Fighting over football
By Melvin Durai
Pro football is a such a brutal sport. During almost
every game, fights break out and people call each
other nasty names. And the referees can't do
anything about it because they have no control
over spectators.
Sure, there's a lot of hitting and name-calling on
the field, but it can't compare to the frenzy in the
stands and in living rooms across America. That's
where the real battle is. That's where boys
become men, and men become crazy.
They act like nothing is more important than a
football game, not even that living arrangement
known as a marriage.
If we could televise all the fights between husbands
and wives over football, no one would watch the
actual games. They would seem too dull.
"What do you get out of sitting on your big butt all
day, watching grown men throw a ball?" a wife
would yell, searching for the remote control.
"More joy than you've ever given me," her husband
would reply, sliding the remote under the big butt.
Of course, not all men are like this. Some have
small butts. But regardless of butt size, many men -- and some
women -- go absolutely nuts over football. I know
this because I happen to be one of these men.
When my favorite team, the Seattle Seahawks, is
playing, my entire life is on hold. If I'm breathing,
it's only because that doesn't require any
concentration. Neither does sweating and shouting
at those numskulls on TV, who never seem to
score enough touchdowns.
On Sunday afternoons, my telephone can ring all it
wants, I'm not answering. And if someone is brave
enough to knock on my door, they had better tell me
my apartment is on fire.
I'm not a violent person, but you'd be much safer
trying to sell Playboy in Iran than getting between me
and the television. It's a good thing I watch most of the games at home, where I don't run into fans of the other team. I'd hate
to be featured on "America's Most Wanted."
Several years ago, the Seahawks played the Eagles
in Philadelphia, and I went to the game in my flashy
Seahawks gear, having left my brains at home. Though I wasn't wearing an expensive pair of Nikes,
almost every Eagles fan wanted to mug me. One called
me a name that wouldn't even be suitable for
an IRS agent. If Philadelphia is the city of brotherly love, they sure
have a strange way of showing it.
But fans everywhere get carried away. They actually
think they're part of the team, using words like "we"
and "us," especially when the team is winning.
"We are playing defense well," they say. "No one can
score on us." Of course, when the team is losing, they say, "Those
idiots couldn't even tackle my grandma."
Fans seem to take the game more seriously than the
players. They care more about who's in the Super Bowl
than who's in the White House. If you watch the players at the end of a game, you'll see most of them laughing, smiling and joking with their
opponents, forgetting that just a few minutes ago, they
were trying to knock each other's teeth out.
Meanwhile, up in the stands, one team's fans are acting
like they just won the lottery and the other team's fans
are acting like Mike Tyson just bit them.
Truth is, they should all feel a little sad, because they just
spent a day's wages watching millionaires running around.
And chances are, those numskulls didn't score enough
touchdowns.
Melvin Durai is a writer for the Chambersburg, Pa., Public
Opinion. Read previous columns at http://www.cvn.net/~mdurai. Write to 77 N. Third St., Chambersburg,
Pa. 17201 or
mdurai@mail.cvn.net