Football Makes Me Jumpy

Very jumpy, in fact.

Sunday was an incredibly snuggly, snowy day. I woke up early so I could knit the Dale to at least to the shoulders.

I knew the BIG football game was that day so I also knew that knitting in the family room would be out of the question. I took a little nap and knit most of the rest of the morning without being terribly serious about the knitting. I would after all, have hours of uninterrupted knitting while the BIG game was on.

My Prince made a fire in the living room and with my brand spanky new OTT light at my side, I set out to get some serious inches completed. Not too long into the game, my Prince screamed,

"Ugh! Geez, what was that?"

I jumped.

Not long after, a huge clap broke out from the family room.

I jumped.

"Come on!"

I jumped.

"What's going on here?" Huge clap.

I jumped.

I was so looking forward to a peaceful, long knitting session in my comfy chair with my spanky new OTT light, my cozy fire, the snow gently falling outside, and every few minutes, I'm jumping from some unexpected noise - the noise of a grown man talking to a television set.

And when you jump, your heart races just a little faster, your concentration is broken for a minute or so and it takes another minute or so to regain your composure. To the right is the chart I'm working on so some semblance of concentration is required. I hate being surprised. And, I really, really hate football.

I know that's sacrilege, particularly now that Da Bears are going to the Super Bowl, but I really, really hate football. Where's my civic pride, my city spirit, my hometown support? I know it's heresy, but I have more important things to do and think about such as the chart shown above.

I will admit that football is one game I've never understood. The rules of baseball and basketball are easy to understand. (I can't ever watch basketball, however, because the sound of the sneakers squeaking across the wood gym floor makes me want to blow my brains out.) But the point and play of football has always eluded me.

What's a down? To me, it's what my bed pillows and my comfy living room chairs are filled with. What's a goal? To me, it's to have my spectacular Fair Isle sweater ready to be steeked on February 21.

And how about the news coverage? There's the pre-game news , the post-game news, and the player interviews. I had to get up early, really early, to miss the pre-game nonsense that starts hours and hours before the game. Why talk and talk and talk about how the game; the game that hasn't been played yet, is going to be played?

The player interviews slay me the most.

Pre-game: "We're going to go out there and play hard."
Post-game Winner: "We went out there and we played hard.
Post-game Loser: "We went out there and we didn't play hard enough."

I must admit that I've felt really bad for Rex Grossman over the last month or so. The talk and more talk about this poor guy has been just plain mean.

We were watching the news one night and the sports caster was giving poor Rex the ration of his life.

"So, does everyone think he's playing poorly on purpose?" I asked.

"No, but he's got to get it together."

"Don't you think he wants to? Don't you think he's trying to? After all the bad press, don't you think he'd change things if he could?"

"Ah, geez, he's got to get it together, that's all."

"It's not like he's making a conscious decision to make everybody mad. It's not like a bad business decision. He's pounding people and people are pounding him; that's physical, don't you think physical stuff is more the luck of the draw than intellectual decisions?"

"I'm going to bed, dear."

I hate football. I really, really do. And, I don't know about you, but I don't want to be anywhere near a television or anyone that talks to a television on Sunday, February 4, 2007.

I just want to knit without being jumpy.