Football

I am an analytical person. At times this serves me well, at times it does not. In the dating days of Robert and Sara, I realized that if I was going to be spending all of my time with this man, I should try to enjoy the things that he enjoys. The thing he happened and happens to enjoy most of all: football, namely the Denver Broncos. One Sunday afternoon I decided to settle in next to him on the couch in my living room to watch a bit of throw the pigskin from one heavily padded man in uniform to the other heavily padded man in the same color uniform while the other heavily padded men in the opposite color uniform tried to stop the pigskin from moving. Okay, so I was not that ignorant or naïve about the game but if I am going to do something it’s not going to be half assed, and if I am going to watch this sport I want to understand it, really understand it.

My husband is not the sort of man who likes to have a chat; especially during football and no way in hell does he want to start up a conversation when the orange and blue are on the field. I sat in silence with him; I was in silence, he was yelling some choice words at the screen and the players. They couldn’t hear him, they had their helmets on. Once half time was over and the Broncos were winning, I decided it was time to ask a few questions. I started with; how many men are on the field at once? Easy! 22 players, 11 from each team. The guy who gets his rear touched by the Quarterback is the Center right: Right. The end zone is the 10 yard line to the goal, yes? Yes! A few similar questions followed and he answered them curtly, then it happened. The analytical Sara sat straight up in her chair, squared her shoulders, tucked her hair behind her ears, folded her hands nicely in her lap and asked the question: what is a down? Please see dialogue exchange below:

Sara: What’s a down?

Robert: What do you mean what’s a down?

Sara: Well, you said each team has four attempts to get a first down right?

Robert: Yeah.

Sara: So, what’s a down?

Robert: It’s a down, if they get 10 yards they get a first down, IT’S A DOWN!

Sara: Okay, I get that but what is a down? What is the definition of a down? Is the ball down? Is the player down? Is the whole team down because they can’t get a down and they need some Gatorade to make them feel better and not be so down?

Robert: …..

This went on for a record 45 minutes and was never really resolved. You see, men who really like football don’t have time to explain these things, especially to a woman who has to know every minute detail to what she wants to understand what the heck is going on amongst the grass and painted lines. Men, just want to watch the game, yell at the screen and celebrate along with the team and fellow fans. It may not have been a “is this chicken or tuna” conversation but in the land of men and football, it might as well have been.

I can say that I still don’t have my definition of a down, I get the concept but I don’t have the definition, not my definition of a definition. Today, we will still watch the men throw the pigskin around when in season. The 11 players from each team take the field and have their go at their downs; the center still gets felt up. I mention the losing team needs some Gatorade to lighten their spirits; I get silence as his response. I still try to be a part of this world of football, even though I use non-football related terms to translate a play that he couldn’t be in front of the TV to see at the time. He corrects me with the appropriate terminology and I respond “that’s what I said, booty traps!” After eight years together, he is getting used to it!

Dragonflies

Among many things in my life that I am obsessed with, insects are one of them. Dragonflies hold a special place in my psyche. I am not obsessed in a Trekkie kind of way, I am obsessed in the way that while they fascinate me with their beauty, they also scare the crap out of me. I am not a fan of insects, even beautiful Dragonflies.

Point in fact: one morning say, about 10 years ago I was watering my garden before heading to work. I enjoyed this task in the early morning as it relaxed me and prepared me for the onslaught of name calling awaiting me at the Cashiers window at the local community college where I worked. Upon completing my task, the Pug and I walked around the corner to the front door of my house and I stalled. There on the screen to the door I needed to open was a big beautiful Dragonfly. Did I say big? I mean absolutely HUGE. It was a reddish purplish color, it was beautiful and it wasn’t moving. I thought that maybe it sensed my gargantuan figure approaching and it would fly off towards my head, I would scream and run, but all would be right with the world. Or possibly we could communicate by telepathy and he could hear my chanting of “please fly away, please fly away.” But it didn’t move. I tried taking the broom from the porch to shoo it away, but it wouldn’t budge. I was trapped. This insect, beautiful as it was, but insect none the less was fixed upon my screen, just inches away from the handle, a handle there was no way in hell I was attempting to touch with those legs and wings and eyeballs so close, no way! I decided I would just go around to the back door to get inside, maybe jiggle the screen from the inside and off Senor Dragonfly would go, no dice, the back door was locked. I was good at being consistent and locking my doors from the unsightly burglars that may want to steal by beautiful turntable or my aging arthritic Pug.

Back to the front yard I peered around the corner to the front door; he was still there. I racked my brain for ways to get him off the screen, the hose! I could lightly spray the bugger and he would fly away. Well, I did, he did, but he flew straight towards me and then, with his Dragonfly ability, flew directly back to his spot on the screen. I don’t know, maybe with the desert heat, even in the early morning, he found solace and peace on my screen, but he wasn’t moving. His place on my screen was as solid as Gibraltar.

After several attempts and roughly a half hour gone by, he decided he had enough of this strange creature messing with his meditation and finally left. It still took me several minutes to muster up the courage to walk to the front door. When I finally got in with a running start I was shaking my shirt and hair just to make sure he didn’t come back and hitch a ride as revenge for the numerous showers.

I was late to work that morning. This was before everyone and their child had a cell phone, so I couldn’t call in to let them know that I was stranded and to send the hunky firemen from Station 33 for help. I just got in my car and drove straight there. I arrived to work traumatized, but managed to make it through the day. To this day, when I hear the buzzing of insect wings or see a flash of purple and red out of the corner of my eye I duck and cover and pray my door screens are free and clear.