Thursday, October 4, 2007

Paying Attention

Little plays football: ‘A’ team, first string, defensive lineman.

Fortunately for him, I’m more the artsy-fartsy Mom, so Big Daddy has to take over the bulk of sporting conversation. I go to his games, cheer him on, and pass out cold hamburgers at the booster meetings, but I just don’t ‘get it’ like Big Daddy does.

And this is a good thing.

Boys need their Daddy for football conversation and their Momma for advice on how to counteract the acne outbreak from the chin strap.

This is the first year he has played consistently and since his first game a month ago I have been waiting for his name to be called over the loud speaker after making a momentous play.

Cut to last night.

There we are sitting in the bleachers in a torrential down pour, huddled under an umbrella watching Little play football.

‘He’s gotta keep his hands on the ball!” Says Big Daddy.
“He couldn’t get his arm around it much tighter. It’s so wet.” Says Me.
“When you’ve got three men tackling you, you have to keep both hands on the ball!” Says Big Daddy.
“Well, then why don’t you get out there then if you know so much.” Says, well, uh, Me.

It went down hill from there.

Granted he wasn’t talking about Little, but Big Daddy and I aren’t on the same page when it comes to watching sporting events. He sits quietly studying every move and muttering/commenting to himself.

After awhile, I get distracted by other things-the smell of the food and the dumb cheers that are being led by seemingly six year old girls. I watch people pass by. I go visit. I get up to get a Coke. I go pee. I get up again to get some nachos. Last night, trapped under the umbrella, I commented on the poor sound quality of the PA system.

While I was commenting, (or had my head up my ass, as I like to translate) I missed an important announcement:

“And the tackle is made by number 54, Little Britches!”

I have to pause here and admit that his pseudonym totally sucks for this post. Somehow his real name shouted over a loud speaker for the whole stadium to hear is much cooler. Or it would have been if I’d bothered to shut my pie-hole and pay attention!

Next week I’m going to sit my butt down and stay there. I’m going to lose ten pounds by ignoring the call of the concession stand. I’m going to eschew my visiting friends. I’m going to watch attentively and listen to every sound coming out of the PA.

I will not be moved!

Yeah and monkeys might fly out my ass. (When I get up to go pee)

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