Where Did I Put That Crystal Football?

Now, anyone who knows me even slightly knows that I am anything BUT a sports fan. When we were growing up, my sister wanted to be an astronaut and clamored to be taken to football games. I wanted to be an actress and clamored to be taken to Kmart (where all the nice clothes were). Long ago I said "no" to football and "yes" to black lace. It works for me, and how. But that's another blog. Truth is (stranger than fiction), I'm married to a jock who comes from a whole family of jocks. My father-in-law was a member of the team that traveled with and played against the Harlem Globetrotters in arenas all over America in the early '50s. He knew "Goose" Tatum personally! He later made a career out of coaching high school basketball and track (when he wasn't teaching math). Even my mother-in-law majored in Physical Education (at Bowling Green State University) way back when. I did everything possible to avoid phys ed! I hated dressing out and playing kickball, or any kind of ball. I'd rather do the math, and believe me that's saying something.

All four of our children played sports in high school, though -- volleyball and basketball for the girls, soccer and basketball for the boy -- plus which my husband paid for his own college education by playing basketball and has been a coach for over 30 years -- and not only did I learn a little bit about those three games over the years, but I learned to enjoy watching student athletes play them, especially if the student athletes in question had once occupied my womb. I would say I enjoy watching my husband coach, but if you saw what a wild man he turns into when he coaches, you would know why I decline to say that! Some people come to the games just to watch him coach! It's something to see on a long, otherwise boring winter night. Referees love to "T" him up on a regular basis, whether he yells at them or not. He's real tall and when those arms get to flailing and the veins pop out on the side of his neck as he "instructs" his players from the sidelines during a close game, you're just very thankful you didn't make the cut.

But my husband played football (and basketball, and ran track) in high school, and he loves to watch football (and basketball, and baseball, and track, and golf, and even bull riding) both as an in-the-stands spectator and on television. He's equally enthusiastic about attending professional, college, and even high school, sporting events. For our first date he took me to a major league baseball game; for our second date it was a high school football game. I have mercifully forgotten our third date. When we were dating and first married, living in the Chicago area, he used to drag me (well, practically drag me) to see the Chicago Bulls play basketball. This was in the days when Michael Jordan was only making about eight million dollars a year (you know ... his salad days), but I was too ignorant to be impressed. We sat so far up in the stands anyway, the players (all millionaires) looked like they were about two inches tall, fighting over a ball about the size of a BB. It was less than riveting for me, lest you doubt. But I was in love! I was going to dance with the one who brought me. Enough said.

Yesterday my husband bounded into the office we share here at home, yelling. "South Carolina is beating LSU!" He announced this as though a cure for cancer had just been discovered and it was his job to let everyone know. I kept typing but looked up. Let me explain. We live in South Carolina, so my husband roots for the University of South Carolina Gamecocks. "Steve Spurrier is a genius!" he regularly crows regarding their coach, successor of the irascible Lou Holtz, whom if I cared at all I would have actually liked better. But even though I am not a sports fan, and I'm even less of a football fan than I am a sports fan in general, no matter who is playing against LSU (Louisiana State University, for the uninitiated), I am on principle going to "root" for LSU.

"The Tigers will beat up on the Gamecocks 'fore it's over," I prognosticated, knowing nothing about the 2007 LSU Tigers except that they are in fact a team put together by Louisiana State University in Baton Rouge, and they were presumably at that moment engaged in a football game against the South Carolina Gamecocks. What else did I need to know?

It was a home game for the Tigers, as it turned out, attended by nearly 93,000 fans (the third-largest crowd in the history of Tiger Stadium). See, my mother grew up in Baton Rouge. She went to Istrouma High School and, before marrying my father when she was only sixteen, dated a few LSU football players. I have eaten more than one Po' Boy sandwich within sight of the mascot Tiger's cage on the LSU campus, where the trees drip Spanish moss like lace from a southern belle's sleeve. When I was a teenager I remember being able to hear, through the open windows of our little frame house in Baton Rouge, the roaring from the crowds at LSU football games. I still recall the chants of "Archie Whooooo?" floating on the hot, humid fall air when Archie Manning, quarterback for Ole Miss, came to town with his band of miscreants and faced the Tigers.

Since my husband was practically beside himself with joy about the turn of events in the game between the Gamecocks and the Tigers, a few moments later I got up and went to investigate. Turns out when he made his glad announcement, the Gamecocks had just scored their first touchdown. The score was 7-0 and it was still the first quarter. "No way will they beat the Tigers," I predicted once more. My husband looked morose. "Truth is, the Tigers are the number-two team in the country right now," he admitted. Sure enough, as I stood there in the middle of the TV room on my way to the kitchen for a Caffeine-free Diet Pepsi (my hooch of choice), I saw something that is most likely one of the Reasons People Watch Football In The First Place. LSU, in the person of tiny Trindon Holliday (recently dubbed "College Football's Fastest Man") scored a touchdown after a rather breathtaking 33-yard whatever-you-call-it into the end zone! He looked like the reincarnation of Walter Payton doing it, too. Let's cut to the chase: LSU won, 28-16. Go Tigers. Steve Spurrier may be a genius, but Les Miles clearly has a better team (and he's cuter too). Although it's been over 30 years since I lived in Baton Rouge, I'll have to admit I felt a frisson of pride for the "home" team. Them roots go deep, y'all.

Amazingly enough, as much as I try to avoid overdosing on any kind of sporting event in real life, I adore movies about sports. Among my favorites: for basketball, Hoosiers and Glory Road ... for baseball, The Rookie, A League Of Their Own, Pride of the Yankees, and of course Field of Dreams ... for golf, Bobby Jones, Stroke of Genius ... for football, Remember the Titans, Brian's Song, Friday Night Lights, and my absolute all-time favorite sports movie, Rudy ... you get the idea. I love those movies! You always know how they're going to end but somehow it only makes the ride better.

I also make every attempt to appreciate the fashion aspect of sports. My husband is from Ohio, home of the OSU Buckeyes. I worked for a few years at a law firm in Columbus, where one of my co-workers was such a rabid OSU fan that she made (and insisted that each of the legal assistants wear) necklaces consisting of real buckeyes and red beads on stretchy silver cord! Thank goodness that was only for game days, because big brown nut jewelry is really not my thing! She was a love, though, and how she loves her Buckeyes, so we all indulged her. By that I mean, we wore our necklaces as we ate the "tailgate" snacks she had brought! They (OSU that is) at least have pretty colors: red (I think they call it scarlet), white, black and silver-gray. I can do that! The South Carolina Gamecocks have lovely colors too: garnet and black. Sometimes people around here go overboard with that (I myself would draw the line well before painting the walls garnet and the ceiling black) but in moderation it's pretty.

When we lived in Tennessee, I had to say "no way" to wearing the neon orange color of the University of Tennessee Volunteers, even while at work on game days. Mercy. I have nothing against the color orange per se, and I happen to love the fruit it's named for, but when the orange is a shade so lurid it makes day-glo look dull in comparison, I must point out that it is simply incompatible with my complexion and therefore out of the question as a wardrobe choice. I have been to at least one UT game and I will admit that it was exciting to see the "Pride of the Southland" band -- its members forming the shape of a giant "T" -- run out onto the field at Neyland Stadium while blaring Rocky Top, but after that excitement was over, it was just another endurance contest for me. Do you know how hot it can be in East Tennessee in September, or how wet and rainy in October? They give you all of 11 inches of seat to sit in, and I think the game I attended went into extra innings. It lasted approximately 8 hours, I'm almost certain. I'd just rather be at home, reading a book or watching Johnny Depp outwit some pirates or some criminals or even some hometown heroes.

So the burning question remains: will the LSU Tigers make it down to New Orleans for the Sugar Bowl on New Year's Day? Let me consult my crystal football ...