It comes every year like clockwork! Now that spring is almost done, soon to be followed by a hot summer, I suspect that before long it’s going to be football season again down in Southeastern Tennessee. Life as we know it in God’s country is going to get tougher by the hour, and I’m already nervous. Football is all well and good, and it’s a nice concept and all, but I come from a place where football is played with the foot, thank you. My friends here in Southeastern Tennessee have already started talking proudly about their favorite teams, and the special characteristics, idiosyncrasies, and animal instincts of their favorite players. They started using such exotic vocabulary as quarterbacks, running backs, defensive backs, tackles, kickers, tight ends, and wide receivers, not to mention the various forms of mischief that they do from time to time such as tackles, punts, kicks, touch downs, extra points, and field goals. There is surprisingly no mention of any expressions such as half, three-quarter, or full backs, walking backs, offensive fronts, running forwards, loose ends, tickles, or narrow receivers, but then again, what do I know? But I believe I have just enough smarts to suspect that may be such beasts do not exist in real life! May be it’s all my imagination. May be I’m paranoid! But I know one thing for sure. And that is that I will soon be called upon to participate in the gridiron discussions around the office coffee machine, and for that sole purpose, I’m loading up on buzz words! I think I know what a touch back and scrimmage are, including the various downs (They made it easy for me; they’re first, second, and third, aren’t they?), but how on God’s good earth can one tell a foul from a legal play is what I don’t understand! It looks like it is acceptable to break as many as a dozen bones in the opponent’s body, but you don’t want to touch his face mask! That is sacrilegious at best, which would be construed as a major foul, and may even cause a penalty of as many as 13.716 meters. (Relax; it’s the same as 15 yards, I’m just thinking metric, that’s all!) All in all, what a game! More importantly, what a puddle (I mean, huddle)!

  That’s why when the driver of the bus that I ride from the parking garage to my office asked me the other day what I was planning to do over the weekend, I knew my turn to talk about football has finally arrived. This was despite the fact that I occupied a seat in the last row of the bus, so no one would see me and ask me any questions! It didn’t take me too long to realize that no place is safe, and I could hide no more --- not even in the back seat! I was petrified beyond description! The ordinarily puny little driver of the bus suddenly looked larger than life! His eyes bulged out in the rearview mirror, and radiated (Sorry, I’m in the nuclear power industry!) fire and brimstone. Paranoia time! I should have said I was going to play tennis with my buddy, or cut down the cherry tree in my front yard with the brand new ax that my wife gave me for George Washington’s birthday, but instead, in my infinite folly, and in an effort to identify myself with mainstream America (well, more precisely, mainstream Tennessee) and blend with what’s already in the melting pot, I said in a moment of weakness that I was going to play football. I said to myself, what the heck, if I want to melt, I might as well do it quickly. But I tell you, folks, that was a mistake! Now I know, but then I didn’t know! Never in my entire life, was I so embarrassed! I decided I’ll never do it again! I should have stuck with Tennis. That would have been the smarter move on my part. Because I know I could handle the ax and, for that matter, even my tennis racket, and might even have been able to ace the bus driver…, well, so to speak! Were I to begin again, I would start with Love All. What a noble way to start a game! And after getting one of my first serves in, I would come up to the net for a volley. Fifteen-Love!

  Don’t get me wrong. I’m not anti-football, just like I’m not anti-basketball or anti-baseball. Football probably has a reason for its existence, although I haven’t figured that out yet. But then again, I haven’t figured out the reason for Cricket either, except to suspect that those middle aged British folks who started the game in the colonies had all the time in the world, and nothing better to do. Lord knows no one would want them on the Rugby team! But there’s one thing that always bothered me about football. Why did they plant those goal posts upside down?

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