THINGS I HATE ABOUT FOOTBALL

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (11-02-23)

 

     Actually, I love football. It's like a good R-rated movie; it has a story line, a hero, a villain, plot twists, conflict, resolution, sometimes good acting, a lot of gratuitous violence and not enough nudity. However, there are some issues I would address if I were the commissioner, and I'll fix them so fast that the rest of the commission won't even notice.

     I hate that every time a winning field goal is about to be kicked and someone has an extra time-out lying around, they feel they must use it to "ice the kicker." The assumption is that if the referee blows the whistle just as the kicker is about to boot the ball through the uprights, he will be jinxed, and cross, and thinking about what might have been, and how he should have sold his Amazon stock when it was at $148.00, and how he said something really dumb on an interview before the game and thought of something so clever a minute after it was over, and that his Dad always seemed to like his younger brother better, and come to think of it so does his girlfriend, and he'll miss it. But when play resumes, he usually kicks the field goal anyway, and we've just wasted a lot of time that would have been better spent in therapy. And if he DOES miss it, the coach fancies himself a "football genius," which if you really were a football genius, would realize is an oxymoron.

     I hate when a backup quarterback comes into the game because of an injury, and he has a wristband with all the plays on it, and he throws five interceptions, and yet after the game he refuses to admit that he had the wristband on upside-down.

     I hate that the kickoff has become the most abject waste of time in the history of sports. In order to cut down on injuries, the ball is now kicked from the 35-yard line, and the kickoff team goes running down the field as fast as they can, and they surround the guy who would have caught the ball but did not since it sailed over his head into the stands, and they assault him verbally with things I wouldn't want my teenage children to hear, but ironically only teenage children know what they mean and won't tell us. I don't have children, fortunately for my children.

     I hate that men are so shallow that we will only respond to a sideline reporter who happens to be a good-looking woman. If she happens to be a short woman who doesn't fit in the same shot as a 6-foot five quarterback, at least there's an element of comedy. 

     I hate garish end-zone celebrations. On Monday Night Football last week after scoring a touchdown a player did the "worm," which was a dance that was popular, well, never, and then, in case you missed it, he did it again later. When an actual worm looks better than you do doing the "worm," it's time to retire that one. Hopefully he'll grow out of it once he reaches the pupa stage. 

     Then the rest of the team flooded the end zone for a wonderful one-act play. I was able to sit in at the dress rehearsal and watch as the choreographer put it all together: "Okay, remember, the football is supposed to be the baby, and the rest of you are supporting and nurturing it during the routine. Pianist: pick it up at the bridge, and I want to see some high steps and big leg kicks. Here we go: And, 5, 6. 7, 8..."

     I hate all the inconsistencies in the rules. For instance, you're allowed to tackle a guy by pulling his hair to the ground and seeing if the rest of him follows, but if you grab a guy's shirt for one second you're flagged for holding. There used to be a player on the Giants that was so afraid of somebody grabbing his jersey that he wore one so tight that it cut off the circulation to his arms.

     I hate the phrase, "offsetting penalties." Every time two football players get into a minor fracas which becomes a skirmish then blossoms into open hostilities before devolving into a donnybrook, the referees identify the two combatants and flag them both. But one player usually throws the first punch, and now that you can review the action using replays, that should be the guy who earns the penalty, and he should be forced to apologize and write an essay about why he should respect peoples' feelings.

     Well, it's almost time for Thursday Night Football, and since I missed Sunday afternoon, Sunday late afternoon, Sunday Night and Monday Night Football, I'm going to watch and see if they perform the "Electric Slide" during the touchdown celebration.

SUMMER SWAN SONG

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (10-26-23)

 

     I love the summer, but now it's fall and my friends who detest the hot weather and can't wait for the fever to break are basking in my misery. A chill starts to inhabit the evening air and I start to panic because school is starting. Even though I haven't been to school in decades it still induces a visceral dread. I tried to put autumn off by traveling south to Ocean City, Maryland a few weeks ago. 

     On the way down the Jersey Turnpike we were terrorized by a motorcycle gang. By terrorized, I mean that I couldn't hear the radio over that cacophony. I'm an avid motorcycle rider myself, when I can locate it in my garage, which is like a Superfund site these days. In New York, the noise level for a motorcycle is supposed to be below 82 decibels, measured at a distance of 50 feet. For the sake of comparison, a Harrier jet taking off is about 125dB; the average kiddie pool in August is about 129dB; and "Highway to Hell" by AC/DC clocks in at an average of 140 decibels, if your Mom's not home. The reason I mention this is because I myself recently was the envy of the outlaw clubs when my bike's noise output hit about a million decibels on Route 35 on the way back from the gym, because my muffler fell off and landed on the side of the road. The rest of the ride home it was so ear-splitting that I couldn't hear myself think, which I don't do very loudly to begin with. 

     Anyway, the trip south takes about five hours, and sometimes the GPS will offer an alternative route that takes less time but costs more in tolls. I look over at my wife, who is smirking because she can tell that I'm trying to divide the number of minutes saved by the amount of money in tolls. "No," I volunteer, "we're not going that way, it's like three bucks a minute. That's more than a 900 phone chat line, only without the friendship. So I've heard, at least." 

     When we got there the weather was not great for the beach but good for strolling the boardwalk. We passed a kid of about 11 or so who was strumming a guitar with the case open, busking for tips. I assumed he was putting himself through elementary school until his voice changes and he has to update his entire repertoire. It was tough to find a table for lunch. There was a huge music festival going on at the end of the boardwalk, and it was a seller's market for food. We ended up at a Hooters, and the waitresses there still have to wear hot pants even when it's cold. Being a Hooters waitress is more of a concept than an actual job. Ours spent quite a bit of time taking selfies and generally hooting, and we did most of the waiting. When the chicken tenders arrived, they hardly seemed to have been tended at all.

     There were a lot of great acts appearing at the music festival, which was held right on the beach. Access to the boardwalk and the amusement park next door were a unique touch for an event that size. I guess it was a good thing that it wasn't 90 degrees and sunny, because at a beach, alcohol, candied apples, the Tidal Wave roller coaster, riptides and an Alanis Morissette-fueled rage is a compromising health combination that no amount of lifeguard training can prepare you for.

     We didn't have tickets to the concert, but live music is plentiful on the island, and we checked out a selection of bands over the long weekend. On the way into the bar they checked my ID, which was at once flattering and disturbing. Was I not young enough to get in? I guess they run your license to see if you have any felony warrants against you or anything. I'm guessing they'd find a few more if they checked on the way out. 

     The band was good, but sometimes a bad band is an even better conversation piece. This one had a female lead singer with a very good voice and a tambourine. Oddly enough, she did not play the instrument, which makes noise when you shake it a couple times then bang it against your thigh. Maybe she never watched "The Partridge Family," or maybe someone in the band threatened her never to make any more noise with it, but she simply brandished it in the general direction of the bass player.

     On the way home, the weight of reality set in, and so too the demands of football season on my job, the impending holidays, the raking of leaves.... But if a 90-degree day should break out in the middle of December, I'm available for a beach day.

CLOSING ARGUMENTS

 ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (10-19-23)

 

     I just celebrated our 37th wedding anniversary, and I say "I" because I'm not actually sure my wife celebrates that. A lot of festivities and holidays have been cancelled over the years because it came out that the people we were celebrating did things that were not particularly festive, but I assure you that it will never come out that I ever did anything that was less than wholesome, unless anyone checks my web browser history. And may I be the first to say that those who fail to learn from browser history are destined to repeat it.

     Anyway, I truly believe that one of the things that makes a successful marriage is being able to have an argument that either ends in a resolution or an understanding, and not personal injury or dismemberment. The other thing is to laugh at my jokes regardless of whether you think they are funny. An argument can stem from a disagreement, a misunderstanding, a clash of values or failure to laugh at my jokes. Communication is a very important part of mutual harmony, to say the least. Saying the least is another. And yet I've known couples that are constantly at each others' throats, and you think they're gonna kill each other, and the insults are flying, and the next time you look they're in a passionate embrace. 

     Knowing how to argue with purpose and empathy is important in any relationship, and especially in marriage. I have some tips about arguing that will help you have a long and successful one:
1. Never go to bed angry, because in the morning you'll forget what you were fighting about, and you'll end up losing by default.
2. If you have a beef and you don't want to be the goat, yet you don't want to look like you're chicken, let it simmer and stew for a little while, and just before you come to a boil you can eat the entire argument.
3. If your wife is mad at you because you were taking a little too long checking out with the checkout girl, it's probably a Miss understanding. My apologies for that one.
4. Ironically, if you grab the remote control because you like comedy and she likes family drama, use it to tune to the channel with the family drama, if you don't want family drama.
5. If you don't want to ever fight about the upbringing of children, then don't bring them up in the first place.

     Many couples fight over money, which is something my wife and I have never fought over. That's because we had a clear understanding that we would never live above our means, and that we would not purchase things frivolously or after drinking. And since we don't have that much money, it wouldn't have been much of a fight.

     As a public service, I will provide a fictional example of a dysfunctional conversation that resolves peacefully, and you can use it to identify any triggers that you might find familiar in your own interactions with your loved ones.

     She says, "You always have to one-up me at everything. Remember when I told you my company put me up at the Four Seasons for the convention? And you said well, yours put you up at the Five Seasons? With you it's always tit for tat, and I guess you'd better get used to tat." And he says, "You never give me enough credit for all the good things I do." "I'm just going by the example your credit card company set. And you're always trying to pick a petty argument with me, like the one we had yesterday." "That argument was literally about Tom Petty." She says, "You complain about the dumbest things, like when you say I load the dishwasher wrong." "You DO load the dishwasher wrong. What if it was an anti-aircraft gun and you loaded it wrong?" "I bet the ammunition would still come out clean. What about you? You always put the toilet paper roll in upside-down." "If the toilet was upside-down I'd do it your way." "Well," she says, "then let's just agree to disagree." "NO! I disagree to disagree!" "Don't look now, but I think that means we agree." 

     I'll just say in closing to be careful with your words. You can't un-say something you've said, and you can't un-hear something your partner said to you. That's why my wife talks so softly. And when I say, "What?" She has time to edit whatever she said for a PG rating. It's much easier to not say something stupid than to have to apologize for it later. It's just not easy for ME not to say something stupid.