be fair, a large number of my girlfriends are football fans, too.

Sports are the original Reality TV. Watching in real time a drama played out. There is a winner and a loser. Real emotions show on real mens' faces. They live and die on each play. Alas, my Philadelphia Eagles did not advance in the play-offs. Worse still, they lost to the Cowboys . . . twice! Their performance at both games was, to put it mildly, lackluster.

Watching Brett Favre this past Sunday, however, was fun. He is a 40-year-old hero to me. Some folks wanted to put him out to pasture, but he said NO! I can do it! That man can throw a pass; nothing wrong with his arm! He was tackled 15 times by guys who were trying to hurt him. He still got up and did his job. For what it's worth, I think that a couple of the calls made against the Vikings were incorrect and I think the game could have gone another way. But what do I know?

My step-father taught me about football, God bless him. We watched the 49ers in the Superbowl one year and he patiently explained the entire game to me. Once I understood the game a little bit I was hooked. I can't say I understand everything. I literally do not understand a word that John Madden says. Is he speaking English?!? Formations and defense strategies are over my head. But, I do understand the basics and that's all I need.

Football is like a beautiful dance. When players jump in the air and snatch an impossible catch it is art . . . and then there are the moves to make sure feet are in-bounds?!?: Baryshnikov couldn't do it better. Watching a perfectly timed hand off and a run where the runner plants his feet and breaks a tackle, twisting this way and that, and then breaks free . . . magical. The excitement of a play-maker causing a fumble. Watching a team work together with perfect timing, protecting each other. This is pure joy to me.

I know, I know these men will likely have injuries that will last them a lifetime. They get paid too much money. They don't always take seriously their status of role model. I assume that some of them take drugs and have serious personal issues. Good football players are wooed nowadays from their early teens, working through a system that doesn't always have their best interests at heart.

My middle boy tried football one summer. He was seven. Even then it was serious business. Four practices a week starting in the summer before school even started. Watching him run drills and laps in full gear on a summer evening in ninety degree weather was difficult. He was good at all the drills, looked as if he had potential, but my middle boy is a lover not a fighter. The first time he was tackled in practice he was hit hard, really hard. His feet left the ground (and this was his own teammate!!) Football wasn't going to be his thing, and we took him out. Frankly, I was relieved. We had stumbled into a league in Pennsylvania this is very competitive and these kids had been playing since they were four years old. I swear that some of them had highlight reels already. Even at seven years old, they weren't dabbling. The other parents could sense our lack of commitment and didn't bother to get to know us. They knew we weren't going to be around long.

Knowing all of this still doesn't stop me from loving football. It's the excellence that does it for me. As I get older, I love watching people who do things really, really well. It gives me a thrill. I guess I now know what it takes to be superior at something. When I was a kid, I didn't get it. Now I do. So I watch these men who have worked so hard and I yell at the TV and groan at missed opportunities. I pretend that I know how they should have done it and feel bad when my team doesn't win. I celebrate their wins. I don't mind that they make ridiculous amounts of money. I'm just glad that I can watch excellence in motion every Sunday from September through February. Oh, and on Monday nights too.