Watching Football

I have never "watched football" in that proper sense. I have sort of tried. I had to go to all the football games in high school because my mom insisted I be in the marching band. Mom would always talk about how fun marching band was.... and when I informed her that I loathed it, loathed everything about it, from the early morning practices to the stupid formations, from the strange arrangements of pop songs marching band music so often consists of to the horrid, hot, woolen uniforms we had to put on and march around in at parades in various parts of Arizona when it was still early autumn and 90 degrees or so, all topped by the absolute horror that was Band Day at Arizona State University--hours and hours on a school bus, then hours and hours standing around in those uniforms, then more hours and hours on a school bus--well, when I complained about all that, she told me it was good for me and would build character, but I think having to do something I hated so thoroughly just contributed to my recalcitrance and cynicism, and that I would have been a nicer, happier person had I been allowed to opt out of stuff I hated and sucked at (such as playing a musical instrument, whether it was the piano, the clarinet or the bassoon) and allowed instead to devote myself more completely to stuff I liked and was good at, like editing the yearbook and getting good grades. (Yes, I was a first-class academic geek.)

Not only did I have to be in my high school marching band, but I had to watch my big sister in her stupid marching band. For a while she was in the flag corp at the University of Arizona, and a few times my parents dragged our whole family to a college football game so we could see my sister perform along with the rest of the band at half time. I begged and wheedled to get out of it, but no--I had to go. "Just bring a book," Mom said, so I did. And even though I wasn't dependent on the game for amusement, those bleachers were uncomfortable and the bathrooms were always disgusting and the action was too far away and I couldn't understand the rules and there were these long pauses where nothing happened and someone won and someone lost and I was supposed to care?

I loved football games when I lived in the dorm because everyone but me would go to them. For a good three or four hours I'd have the laundry room and then the bathroom all to myself.

There are some sports I can watch with pleasure: I like basketball, especially men's college basketball. If the Wildcats are in the playoffs, I try to watch at least one game. (Oh, the horror that was the Wildcats' loss to Illinois this past spring!) I rather enjoy the Olympics, the way they're staggered so that the winter and summer versions come along every two years; plus they're always this fascinating, strange, concentrated dose of nationalism and overachievement, all heavily edited so that you don't have to watch a lot standing around.

I'm trying to think of something else athletic I like... but I'm not coming up with much.

Friday night I hung out with SBJ and some other friends and the topic of football came up. SBJ said he was committed to spending a good chunk of the fall drinking bad beer, eating bad pizza and watching good football. He recently declared his devoted allegiance to the Patriots, and was heartened that they beat the Raiders.

The next night I ran into Tom and said, "I hear you guys watched football without me."

He said, "It didn't occur to me that you might want to come."

"It didn't occur to me either," I said, "until Craig asked me if I'd been invited, and then I had to devote a good six or seven nano-seconds to wondering if I should be hurt and offended that I wasn't given an opportunity to say no an activity I wouldn't particularly enjoy."

"You're welcome to come next time," he said.

"Thanks," I said, "but I don't think I'd have fun. SBJ told me you guys really watch."

"We really do," he said. "Especially SBJ."

I just visited the official website of the Super Bowl and learned that the New England Patriots have won three of the last four Super Bowls, which I guess makes them an easy team to get excited about. I personally will never forget the fact that on January 26, 1997, the Green Bay Packers beat the New England Patriots in the Super Bowl. I remember this not because I watched the game, but because while the game was going on, Adam, my evilest of exes, dumped me, brutally and thoroughly. And the next day, when I was suffering from alcohol poisoning brought on by drinking half a liter of Jack Daniels while discussing the breakup on the phone with the friend who introduced me to Adam in the first place (who sympathized strongly because he knew Adam was a schmuck but still refused to say "I told you so" until I said, "Just go ahead and say it"--only then did he say, "Well, I told you so--I mean, I really did try to warn you"), everyone kept talking about the damn football game.

So maybe if the Patriots make it to the Super Bowl this season I'll insist I get invited to the party, and bring a book in case everyone but me is watching the game, because now that I think about it, even the longest, most boring football game in the world is more fun than having my heart broken.

It so often comes back to that particular trauma, doesn't it? I hear someone say. Yeah, well, it so often does.