Ah football season… it’s almost over right?… What?
Ok, ok I can’t say I’ve been the biggest fan of the sport and I come from a family who really, really, really loves their football. My mom and I are the only exceptions to this “lovers to the end” category. Every year, every season it’s the same, game days at the stadium, which I have always voluntarily avoided partaking in, and game days at the home, which I am almost always painfully forced to attend. My deliberate exclusion from these game festivities has been made even more apparent by the immediate indoctrination of my boyfriend and three year old nephew. Their conversion to the Seahawks horde was clear. The blue and green war paint and Russell Wilson jerseys marked them as full fledged members of the Grace family football fanatics. My brother too, makes his home team support known all the way from Boston, Massachusetts. He always looks like a clown with green lips and a blue feathered boa. It would seem that my mother and I are the last survivors of the human race. Could be worse right?
How do I survive this apocalypse of NFL madness? It’s not easy because the house becomes completely packed with painted faces, an always occupied bathroom, and enough noise to shatter every window. There is no where to hide from the beer kegs, chip bowls, and non-vegetarian food platters; except for the kitchen. The kitchen is the safe zone, the holy grail of normalcy, the one safe place in the house from touchdown stampedes, and the one place of security from being bear hugged by four different guys I never met before. Game time for my mom and me is a few hours of isolation, girl talk, and the downing of an entire bottle of wine. It is important time to connect and reconnect with her and it also doubles as a support group for those of us who “survive” game day.
This game day was a little different though. Well actually, it was a lot different. I wasn’t at home, I wasn’t around the scores of screaming fans, I wasn’t in the kitchen getting drunk with my mom, and I wasn’t wishing a quick end to the game… or the day in general. This time, for the first time in my foot ball watching career, I was wishing it would never end. Why? This is why:
I wasn’t simply watching a game of football or rather “surviving” a game of football. What I was having was a playful argument over whether the yellow penalty flag was really a yellow wedge of cheese, I was laughing over some silly joke about “tight ends”, I was holding hands and having a discussion about what Pete Carroll’s favorite flavor of bubble gum is, and for the first time I was truly enjoying a game of football, because I was with someone that meant the world to me. I was with him.