(Editor’s note… this is the 3rd attempt at this GD [Gosh Darn] tweeter, blog, expose, whateverinthehell you wanna call it… I typed 3 pages on the original two, and kaboom, gone, lost. I ain’t no IT person. Dunno whatthehell happened. Just please note: The first and the second were MUCH more entertaining than this one!)
Yes, I repeat myself. Sorry. Can’t help it. Old. Happens. I’ve found myself many times in a crowd, looking them over.. I have an appropriate/related story, but not sure whointhehell I’ve told it to… So.. I blurt it out.. .and, normally, ten seconds into it I hear “yeah… that’s what you were saying”.. Chit. K, sorry. So this blog is about football, as in High School football.. I know I’ve touched on it a time or two, but tis new day… so………….. Solly!
Friday. Rained mosta the day. Continual. Not downpours, but steady. Piddled around after getting off at 5pm, taking the back roads to make the trek 15 miles East of The Big City so see my wonderful (he is) great nephew’s High School football game.
Cancer. Big cities are like cancer. In the years I’ve made this drive, the ‘greenspaces’ are disappearing. Friggin’ Big City is stretching, growing, ‘bout to get to this town… yet.. It still remains “Smalltown.” A very good thing.
Parked, walked toward the gate. Noticed a parking spot roped off.. Guy’s name painted on it.. Lots of painted notes from friends. Dunno.
Before I even got to my seat, the visitor’s had run back the opening kickoff for a touchdown. NO WAY! CAN’T BE! This is my great nephew’s Senior Season.. .THIS CAN’T HAPPEN. Did. Down the asphalt path.. Up the slippery aluminum stairs.. Founda seat. Wet it was. Had a program. Wanted to read it, keep it, but, figured dry butt outweighed reading program, plopped it down, sat.
You can’t beat High School football. It’s relief. It’s respite. Each and every sole at the game used the evening for their own purpose. Twenty percent, mebbe, were into each and every play. Dads wearing their kid’s jersey number.. Moms with hella sized blown up photo’s of their football playing kid on a button, attached to their top.
Forty percent. Simply there because it’s the smalltown thing to do.. See coworkers, friends, neighbors.. Chat.. (Or “chap” as my young stepson usedta call it) and occasionally steal a glance at the football field.
Bout that time “EAGLES 32 YARD TOUCHDOWN RUN BY #45 (enter my great nephew’s name here)”!!!!! Yeah! Fans clapped loudly and heartily.. I clapped too - but it was the ‘family clap’, perhaps a bit more intense and lengthy.
My great nephew, you see, is the grandson of my deceased sister. (Victor, you’ve told this before.).. Sorry, can’t help it, gotta continue. Sure, I’m biased, but many are in his corner as “great kid”.. and, a pretty damn fine football player. Middle Linebacker, Fullback. He’s got my sister’s initials on his cleats in magic marker. Far far out.
Literally moments after his score, a rainbow encompassed the entire stadium. YES. I do believe. And YES, I think there’s a connection.
I sat on the enda the row.. Adjacent to a banister railing.. Time after time, snotnoses from 4 to 12 would see the railing, climb atop.. Slide down.. And get up and do it again. I seriously considered using my grumpy old man voice to say “HEY.. I can’t see the game.. Can you STOP?”.. .didn’t.. I simply bobbed and weaved my head around them… as… Victor, don’t spoil it for them - we each have our own way, purpose on this night.. And to them, the sliding is a blast. I behaved.
Teams traded touchdowns. Nailbiter. Needa cig. Remember the rain. Some seventy yards away was the restroom, the concession stand, and the smoking area. En route, there was a 6’ wide asphalt path.. And on either side of it wet, muddy, green grass. Some highly sloped.
Outta my seat.. Down the slickass steps.. To the path.. However… Snotnoses huddled, talking, completely unaware or uncaring that they’re in the way of all of us to get from Point A to Point B. So, we go around. I felt sorry for the 60 and 70-somethings that had to traverse thru the slippery, muddy grass to make it around the snotnoses. One old fart in particular (me) slipped on the slope as he attempted to go around.. Damn near falling to his knees before he caught his balance, quickly checked out body parts to make sure “all ok?”.. As this old fart was mid-America’s Funniest Videos”, a group of ten to twelve snotnoses leaning up agin the fence burst out in laughter. I considered the grumpy ole man mode… then simply giggled inside.. For had I been in their size 5 shoes, I’da done the same thing.
Finally, a cig. Mom, dad, 3 yr old infronta me. Smokers too. Well, not the 3 yr old. Give her a few. Anyways, 3 yr old runs off behind me. You ever notice little chits? They play that game “I wanna JUST how far I can go before they holler my name, tell me to get back here.” Dad.. Noticing she was behind me.. Looked me in the eyes, admonished her and finished with “don’t you get out of our sight”. A sad statement to our day and age, but I certainly understood.
Ran inta onea my two gorgeous nieces.. This one happens to be mom to #45. Great visit, she looked, sounded great. Asked her about the blocked off parking space.. “Oh.. Sad deal.. One of the players committed suicide right before the first game.” Damn. Darn. No. So much life ahead. No going back. Wish we could. Privy to way too many incidents of this in my life. In spite of personal bouts of situational depression, I’ve NEVER understood suicide. Never.
Bout that time, onea the older moms on the team, she, wearing the big button with her son’s face plastered on it… walked by.. And ya know, she actually gave me a very very flirtatious smile. The immediate male, instinctive thing told me to “tackle her, kiss her, be swift with your tongue.” The old man in me giggled… thought.. “too dark, she must notta noticed these crevices… or, perhaps… I mighta looked like her dad.” Niece supplied the feel good ending with “hey. .maybe she simply was flirting with you.”.. I peed a bit, then went back to watching game.
Halftime. Marching band. “Bees” (everyone in stadium) in motion. Groups snotnoses old enough to be out of sight of their folks, yet too young to drive gathered on the grassy knoll. They had a football. Cool,, I thought. I get to see some future “Eagles”. Nope. They were playing a game. It involved one football.. 22 cell phones.. Tons of little groups, conversations.. And.. When the moment was ‘just right’, the one with the football tried to throw and blast the face of one who wasn’t paying attention. Strange game, but hey, I’m from the 60’s, whatever works.
Second half. Seated on program. In my most, truly, uncreepy-like-old man thoughts, words.. Up walked a very pretty little gal.. As she walked past, I noticed on the back of her shirt “Class of 2016.” All at once I felt “no friggin way”.. “please, someone touch me.. Am I dead?”.. and “GD, that’s a lotta years.”
HEY HEY… touchdown numero 2 for #45!.. Again, that loud family clap.. Proud I was. Truthfully, I couldn’ta cared if he was a 350 lb tuba player instead.. He’s just a good, good kid. It so happens, he’s a very good football player.
With two minutes remaining, old guy traverses the 6’ wide path toward his car. “Good guys” up by 12. Yeah! I’d seen old folks. Young folks. Snotnoses every age. Happy folks. Beautiful people, and not so beautiful people. Serious people, and very laid back people. You gotta love Friday night High School football games - no matter where you are in America.
I don’t have any catchy ending, saying here. Just a few hours out of my life that I TRULY enjoyed. (Woulda, even had we been on the short end, or, if I was watching/cheering the tuba player).. I love small towns. I love Friday nights. I love the fact that each and every person there was there for their purpose - and that it was a respite from the every day hustle/bustle.
I love people watching, and I think I love that mom with the button that smiled at me. Jk, kinda.
I hope your Labor Day weekend wasn’t laborious. I’ve thankfully managed to fit fun in mine. God Blessya.. With love… Victurd.
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