I have not always loved football. It was one of the things I grudgingly
accepted when I started dating my husband (+3 kind, +4 smart, -3 football
obsession). No matter how adorable I
found his Seahawks home game routine with his brother, it still meant that, on
more than one occasion, the only day we had to spend together was not an option
because they had to be at the stadium by 10 at the latest. September to December became such a minefield of "must see" college and pro-games that I gave up planning dates, settled myself on the couch and read a lot of books
A year in, things changed for me at UW Stadium while
watching the Washington Huskies beat the USC Trojans in an amazing underdog
victory that might just be the last LEGITIMATE time the Dawgs rushed a field. I jumped and screamed jubilantly with perfect strangers around me, pulling them in for giant hugs with every huge play. Which is kind of impressive when you stop to consider that I was pregnant--my son was actually due the next day
I was bitten with the football bug and I have
never looked back. The walls of my home
are decorated with the jerseys of retired or traded players. Turn in any direction and you’ll likely
encounter the glaring visage of a Seahawk on any number of surfaces. My son’s first sentence was “Booo Ducks” in
fealty to the Dawg pack and now, years after that fateful day in September, a
Huskey game at UW Stadium is his own personal Shangri-La
We are a football family, through and through. And yet…there are problems. The NFL is rife with concussion lawsuits,
domestic violence and criminal record issues and addiction.
In the next 31 days, this blog will explore a variety of
subjects regarding football—I’ll cut my teeth on analysis, talk about social
issues and dig into what it’s like having to find words to explain why Ray Rice
hit his girlfriend or Adrienne Peterson hit his child to my pre-school aged
son.
They say write what you know, after all…
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