I am more interested in watching paint dry than watching football. At least paint drying makes sense and serves a valuable purpose. Professional football makes me wonder if we’ve all lost our minds and forgotten about starving children, underfunded schools, and female athleticism.
But, with all the winning and such, I turned my attention to football briefly this winter and found my self tearing up with civic pride. I even developed a crush on Marshawn Lynch. His quiet style and Buddha-like wisdom are both so attractive. On Beast Mode? “You don’t know what’s in you ’til it come out.” I think that’s all I need to know in life. Thanks, Marshawn.
Before February, I loved nothing more when watching football than checking out those muscular bodies in tight, shiny pants. It is a gift to all lovers of men. I’ve since noticed a few more things.
Seattle-ites now have a new way to get out of the friend zone. You just look at the person you’re quietly crushing on and say, “Hey, I was thinking, why not us?”
Life is full of awkward moments. And, one of them almost always happens after an NFL touchdown. The fast running man gets in to the end zone and starts working the crowd. He blows kisses to the camera, mouthing the words, “Thank you, Mom.” He raises his eyes up to the heavens talking to his personal savior. He even does some dance moves and…
The entire time he is ignoring his 250 pound-plus friend who just tackled fifteen guys so he could get the damn touchdown. I imagine the conversation going something like this.
“Thanks, God. Thanks, Mom! I love you, America.” (hands in the air, victorious)
“Hey, man, great run. High five!”
“I love my dog Buster and my coach!” (clap, step-ball-change, finger snaps, jazz hands)
“Hey, man, put it here!”
“Where my fans at? That’s right. I see you!” (Heisman pose)
“Dammit, brother, I just took out fifteen guys for…”
“Shut up, man. I’m on T.V.”
I now kind of “get” football. Someone finally explained first-and-ten to me slowly enough that I understood. It’s a march up the field, or a battle against a march. I get it! There are a lot of ref hand-gyrations that I will likely never grasp but that’s okay. At least I can extract some pleasure, now, from watching the game.
That said, my responses to certain activities on the field tend to be unorthodox. It was once suggested that I should be a football commentator because of my enthusiasm for things that most fans are not noticing.
For example, I tend to be very observant of the players “outfits.” Yes, uniforms but that’s not how I see them. How they fit, whether they cut their shirts in the back to make room for their beautiful, built buns, if they’re being made to wear hot pink and where it’s been added, whether Seahawks green should really be so neon, and who looks best in his tight pants.
I like to consider the mental and physical health of the coaching staff based upon their response to stressful situations. I noticed if the players are kind to each other, e.g. do they give those team-spirit-inducing high fives. Are our fans more trashy or classy than the other team’s fans? How do the broadcasters get those digital lines to appear on the field under the players’ feet? Is the kicker married? Because he’s a doll.
You can see, not a lot of concern for the fundamentals of the game. But, it’s all in an effort to entertain myself. Now that I get the first-and-ten thing, I’m less interested in outfits. I still notice them, though.