There's hope for me yet.

You might be surprised, shocked, even appalled to know that I don't give two hoots about football. Yes, even Steelers football. I know... that's just un-Pittsburgh of me, maybe even un-American. It's probably grounds to have my Pittsburgh "hometown status" revoked. I don't know what to say. I just was not born with that oh-so-typical football fanatic gene that seems so prevalent in Pittsburgh. Go on and blame my parents (both born and bred Pittsburghers themselves). I just don't understand the game. What is a down? What is a field goal and when do you get to try for one? Why are some guys beasts (like that guy with the long hair--yikes!!) and some guys rather scrawny? Many have attempted to explain it all to me, in plain, dumbed-down English, but I still don't get it.
I remember one particularly horrendous gym class in ninth grade when we girls were instructed to actually play football. I felt like I had a learning disability when the rules were explained. The only thing that really sunk in was this: if you get the ball, run like the dickens to the end of the field. So... that is just what I did. Some girl threw me the ball, I somehow caught it, and I ran like the wind all the way to the other end of the field. I was feeling kind of triumphant until I turned around to a field of blank and/or disgusted stares. So I ran to the wrong end of the field... god, how was I supposed to know? I'm still embarrassed and a bit scarred.
I remember trying to "get into" football while in college at Virginia Tech. It was definitely one of those "everyone else is doing it" kind of things. So, I tried to play along. I actually went to the games. I even attempted to pay attention. But the only thing I remember about football at Tech was getting hit in the back of the head by a big plastic beer cup. I'm still pissed about that one. Oh, I also remember watching a girl cheerleader being thrown way up in the air by her boy cheerleader partner, only to land right on her little bottom when her partner failed to catch her. That happened not once, but twice in a matter of minutes. Talk about giving someone trust issues. I hope those two aren't married.
Okay, so there it is... my football confession.
But wait... there's more. I feel change in the air. You see, I actually watched the Superbowl last night. I went to an actual "Superbowl party". I went mainly for the food, but I also went with the hope of developing a little bit of hometown pride--a little Steelers-mania. I felt a little obligated, really. On the way to the party, I solemnly swore to Gideon that I was actually going to pay attention to the game. He didn't really care, but he supported my decision. And in an effort to solidify my commitment, I even placed a one dollar bet on the game. My friend, Jon, the Superbowl party host, said, "Pick a square and pay me a dollar." I didn't understand, but I did it. I picked square 7/7 on a grid, and lo and behold, at the end of the second quarter (that's what they're called, I think), that big guy, number 92, ran all the way down the field (oh, it brought back memories) and brought the score to 7 to 17 or (or some other numbers both ending in 7), which meant my square won! I actually won cash! Nine dollars, baby. It felt good. I felt like a real football girl, betting and everything. And, the thing that was MOST impressive, was that I actually happened to be watching the game when #92 did his thing! Even Gideon was impressed with that.
So, in my mind, this is progress... progress towards connecting with my Pittsburgh people, my roots. I'm getting closer, my friends. I still don't know what a down is, or why those flags get thrown on the field, or how some of those big boys run so darn fast, but I learned enough to know that I will gladly go to another Superbowl party, and I will bet cash money on the game too. But probably only if the Steelers are playing.
Go Stillers!
Love,
Your Favorite Fair-Weather Fan