Posted on 08/02/2002 7:09:56 AM PDT by Stand Watch Listen
This is the time of year when men all across the country become giddy with anticipation. It's the season when men begin checking their remote controls for proper function, arrange a redundant backup plan in case of a systems failure in remote number one, kiss their wives good-bye, and do their part for the economy by bravely pushing Frito-Lay and Anheuser-Busch stock to new heights. It's a time when blood, sweat, and tears are shed, and yet we bravely move forward undaunted — mainly because it's not our blood, sweat, and tears. That's right folks, it's almost football season.
Real football fans have already had the Hank Williams Jr. song, "Are you ready for some football" bouncing around inside their heads since about two weeks after last years Pro Bowl. When football season ends, you can sense a distinct national depression among the male population. Some men jump straight into hockey season for an uninterrupted supplication of their violence needs, but most go into a hibernation not seen since a grizzly bear ate a camper whose pockets were stuffed with Benadryl.
Unfortunately for my team, the Detroit Lions, when they hear, "Are you ready for some football?" They collectively yell back, "No!" I'm stuck here in Michigan, a Lions fan by geographic default. I often sit back and envy people who live in cities that more or less usually have good teams. Those of you in Pittsburgh, Green Bay, St. Louis, and so on, might not fully appreciate how good you have it. Try being a fan of a team that wins so rarely, it's become more of a solstice than a victory. At least if you go to a Lions game you get a chance to see lots of points racked up... by the other team. The Lions secondary gets scored on like Madonna while in New York City during Fleet Week.
I don't mean to pick on my team. The true fan understands when his team is in a rebuilding century. On the plus side, we've now got a nicer stadium than the more victorious cities. Ownership has forgone attempts to bring a victorious team to Detroit, and has instead opted for comfort via a nice new stadium. Like a crack dealer that drives a really nice Cadillac, we're complete losers, but losers in style. The Lions new home, Ford Field, cost $300 million. That means that if this year is like last year, we're paying $150 million per victory. Show me any other city willing to make that kind of commitment.
With the anticipation building as another football season approaches, men aren't the only ones who are excited. Football has seen a tremendous growth in the number of female fans, and they can't wait for the season to start either. Even the women who aren't football fans are excited at this very moment. Not because it's almost football season, but because as I write this, it's almost time for Oprah.
With the beginning of football season comes events and happenings that are purely American. Excluding British Parliament, who else in the world puts on silly big wigs, paints their faces, chests, and whatever else, and makes complete fools of themselves on national television? In what other country could you see a child awestruck after meeting his favorite multi-millionaire football hero, and later see his father try to explain to him why the same player's picture is on a bulletin board at the post office? Where else can you turn on your television and wonder why an undercooked spiral sliced ham is talking to you, only to find out that it's John Madden? Where else would you find people who were so convinced they were the best that they could declare themselves "world champions" even though the never played anybody outside of the contiguous 48 states? That's what helps make this America, and that's why we love football.
It's almost here. I can envision game day already. I can smell the ribs cooking on the barbecue and see the people consuming beer like there's no tomorrow at a tailgate party. There's a man deep-frying a turkey in a gutted washing machine basin. I see a guy with a chunk of cheese on his head who has passed out drunk in the parking lot, forcing a griller to improvise and serve burgers to his guests using the man's back as a serving tray. Another group nearby is bowling, using empty vodka bottles as pins and knocking them down by rolling a half empty keg at them. I look at my watch. It's only eight a.m. Still five hours to kickoff. Awesome.
Are you ready for some football? I am.
Good Lord, you couldn't be more wrong.
My hatred of the Cryboys is pure, genuine, and sincere.
GO STEELERS!
Go Vikes!!!!
It's just not the same anymore.
Not on Free Republic, anyway.
Where were these women when I was dating? Where, I ask!?
Plus the fact that your in iggles country means you'd probably get shot. ;o)
What did you say? I didn't hear you. ;)
Disclaimer: Opinions posted on Free Republic are those of the individual posters and do not necessarily represent the opinion of Free Republic or its management. All materials posted herein are protected by copyright law and the exemption for fair use of copyrighted works.