I don't know about you, but my Sundays (and some Saturdays) since September have been filled with football. I have a husband and a son who are fairly smitten with watching overgrown boys run around a field in any type of weather throwing and chasing a ball, and then falling upon one another to retrieve what seems to be as valuable as the Hope diamond, ignoring that they are potentially crushing someone else's -- or their own -- skull.
It is commonplace on these long weekend afternoons for my two boys to sit on our family room couch, snacking on thick, extra-dark pretzels (paying no attention to the crumbs and salt bits that fall in between the couch cushions), tossing a football and tackling one another or our dog during commercials -- and drinking. If my 12-year-old is feeling really hyped up for the event, he'll ask if he can have a soda -- usually saved only for special occasions in our house -- while my husband opts for a cold Saranac Black & Tan, his beer of choice on these special game days.
When game time begins and all players -- and viewers -- prepare for the coin toss (or, on some days, the pre-game show), that's my clue to take to the living room. I'll usually curl up on the couch, with either a cup of tea or a glass of wine close by -- book, newspaper and laptop at the ready for at least four hours of quiet time (save for the occasional shrieks coming from the next room).
Once in a while, my husband will gently request that I come and join them to watch a replay of some player running 40 or 50 yards down the field and then doing some kind of tribal dance in the end zone (that's actually my favorite part). I oblige for the sake of my son -- wouldn't want him to think that his mom isn't a woman with varied interests!
And then, I retreat to my corner in the next room. Happy. My husband chugs his beer and my son his soda, and both scream at the TV. I sip my wine (or tea), cozily engaging in my reading and/or writing. So, in truth, it turns out that football days are not so bad. This coming Sunday is the almighty Super Bowl. There will probably be a lot of noise coming from our house as of 6:30 p.m. EST, when the Baltimore Ravens and San Francisco 49ers take to the field (full disclosure: I had to ask a friend who was playing). I may hide out at a neighbor's house. Or maybe, just maybe, I'll put down my book, opt for a beer, and relocate to sit with the boys, pretending that I actually care.