Part I
I have this theory
that faking an interest in sports has helped me be a better parent. My first
boyfriend was a corner for his Catholic high school varsity team. So then I had
to learn what a cornerback is and does. It’s quite boring, really. It’s part of
the defense. But I really wanted this guy to like me, so that’s what we did on
lazy Sunday afternoons after he washed his parents’ car: we’d watch the Seattle
Seahawks and I pretended to want to know about football. I called the uniforms
“costumes” and the locker rooms “dressing rooms,” because I thought it made me
sound cute. I preferred Astroturf to natural grass because I thought it had a
“slimming effect on the players.”
This
was back when the Seahawks were in the AFC. Becoming a Seahawks fan meant that
I had to hate the Denver Broncos and the Oakland Raiders, even though that was
the year Bo Jackson was a rookie and Bo Jackson was awesome. Seattle had just
spent trazillions on a rookie defensive end from Oklahoma—“the Boz.” My
boyfriend looked a little like Brian Bosworth, even though my boyfriend was
much, much, smaller. My boyfriend was tickled by the similarity, but he
pretended not to care.
I
was on tour in Minneapolis when the Raiders played the Seahawks on Monday Night
Football. On the last play of the first half, Bo Jackson totally deeked the
Boz—although I’m pretty sure they didn’t say “deeked” back then. The Boz fell
on his ass and Bo Jackson ran the ball back for something crazy like 70 yards.
And when he ran into the endzone, he didn’t stop. He kept running through the
tunnel into the dressing rooms—er, uh, locker rooms. It was the ultimate
humiliation for the Boz, who had been talking smack about Bo Jackson for eight
days, even without Twitter as a communication channel.
I
yelled at the T.V. and I think I even threw something soft toward it, after
all, I was rooting for the home team. But secretly, I was took great pride in
watching that touchdown run, even though I had nothing to do with it. It’s a
victory for all mankind to see a human do amazing things, even if that human is
jacked up on steroids and deteriorates so quickly that he needs double hip
replacements by the time he turns forty.
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