ALL RIGHT!! It’s a Touchgoal! I Mean a Jump Puck!

I love the game. Love it. I have no idea what it is all about, but I love that it is played in the Fall. And that you can get hot chocolate and hotdogs and sit right in your seat and eat them. Unlike the ballet. Who cares that after twenty-six years my husband still has to sit and explain everything to me? It's not like it really causes a problem or anything. Besides, I'm just trying to, you know, show interest in his interests.  For example:

"Sooo, the smaller guy in the tight pants. Why'd he throw it? Why didn't he just run?"

"He can run, but his receiver was wide open, so he passed it."

"Receiver? That's a completely obvious name for a player, isn't it? I mean, 'Receiver.' Duh. That's what he does. Why not come up with something more creative. You know, like, The Beneficiary. The Legatee. The Stipendiary."

"What?"

"I'm just saying, maybe more people would watch this game if they came up with some evocative names for the players."

"More people would–? Football is the number one sport in America. It doesn't need evocative names. It needs to make sense."

*snort*

"What was that for?"

"Make sense? Football? No, no. If football made sense it would be called 'Soccer.' That game makes sense."

"What are you talking about? Football makes sense."

"Oh really? What are they doing now?"

"They just made a first down."

"Uh huh. You know what we call that in Soccer?"

"What?"

"NOTHING. Because we don't have a collection of eighty-five terms that make no sense. A 'down'. Psh. In soccer we kick, we block, we dribble, we shoot, we score! The end. None of  these terms. None of this run around for three minutes, then have a conference for fifteen minutes, run around, conference, run around, conference. Wait! It's an up! It's a down! Down is what fills our pillows."

"I . . . "

"And how about that guy. What's he called?"

"He's a tight end. And that one is a nose guard."

*flat stare* "A tight end. Like I need to know that about him. It's not as if I can't tell with those form-fitting pants he's wearing. And why'd they name the other guy after a piece of equipment? Thank heavens he's not called the 'athletic cu–'"

"You know what? I'm going to get a hotdog."

"Oh. Well I'll come with you."

"No, no. You just . . . sit there and name the players. Here. Here's a pen and paper. Go to town."

Now see? On reflection I think there was a little sarcasm in there. And I'm just trying to spend time with my husband. Be supportive. Well. Next week I'm going to insist that we go to the ballet. At least everything makes sense there: pas de chat, pirouette, battement fondu développé. 

And no conferences.

I'm kind of going to miss the hot chocolate, though.