I don’t have children but my countdown to the beginning of the school season is just as exciting. There are no giant red X’s on any calendars but the anticipation for the first week of September is palpable. While the teachers prepare their rooms with the letters of the alphabet strung across the top of the chalk boards, I am only concerned with three of those letters. N-F-L
(one of my favorite pics of my dad)
My child-like excitement for the sport is well-known throughout my friends and family and especially by many others who are members of my football pool. My incessant emails begin during pre-season and escalate substantially as the NFL ramps up to the first kick off of the regular season.
I prepare my dog for the blast of profanities (my sports-related Tourette’s syndrome) that will inevitably be passed from my lips only to fall on the deaf ears of the referees. This is a beloved family tradition passed down from my grandparents and who am I to argue with tradition? They were masters of the verbal barrage of expletives and were not selective when it came to yelling at referees – hockey, football, baseball umpires, nobody was safe. I reserve my assassination of the English language specifically for the line judges, field judges, side judges and back judges of the NFL. There are also a few well-placed curse words expelled during fumbles, sacks and interceptions. (I don’t discriminate.)
I have been busy over the last few days preparing my three pages of football sheets for the over 60 participants in my football pool. Let the games begin and let my grasp of the English language be slightly marred. Hell hath no fury like a woman watching football!!