Most Sundays around here there is football playing throughout much of the day. Mark will say that he hardly watches any football and this is true.
When he’s asleep.
I wander in and out of the room and in and out of the games. I know enough about the sport to follow it, but there are some things I just can’t get past.
If somebody barreled into me with their big, sweaty body and knocked me to the ground I would cry. If all eyes were on me and I dropped the ball I would cry. If I got off the field, sat on the bench and hurled in front of t.v. cameras I would cry.
For the most part I keep these things to myself. Or rather, Mark has heard all of these thoughts a thousand times and doesn’t want to hear them in the middle of a game.
Again.
Despite my efforts, when I see a hard hit (which is all the time) I will wince and say things like, “This is such a violent sport. Why do you like to watch men getting their brains rattled around inside their skulls?”
Mark must think this is one of those philosophical questions that the universe has pondered since time began because he never answers.
This week my mom, sister and brother-in-law were in town and we all went to a soccer game. Sporting KC.
There were hits and wipeouts and tumbles and plenty of injuries. I sat next to Maggie (who is a season ticket holder with her hubs) and she explained to me that these players weren’t really hurt but rather milking it to stop the game and to give their players a chance to rest.
I didn’t think so. There was grimacing and rocking back and forth in pain, knees that looked wonky and bloody noses. There were lots of body parts getting sprayed with some sort of numbing painkiller because after a few shots of that the injured player would slowly rise to his feet, straighten up and play would resume.
If an injured player required a stretcher (which was about four times that night) the crowd would chant, “BRING OUT YOUR DEAD……….BRING OUT YOUR DEAD.”
Bring out your dead? Really, people, is that necessary? Especially when the team is from Nicaragua and probably doesn’t comprehend Kansas and its people who seemed to need a sympathy check.
After ninety minutes of play the game ended in a tie. There was no winner. There was no loser……..
………..but there was me and I discovered another sport that troubles me about the future of all mankind.
My Girl Card is intact, shiny and loaded with empathy for the weekend when the Chicago Bears vs. the Pittsburgh Steelers on Sunday night. I’m already feeling some deep thoughts emerging that I feel compelled to share with a man.
A Bear Man with a beer can.
