Coconut Bowl

PREFACE: My apologies to any and all football fans out there. This is my problem, not yours.

All my life, I have tried - o.k. - not ALL my life, but the parts of my life which include a male figure who I am attached to, that watches sports - and that I care about I believe Mr. Restless is the only one who fits all 3 criteria - I have tried TRIED to understand football. I'm not an idiot. I just think I have a mental block the way some people do with math. My brain just tunes out Charlie Brown style every time someone tries to explain it. "Wa wa wa wa wa". The draining sound of it in the background reminds me of how I'm not white American. I'm American, but not apple pie/blonde/cheerleader/WHITE - American. I am Indian-American not American-Indian/ Native American/tribal type - born in India, raised in American, coconut type. BTW, I'm not saying that all white Americans are apple pie/blonde/cheerleaders, but I'm sure most have grown up either hearing football in the next room, watching it on TV, being involved with it at school in the games or on the sidelines. Us Indian-Americans grew up hearing Hindi music in the next room, watching Hindi movies on TV, and maybe by chance heard our scotch-drinking, "pakora"-eating dads rooting for the team of their choice once a year at the annual Super Bowl party we all went to at Dr. Patel's house.

For me, the large, bubbly, over-grown men running around in shoulder pads and shiny tights from one end of the field to the other throwing a ball to each other, the draining static drone of it on TV; is not only boring as hell, it's a reminder of how alienated I felt in a predominately white-American school in the middle of the Bible-belt that was fueled by sports, athleticism, and extra-curricular activities that seemed to be happening everywhere around me & without me. I'm pretty sure this is the reason for the mental block that tunes out any sort of football education that comes my way.

Anyway, the draining static drone of Super Bowl was on today at our house...accompanied by Mr. Restless and my dad bonding while rooting for the Saints (I know, I actually knew the teams - impressed?), my daughter's and her friend's squeals and laughter, & my baby's happy gurgling in the background. Maybe it's time for new football memories. Maybe some day, I'll actually understand why these super-sized meatheads what these professional athletes take an hour to get the ball from one side of the field to the other and waste 5 hours fighting over who gets to do it are skillfully doing on the field in this complex game known as "football".

I doubt it.