Don’t laugh but I’ve never really understood football. A younger friend received a peg football game as a joke. He’s made me play it with him. Three of the four times we’ve played, I’ve won. Why? He’s told me which way to move the pegs. Then on Sunday, he and his brother had me watching a football game. Actually not the whole game, we were sitting at a local restaurant, and it was decided that it was late, and we needed to go home at the end of the third quarter. But I had watched long enough to see a player removed from the field with a head injury. I felt so sorry for the young man.
I have no clue when it comes to teams or anything else. American football to me is a complete maze. I don’t understand the terminology or anything about it. My hubby would watch baseball and other sports but not football. He did understand the game and played football in high school. But basketball and football were never watched in this house. Being a male and working in male dominated fields, hubby always seemed to know what was going on in the sport, but he never turned it on at home. It could have been super bowl night and he’d watch something else. But in all honesty we were usually invited someplace for a super bowl party. I loved the commercials, especially the Budweiser ads! (I’m a sucker for a pretty horse.) But the game…? Chances were I was in the kitchen with the hostess.
Sunday evening, they did a quick thing on a player and said something about a snap. Huh? What’s a snap? Oh, was I teased.
But OTOH, I know what a keepie-uppie is, hat trick, yellow card, and bicycle kick is. I know the other football, or as most countries will tell you – real football AKA soccer!
Shortly after my hubby and I married, the pond on the mainland turned to ice. I had my ice skates and he borrowed his brother’s. I asked if he knew how to ice skate. He shrugged and said he could stay upright. Oh-boy! I wasn’t any super skater, but being from Pennsylvania, I’d been skating since I was little. It was part of winter where I lived. My dad and I would skate. There was a creek that ran though private property and then went into a “pond”. That’s where most of my friends skated, but my dad would take me to the creek because it was safer, not as deep, and often froze sooner because it was shallow water. My father had grown up with that family as neighbors, and never worried about our being on private property. We’d skate for miles. Well maybe not, but it felt that way. Okay, we’d skate for hours.
When I was little, I had double blade things that strapped onto my boots until I was old enough to fit into a pair of leftover skates. That usually meant a dozen pairs of heavy socks because my feet were much smaller than those boots. So I’m thinking I’m going to have to teach hubby how to skate.
Surprise! Before I was finished lacing, hubby had hit the ice. I should have known a man from New England would know how to do almost anything on ice. He was out there getting a “feel” for it with a few jumps and spins. Never mind. Let’s leave it with his skating ability was a million times better than mine.
I loved watching the winter Olympics. I love to watch the people ski off the jump and fly though the air to the ground. That is so beautiful and so exciting! They look so graceful in the air. And it’s “flying”.
But somehow hang gliding and parachute jumping is scary to me. Go figure! But I’ve always wanted to take glider lessons and learn to do that. I don’t know why. Call it one of my bucket list items.
I love to watch buzzards in the air! Those birds are so ugly, but so beautiful in flight. I can tell a black-faced vulture from a red-faced vulture, by the way they fly, even though I can’t see the color on their faces. Really, I can! They soar like the gliders in the air, but I guess sports people don’t consider flying a glider a sport because it not physical enough.
I just want to know who figured out he could ski down a really steep slope and fly through the air at the end of it, yet still manage to land safely on the ground. He was probably a descendant of the guy who watched a bird lay an egg. That daredevil forefather decided if it came from a bird’s butt it must be edible and would taste like chicken. And the grandson of that forefather decided to try strapping two branches to the bottom of his feet and having a friend give him a push down a frozen mountain. Those boys called it skiing because ski was the sound that the friend made as panicked breath rushed between his teeth each time he tried it.
I understand baseball, but I won’t play it. I used to play it with the boys in my neighborhood. Give me a ball and I can toss it wherever you want it! Just don’t make me hit it. Considering I couldn’t see the chalkboard in school, I definitely couldn’t see that moving ball until it was almost too late to swing. That equates to being a lousy baseball player. But I was a great pitcher. I just couldn’t catch.
I remember playing the game in elementary school during gym, and my
male friends on my team said don’t swing, let them walk you. So I followed their instructions. The gym teacher realized what was up and was determined to make me “play”. He started to do some slow pitches at me, but I held my ground. Then he threw the ball and hit me in the jaw! I hated him after that. I swore he did it on purpose. As an adult, I know he didn’t, but at the time… I was angry. He never bothered me after that. No, I didn’t shed a tear. Not one drop. I threw my bat at him. Considering my ability to hit anything, I probably hit him, but I never looked back and walked off the field. My neighborhood male friends rallied around me.
A million years later, my youngest daughter played on a baseball team as a teen. She could hit and pitch. But she was a hitter. The coach didn’t have her in the lineup during a play-off game. He wasn’t happy with the fact that he had to allow a female on the team. He put up with her, but when it came to the big game, he didn’t want her near it. He wanted to win and was certain that a short female could cost him the game. Fortunately, the other guys on her team came to her rescue, and they refused to play if she wasn’t allowed to bat. The opposing team caught wind of what was going on so those players refused to play. To say I was so proud of those boys was an understatement! She played, but it delayed the game for quite awhile. I don’t remember who won or lost. That didn’t matter to me. I know she hit the ball and made it part of the way around the field. I was proud of my daughter and her male friends for sticking up for her.
Maybe my view of sports is a little skewed. I love ice hockey, but not the brutality of it, so I don’t watch it. I do love to watch figure skating, and I even watch the racing, but I don’t like short track. Skating really fast in a little circle with your hand on the ice is a sport? Make them carry a raw egg or something, tell them to keep their hands off the ice, and see how fast they can go.
Where is the sportsmanship in sports? Is that even taught anymore? I know that I had a lot of respect for the boys in my neighborhood. They allowed me to play even when girls weren’t supposed to be playing sports. That was so unladylike! And I was proud of my daughter’s friends. I was proud of those boys who taught my girls to play basketball in the driveway. Two of those boys grew up to play for the NFL. They knew how to play, shared their knowledge, and allowed any child in the neighborhood to play with them, even the ones that were too little to be playing with the big guys. They didn’t push or shove. They didn’t curse, and they were always polite.
But I guess my knowledge of American football is better relegated to a wooden board with pegs. Because as long as I know which direction I’m supposed to move the pegs, I can roll the dice and play, but I can’t keep score. A game and a cup of coffee go well together, and no one gets hurt playing.