If This is a Virus, I've Got it Bad!

"It's probably that bug, that virus that's been going around," said a friend. Little did she know that I'd just spent half the afternoon sitting on the edge of my sofa, screaming my fool head off during a Chicago Bears game (hence the orange script here). My team. Loved 'em since 1975. Still do. Loved 'em when nobody else did, cheered when everyone else boo'd. Gotta love any team that can produce a Dick Buttkus or a Refrigerator Perry or a Walter Peyton!

Just prior to that, I'd been yelling encouragement to the Pittsburgh Steelers (hence the black script here). My team. Loved 'em since 1975. Still do. Loved 'em when nobody else did, cheered when everyone else boo'd. Gotta love any team that can produce a Lynn Swan, or a Franco Harris or a Terry Bradshaw!

Whew. Okay. All that said, I must face the fact that I am an NFL two-timing hussy. I am "torn between two loves." When the Bears and Steelers recently faced off against each other, I was hollering for BOTH offenses to "SCORE SCORE SCORE!" and screaming for both defenses to "PUSH THEM BACK, DON'T LET THEM SCORE!" That game nearly was my psychological undoing!


I love NFL football (mostly MY teams!). Years ago, I pondered a question: Why on earth do men invent these roughneck games? Why, since gladiators fought in huge outdoor arenas and colliseums, have men always needed to pound the living daylights out of other men? And why have still other men - and women - loved to watch it? What is it that makes them love doing this?

Then a friend's husband demanded she and I sit in on a Steelers game. He explained the game to me and clued me in on all the terminology and I found myself getting very interested. And I stopped asking and starting getting answers.


There is something universally appealing about being a spectator at a contest of strength. Oh, you can say it's all about who can move the ball the most, who scores points. That may determine the winner of the game but believe you me, we are all watching and rooting for our teams and getting downright giddy when they knock the stuffing out of the opposition, or complete a TD by means of an intricate series of almost ballet-like leaps and bounds. We like to watch them win, for sure...and we boast about the standings, and their averages, and we DO keep track of point spreads and stats. But really, if all we wanted out of the game was to watch several men stand across from several other men and score points with a moving sphere, we could watch tennis. No, it's that thing in us that loves to see muscle pitted against muscle, brawn against brawn, the cave man or woman in us, that loves football.


When I began watching pro ball in the mid-1970's, I was fortunate enough to come in when Dick Buttkus was playing for the Bears. They had a lot of microphones right down near the field, technology not being what it is now...and you could hear these big men growl and grunt and even threaten each other. I can't count how many times I heard Mr. B growl out, "Yer goin' DOWWWNNN!" And his predictions came true more often than not, and it was FUN to watch him hurl big burly men around like so many sacks of wet flour. It was FUN to watch Walter Peyton run that field like a cheetah and leave his opponents behind him like it was no big deal.


When Terry Bradshaw, with the Steelers, threw a pass and Franco Harris caught it, it was FUN to watch all those big muscle-bound men throwing themselves every which way to try to stop him, while he deftly leaped right over them and ran the TD home. It was FUN to watch LC Greenwood, Mean Joe Green, that entire Iron Curtain Defense, just nail the living daylights out of the opposing team.


Yeah, it was exciting when MY team stopped the opposing team's men from scoring points...points matter! It was thrilling to see MY team cross that goal line and score! But the FUN came from hearing the SMACK! of helmet against helmet, the UGH! OOF! of a big man getting the wind half-knocked out of him, the FUN came from watching the huddle on a winter day when players' breathing sent puffs of frosty breath billowing up into the air like so many steam engines standing in the station. It was FUN to watch cleats connect with wet earth when it rained and snowed, tearing up huge divets until the lines were no longer visible, the field a sea of brown soggy earth, and the football had to be set on a towel so that it could be snapped; seeing uniforms so muddy and grass-stained that you were no longer quite sure who was who...you had to know who players were by how they moved and played. Something can be exciting without being fun. This stuff is FUN.


Now, I am a lady who spends most of her time sitting or standing, busying herself doing country crafting, re-finishing furniture, creating art, photography, or cooking up a storm in her kitchen. I write poetry. I sing in public. I feed the birds and squirrels and go outside just to smell my pretty flowers and look at my beautiful garden. I am a woman who loves my family and friends and can spend hours visiting with them and telling them how special they are. I cherish them and grab every opportunity to say "I love you". I am a woman with a very soft heart, a forgiving spirit, a generous nature. I am tender and love to laugh, playful and very accepting of the 'little girl' that still lives in me (she likes to walk in mud puddles and go barefoot and say silly things sometimes), and my heart overflows with wonder at the beauty all around me and within my imagination. Music moves me. I don't suffer stupidity OR hurtful vanities gladly. I can be stubborn and opinionated, but my heart breaks very easily. Yet, there is a part of me that every fall, while rhapsodizing over the falling leaves and changing season, while preparing my first big pot of spiced cider, while wondering if I shall finish the French Country chair, or create a new design for my Christmas cards, can't wait to grab a cold beverage, sit down on that couch, turn on the game, get hubby beside me, and start pounding the sofa arms, inching forward until I nearly fall on the floor, and screaming like a banshee over my teams.


The BEARS...the STEELERS...Loved 'em since 1975. Still do. Always loved being an artistic, creative, tender-hearted lady. Still do. Somehow, it all works. Go figure. And while you ponder, would you be so kind as to pass the popcorn?