Football and Me

When football season starts, I suddenly become the least knowledgeable person in the room. My family has tried to teach me. And so I understand more than I ever thought I would—that if a defensive player catches the ball, the defense becomes the offense; that if a player fumbles a ball, it’s up for grabs; and that referees throw yellow flags for false starts and offsides and holding.

But knowing all this still doesn’t give me the capacity to actually follow a game. I’ve resolved to try many times, if only to give my family the gift of sharing their enthusiasm. But each game is so long. How can a playing time of 60 minutes stretch on and on, sometimes past three hours?

There are so many stoppages and timeouts and breaks, so much secret talk in huddles while multitudes in the stadium and at home wait. I could drive 250 miles in the time it takes 22 people crashing into each other to reveal the winner.

Still, I’ve made peace with football season. With my book and a puzzle and embroidery, I stake my corner of the couch and relax into the hypnotic rhythms of a game that help to soothe away real-life anxieties, enjoying a room filled with children and grandchildren.

During a lull in a game last year, a sportscaster said the name of someone familiar.

“Paul Krause!” I said. “I used to dust his high school trophies.”

Ten sets of eyes turned to me. For once, I had some inside information about football. And they wanted to hear.

So I told them about how when I was a kid, his folks lived in a small ranch house a couple streets from my family in Flint, how I earned spending money by cleaning their house on Saturday mornings, how the whole basement looked like a Paul Krause shrine, its walls lined with photos and newspaper clippings and the trophies I dusted.

Paul Krause was famous at our school, having earned 14 varsity letters in almost every sport. And he was even more famous when I was dusting his trophies—starting games for the Vikings, intercepting passes, and playing in the Super Bowl.

So I wasn’t surprised that the sports commentators were talking about his 81 career interceptions, a record they considered unbreakable. I’d always known he was famous.

The whistle blows and someone kicks off. The eyes in the room are back to the game, and I stitch away at my embroidery. But I’ve got to admit. It felt good to teach them something for a change.