I don’t get football. I really don’t. Here it is, a cloudy and rainy Sunday night straight out of a Hitchcock film, and I’m sitting here with my dad in our living room watching a game on the boob tube just like millions of other Americans are doing right now. It’s an American custom and God only knows why. Hey…. for all I know God himself is probably kicking back and taking it easy up there in Heaven with a beer and enjoying the game too. Wonder who He might be rooting for?
There’s no denying that Sunday night football is the highlight of the week for a whole lot of people and yet I honestly can’t embrace it. Clearly I missed out on the football gene so I don’t get a thing out of it. My dad, and my brother too, are devoted football fans who appreciate the art and adrenaline of the game in ways I can only imagine, but prefer not to. For me, there just isn’t much to see. So far as I can tell, you have these two teams consisting of meatball jocks who are decked out in body armor and padding who fight and run around while carrying this odd looking ball that looks like it was designed by the military. Most Americans find entertainment in that. Me? I prefer watching the cheerleaders instead. Pity the sports broadcasters hardly ever show them.
