The Great American Pasttime  

Do you know that Europeans make fun of Americans because of our obsession with football? It's true. They think it's an inhuman, barbaric sport. Instead, they cling to what they call "futball"-- our soccer. In fact, soccer, baseball, and basketball all rank higher than "American Football" in worldwide popularity. But if loving this brutal, violent sport makes me American, then color me red, white, and blue. Maybe it's where I grew up (the heart of the blue-collar rust belt). Maybe it's who I'm married to (a former college football player). All I know is, when the leaves start to turn and there's a crispness to the air you don't find during the summer months, my mind turns to the pigskin. And I. Am. Ready.

As I watched this weekend's college openers (I don't think I saw a single complete game; just bits and pieces during G's naps, as we don't like to have the TV on too much when she's around and awake), I got to thinking about what draws me to this sport. What draws the American public in general. Americans are, by and large, obsessed with sport. In these tough economic times, people will give up their gym memberships, their SUVs, their family vacations, but they are loathe to forgo their season tickets. Why?

At least for me, I think it's because we all want-- need-- something to root for. There are so many ways we're losing out these days-- whether it's a financial loss in the stock market, or too many hours at the office (and away from our families) trying to get back on a solid footing. It's a tough time for a lot of people for a lot of reasons. But having a team to pull for gives us a very healthy outlet for venting some of that steam that can bubble and boil to the surface during the workweek.

And although our actions don't have any impact on the outcome of the game (unless you're that crazy fan who leans over the fence and catches a fly ball that's still in play-- yeah, I'm talking about you, Chicago Cub "fan"), a lot of us-- myself included-- think they do. I've already admitted to being a control freak, and in a way, I think I can "control" a game being played hundreds of miles away by what I do or don't do in my own home. For instance, a few years ago, my favorite NFL team started a hot streak after I got the starting QB's jersey for Christmas. The result? I didn't wash that jersey until they'd safely won the Super Bowl. You want more evidence? I've often forced DH to stay seated on one part of the couch for an entire college game simply because it's his "lucky spot". Yes, I've actually berrated him for moving and "costing us the game". Ridiculous? Yes. But am I the only one who indulges in this kind of wacky behavior? I doubt it.

But usually, those sort of crazy displays are the only way we can have some sort of affect on the game we love. We can't knock our bosses our with a hard tackle in the middle of the office when he doesn't like our latest pitch. We can't blitz our co-workers in the hallway. But we can wear our favorite jerseys, paint our faces, and indulge in our insanely superstitious traditions, all while screaming our heads off at the television. It's our way of participating. When your team wins, it can lift the spirits of an entire state. And these days, we can all use a victory now and then.