Well, it's that time of year again. We're counting down to the Super Bowl, that great American tradition of men in tight pants and lots of padding. I actually like football, and grew up rooting and tooting for the San Francisco 49ers. My grandparents were longtime fans and it sort of trickled down through Mom to Aaron and I.
These were the Joe Montana/Jerry Rice years of Super Bowl glory and Hail Mary passing. Forty-Niner football was serious business in our house. When Joe Montana hurt his back, we were horrified, but keen to support the little-known backup QB, Steve Young. We cheered for him through his highs and lows, and no one was more elated than the Cooper family when he finally won himself a Super Bowl ring as starting quarterback (except maybe the man himself).
Then I left for college and Aaron for his own pursuits, and we all sort of lost the time and energy to watch football. I gradually forgot the finer rules and regulations and became a fan from afar--one who read about games but didn't have time to watch them. And also, the poor Niners started to...well, suck.
Then, of course, I graduated from Chico and found myself living at home and bored out of my mind. I found a new Sunday pastime: NASCAR. And I have been a fan ever since, tuning in to cheer for the Red Bud 8 car driven by Dale Earnhardt Jr.
Now I find myself living near Seattle, which is home to the Seahawks, who are headed for the NFC championship this weekend. If they win it, they are Detroit-bound to play in the Super Bowl.
I can't help but get caught up in the excitement--everyone is going nuts about the 'Hawks these days, and there is a bit of pride involved in cheering for the hometown heroes. I might just tune in this weekend and renew my aquaintance with football.
It will, at the very least, give me something to do until the season-opening Daytona 500 in February. Goooo, Junior!!