Ode to Football

Ahh. The end of summer. The kids are back in school. The temperature is no longer so hot you get burned walking to the mailbox. More than this, though, is the start of football season. Manly american football to be more precise. The cacophony of crowds cheering, plays being called, and men crashing into one another is music to my ears. Each year from September until the beginning of February, I have an excuse every Sunday to go hang out with my brothers while watching our favorite pasttime. It matters little to us that our team probably won't break .500 this year. What does matter is that once a week we get together to watch hours of beer, car, and movie commercials with a little football thrown in.

It's Thursdays at the beginning of the season and on Thanksgiving. It's Sundays through January. Mondays through December. And when that sad day comes in February when football season ends, we go back into hibernation. We spend 6 months making up with our families for having ignored them 1 day a week for the last 5 months. Inside, though, we're waiting. We're keeping posted on the draft and on training camp. We're doing research for our fantasy football teams. We're secretly hoping Tom Brady decides to give ballet a try, lest he destroy our team again this year.

Football is about coming together and enjoying the time we have. It's about teamwork and camaraderie, not taunting and childishness. It's about tradition, not holding out for more money. Don't cry to me because someone is being mean to your quarterback. If you're going to cash your paycheck, then shut up and act like a man.

Football is tailgating and barbecues. It's brats, steak, and beer (if you're so inclined); not quiche or salad. Football is machismo. It is manliness personified. Feminists beware. Don't be confused, though. Football is not exclusive. Anyone is invited. All you need is a TV. And some brothers.