It drives us apart and brings us together, a love story
FOOTBALL is everywhere, yet again. It is the season to rally around our favorite teams, be they high school, college, or professional. We tend to support the "home" teams (go Ducks, Beavers!)
I never had a home professional team, being from Portland, Oregon, and growing up in the pre-Seattle Seahawks era. Local TV always played the Oakland Raiders
(remember Daryl Lamonica, George Blanda, Fred Biletnecoff, etc.?-umm, probably no)
How about the Los Angeles Rams
(remember Roman Gabriel, the toeless kicker Tom Dempsey, etc? Yeh, probably not, too).
What about the other perenial loser, the San Francisco 49er's, prior to Joe Montana?
My father loved George Blanda, an old (45 years) place kicker who would sub for Lamonica if he got injured. Dad rooted for the old guy like he was rooting for himself, though George was a bit older.
My (two) wives, Sharon White being the second, never watched football, though I did most every Saturday and Sunday, until about 11 years ago.
My father and grandpa Henry were the ones who got me started watching football when I was young. As a child, I saw that it was important to be interested in football, if I wanted to share extra time with my father and grandpa. When dad's dementia became severe after my mother's death in 2009, he just could not keep track of what was going on on the football field. I would put the important Oregon Ducks college football games on, and though they might be vying for a conference, or National championship, Dad would just fall asleep during important games, and show little interest, otherwise, in the huge spectacle of football.
I rarely watch football anymore.
I sometimes wish my father was still here to see me, even if he needed to fall asleep so often. My father was the best game in town, and quarterbacked an excellent family team. Conversationally speaking, Dad threw a spiral pass that could knock a person out, if it hit the chin. He also put a lot of bad English on some of his throws, just to see who he could rile up with his intentional, but wobbly passes.
It was really tough watching the retired family quarterback shrivel up and fade away, though.
Guess who, or what I miss the most, now?
Youth, and a sense of our complete, healthy family, are long gone. My present home team never had a draft (no children for me), nor did the players traded to it find their best position (step children stop hating--when?). Why are my bull's eye spiral passes always dropped by daughter-in-laws and/or son-in-laws?
I have begun my own run to Life's final end zone, with a wife, sister, scattered cousins who dont call, my father's deteriorating 94 year old sister Susie, Susie's cat Sassy, who now lives with us, a few dear friends, and a strong intention to finish my life full of run, while also not fumbling the ball.. .
Enjoy your own game, while also trying to provide a little color commentary along the way for your fans, be they adoring, or otherwise..
The best, and the healthiest, fans rally around both the home, and the away, teams.
There is only One team, if we are in the true Spirit of Love.
My grandpa Henry joined the All-Star team in January of 1990. My father joined that most special, and inclusive, team on September 16, 2017.
I belong to a fabulous Spiritual team. My life has been a miraculous game, and run, so far.
I can almost hear the "Divine Broadcaster" calling my name.
" He's at the 30, jukes a defender at the 20, . , just one more tackler wearing a surgeon's mask to evade at the 10 yard line, then . . .. .he leaps across the goal line!
Like my grandfather, and my father, there will be few fans left in Life's stadium to cheer my efforts, and to see me cross the goal line.
I will soar up to the heavens, and dunk the football over the goalposts, anyway.
I will then begin my new walk through Eternity.
Save me a seat in the Broadcast Booth, Dad!
I might have found a little supportive color commentary for the next game.