I don’t like football* much.
Sure, I’ll root for the Bengals out of hometown loyalty whenever they hit the Superbowl—and sigh sadly when they choke—and display appropriate pleased surprise when I’m told that Miami of Ohio actually won a game, but after nine years in various marching bands, the merest glimpse of a gridiron tends to give me a damp wool stinking, sun glaring, out of tune-ish, heavy hatted, flashback headache.
Plus, it’s essentially boring—like a real battle,** it’s made mostly of Hurry Up and Wait. If I had my way, the clock would only stop for halftime*** and every single time out—team or referee—would cause an immediate electric shock to be administered to a favorite body part of the person who called it and the general manager of that team and the owner. We’d see some freakin’ hustle then . . .
But there are exceptions to my general apathy of the sport—and some analogies are too good to pass up.
So.
If you can see Number 14 as a writer, the players in yellow as all the I Don’t Wannas and I Don’t Have Times and Oh, God This is Complete $#&%s that make up Writer’s Block, and the players in white as the I Think I Cans, I’m Gonna Do it Anyways, and Just One #$%& Word at a Time of the writer’s interior support team . . .
. . . then I can admit that football has its uses after all.
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*American football, that is. Soccer, as most of the civilized world doesn’t call it, is fine by me. As is rugby, which I consider GBH soccer—or maybe land hockey. Tomato, tomahto.
**Which it isn’t. No, really.
***Which would be broadcast in full, commercial free. Musicians suffer for those shows, damn it.
Earful of Cider 
That’s hilarious. (and a good analogy)
I love that video—the other team had no idea what to do with this guy!
I went to my first professional soccer game last year and loved it. I tend to find team sports incredibly boring, but soccer was fun and exciting. Football is fine if I’m going to a high school game and have a soft pretzel or hot chocolate in hand — that fall air and the kids’ giddiness takes me back to my own high school days.
Otherwise, I intend to never again freeze my eyelashes off at the Cleveland Browns stadium on a -20 winter day while hulking, overpaid men run into each other a mile below (and inevitably lose, of course). No thank you.
I feel the same way, Laura, except for the high school games. 🙂
Our band actually played at a Bengals game once or twice. It was frozen torture.
I appreciated your suffering. Thanks for 11 years of wonderful halftimes.
Go Band
Nine years, Mom. And I did ’em all for you.
I must be the only band geek who actually liked the football games. I still get nostalgic every fall and feel like I should be out there on the field. Of course, then I remember how much work it was for almost no gratification! (We weren’t even eligible for letters, even though I always knew we got more exercise than the cheerleaders, who were eligible for letters!) And yes, the entire halftime should be televised. Though I really hated the 17 degree day that found us waiting for 5 minutes on the sidelines for the television people to allow us to start the show, which they showed exactly 15 seconds of!
There were only a handful of us who preferred performing at basketball games over football, so you aren’t alone, Dee!
We also received letters—i still have my jacket somewhere . . .
Not a sports fan, myself. (Fortunately, my parents can fill that hole in my son’s education.) That said, I would’ve loved to have seen that game.
Yeah, I handed that off to my husband and MIL.
And, yeah, I would have loved to have been there, too!
I *do* love football, so your analogy hits home in all sorts of ways. But what an introduction to the analogy: damp wool stinking, sun glaring, out of tune-ish, heavy hatted, flashback headache.
Golden. Despite the defense, Sarah, you’ve got a killer offense. 🙂
Hey . . . are you calling me offensive? 😀