Oh, dear sweet football, this is my ode to you. I wake in the morning to the pre-game show wafting through the house. The excited muffled speech of beefy, testosterone brimming men humming, growing louder as I approach the living room. The sight of my beloved, RandBall, sprawled out on the couch, alert beyond what one might deem appropriate for leisurely television watching.
This is the reality of our household during football season. It's been three years since I've had to have this experience in my home... we just purchased a TV. I should've known that the timing was planned. I should've known that it was back to watching EVERY game that basic cable would allow... even college football.
I humored him. Though I know nothing about football, and have never been able to concentrate long enough to learn the rules, I sat and watched with him. Though, I had no idea that this was a day-long event. One game after another. I thought we would have dinner at one point, but another game began, and RandBall was equally attentive to it. Finally, at a certain point I asked, "Are you really interested in this game?" I was relieved when he replied, "No, let's go eat." Immediately, I noted to myself: Make sure to ask if he's interested in the game before griping about having to wait for the game to end in order to eat/grocery shop/run errands/etc.
Occasionally, during a game I assumed RandBall had no vested interest in, I'll witness him cheering and screaming at the TV. "Is that guy on your fantasy football team?" I ask. "Yah," he says. Surprised? No.
Finally, it's all coming back to me. Football, sweet football. You're back in my life.
