Monday, January 21, 2008

In Which I Attempt to Watch Football

I can rattle off the many ways in which football is evil, but I still enjoy watching the very occasional game. (Where I grew up, the world was divided fairly clearly into two kinds of people: Buffalo Bills fans, and People Who Are Not From Around Here. I still shudder at the mere mention of the name “Scott Norwood.”) Last night I finally got to watch my first game of the season. Last night's highlight reel, with the camera trained on the living room:

Early in the first quarter, as I attempt to decode the game for The Boy, who is trying to watch: “After each play, they have Circle Time to decide what to do next, just like in preschool.”

Later in the first quarter:

The Boy: Why did that man jump on that other man?

DD: That's called tackling. He's supposed to.

TB: That looks like it hurts!

DD: Yeah. The players get hurt a lot.

TB: I'd rather play basketball.

DD: Good idea.

Early in the second quarter:

TW: More commercials?

DD: Yeah, they do that any time there's a change of possession.

TB: They showed this one already!

TW: You'll notice they're all for beer or cars. That's what men like.

DD: I don't get terribly worked up about either.

TB: I like cartoons.

DD: Yeah.

Shortly before halftime:

TW: I have to color my hair. So you can do touchups in the back during halftime.

DD: (wan smile)

And I did. The hermetically-sealed plastic gloves are incredibly uncomfortable and hard to take off without tearing. I don't dye my own hair, so I really don't have the foggiest idea what I'm doing. And there's something unsettling about experimenting on your wife's head. (Besides, how many synonyms for 'brown' are there in the English language?) It also doesn't quite fit the whole Manly Male Masculine Man Stuff for Guys vibe I'm trying to cultivate. It's hard to look dashing when pulling those saran wrap gloves off by the fingertips. But the job gets done.

The second half featured heavy DVR use, so I could keep taking towels out of the dryer and folding them on the couch.

Sad, really.

Not quite as sad as the Super Bowl in which I spent the entire third quarter adjusting the shoulder straps for a carseat, but still.

Someday The Boy will understand. Until then, I'm pretty good at wan smiles.