I’m a football fan and enjoy the Super Bowl as much as most people, but it brings back bad memories from the early ’90’s. Yes, I’m a Buffalo Bills fan. Many of us try to convince ourselves that it was great just getting there four years in a row, but that’s just a rationalization to keep us sane. I try to block out the bad stuff, like Norwood’s wide left, Thurman’s missing helmet, and me crying in the fetal position in the bathtub, but reminders come out of the woodwork this time of year. Yesterday, I turned on ESPN just in time to see the football just miss the goal post and witness Bill Parcells being carried across the field with a huge grin on his face. This rebroadcast brought that feeling of eating three spicy burritos in less than ten minutes back to my stomach.
Since the Bills aren’t there, again, I’m hoping to enjoy the game for what it usually is, an over-exposed spectacle of hopefully funny commercials often interrupted by some poorly played football. I love that the winners of this usually lopsided contest are declared the world champions even though all the teams play in the U.S. Do sports leagues in other countries make similar proclamations? For instance, does the Nigerian Shoeless Sprinting League declare their race winner the world champion shoeless runner? Or does the Fiji Clam Shucker Association declare the best shucker a world champion? I really don’t know, but I doubt it.
I think I’m just jaded because my beloved Bills have never been deemed world champions. The way they played the second half of the season shows me that we still have hope they’ll make it someday. Unfortunately, it usually only takes a few games in the beginning of the season to say maybe next year. Go Bills!
My pick for this year is the Kevin Federline commercial, er, I mean, the Colts by more than ten.
Why should applause be reserved for athletes and performers? That’s what my boy thinks. He didn’t actually verbalize this, but showed it by clapping when my wife handed him a sippy cup full of milk last night. The gratitude shown by him was the equivalent of giving him a shiny new Lightning McQueen toy instead of a tastey calcium-enriched beverage.
Come to think of it, this might not be his original idea because he watched the NFL championship games with me on Sunday and as I wrote about a while back, More is Caught than Taught. They must have shown the Peyton Manning commercial about a dozen times. You know, the one that has him applauding people performing tasks at their mundane jobs.
Whether or not he came up with this appreciative gesture on his own is insignificant, the most important thing is that he knows how to generate good will toward his fellow man (or woman)… or at the least that he knows how to wrap us around his pudgy booger-covered finger.
There are moments in your lifetime that you’ll never forget. I was lucky enough to experience one the other day. My boy made me proud. With a little help from a punter’s picture and repeated attempts of “watching” the game together he finally gave me his approval. He’s a football fan. At least that’s what I’m deducting from recent and past events that took place.
When he was an infant (6 or 7 months old) he cried whenever we changed the channel during a football game… like father, like son. This was the first promising sign.
This season he wasn’t exposed to the game much early on because of outside factors, such as: me working; the Bills sucked; the October Surprise storm; and the Wiggles’ concert. In November the TV was on more because the team played better and he liked hearing his sister say “Go Bills” almost as much as I did.
The final push the boy needed came from the signed picture of Moorman, Brian the Bills’ punter that his Papa (my father-in-law) gave him. The framed picture hanging on his bedroom wall brings out a war cry of “Football” every time he looks at it. I guess it sounds more like footbaw, but that’s close enough. This grunted expression sends chills down my spine. Good chills, that is.
Hopefully this passion for the gridiron sticks so I can live vicariously through him, er, I mean because we’ll bond while watching together. I know that a child should choose his or her own likings, but it doesn’t hurt to steer them in a certain direction to see if it peaks their interests. I mean if the kid becomes a soccer fan instead I won’t love him any less… I think.