You know that Monday Night Football song where they scream "Are you ready for some FOOTBALL?!" I always felt slightly pleased with myself, because for me the answer was always a quiet, self-satisfied "nope", and I felt so happy knowing that I didn't have to be ready for some football, because my husband, bless his heart, didn't watch it. Oh, he played it in highschool, but he's just not one of those sports guys. We go to baseball games sometimes, and occasionally we'd catch basketball on the tube, but thank God, we didn't live or die by what games we got to see on television.
When I was growing up, my dad and my brothers LOVED watching sports. And it used to scare the bejesus out of me, because they were SCREAMERS. They'd get so worked up, they'd yell and shout and I was just a delicate flower and it made me jumpy. I HATED it when sports were on. I'd retreat to the back bedroom and play "Cockles and Mussles" on my chord organ, or head downstairs to play Barbie dolls.
So imagine my surprise when our son started to like sports. He's this sensitive, artsy rocker kid, but last year my brother-in-law and nephew watched him while my sister and I hit the sales. On Super Bowl Sunday. That was it. He had to watch the rest of the game at home, and for the last couple months has been BEGGING me to get him some kind of a football jersey. Well, we did a little school shopping the other day, and I picked up a Seahawks jersey on sale. How was I to know they suck? I don't watch football. But the neighbor kid informed me, but then added, "it looks nice though!"
Today, JH and his daddy were out playing a little football, so I took out the camera. And it's weird, because even though it's not a ritual here, it felt like Autumn had arrived.