A quarter of a century later and still writing about the big game

FATHER’S DAZE
Emmitt B. Feldner  for The Review

We all made it through another big final professional football game of the year.

I’d call it the S**** B***, but I’m afraid the NFL’s Copyright Police might find me and subject me to some form of capital punishment – maybe a year of watching Houston Texans 2013 highlights non-stop.

I could, a la Stephen Colbert, call it the Superb Owl, but to me that sounds more like a Quidditch game at Hogwarts than a football championship game.

It was a significant game for me this year, not because I’m a Seattle Seahawks, Denver Broncos or Peyton Manning fan.

No, it was 25 years ago, following that year’s big game, that I wrote the first of these Father’s Daze columns – which was about watching the game with my family.

I even called the game by its official name in that column and the NFL Copyright Police still haven’t found me, but I’m just hoping they don’t have a longer statute of limitations than the federal government.

Of course, I couldn’t have called it the Superb Owl then, since that was long before anybody had heard of Stephen Colbert, Quidditch or Harry Potter.

For that game, we had three children in the family - ages 8, 5 and 1 ½ – to watch the game along with their dear old Dad.

For this year’s game, it was just my wife and I around the house – and the dog, but Gracie has even less interest in the game than Terry and certainly a lot less interest than me.

Terry does watch the game, but like much of the vast audience, she watches more for the commercials than for the game itself.

This year at least, the commercials proved more entertaining than the game, and they were less entertaining than in many past years, which doesn’t say much for the quality of the game itself.

Over the years, we’ve hosted parties for large groups of friends, gone to parties at other friends’ – and family’s – homes, and watched more than a few of the big games quietly at home – at least as quietly as I can watch a football game.

I do have to admit, I’ve gotten a lot less rowdy and active in my football watching over the years – the same can also be said for a great number of my pursuits, I’m afraid to say.

For instance, my recounting of watching the big game 25 years ago included the following:

“During the third quarter, the kids got into the spirit of the day and I joined them in a rousing game of football across the living room (while, of course, keeping one eye on the set). However, the game was quickly called off by the commissioner (otherwise known as my wife) when several of her plants and a couple of pieces of china were carried off the field on stretchers.”

If I were to try that these days, I’d be carried off the field on a stretcher long before any of the houseplants or china.

And if I tried playing football against either of my Armytrained sons, they wouldn’t need a stretcher to carry me off the field – just a large plastic bag to put the pieces in.


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