football

Football, for us, is a diversion.

It marks the beginning of fall and of cooler weather. It means Sunday get-togethers and endless debates on sports radio on whether Kubiak should be fired. It means Father Clint won't be around when there is a Texans home game and it means popcorn at my parents house for the Cowboys games and my dad cursing under his breathe for all of the mistakes they make. "I don't even watch the cowboys anymore. I can't stand to watch those fumbling boobs."

It means UT football and OU weekend. Wearing burnt orange and now, dressing Annabelle and Tootles in their horns shirts when they play. I'll never forget watching a game with my sweet, lovely, favorite Aunt and seeing her scream at the tv, "GET HIM, KNOCK HIM DOWN, SMASH HIM INTO A TORTILLA!"

I am not sure what I would do if I had married a man that didn't like football. It would be a little depressing to not be watching these games and seeing Hieu yell and cheer at the tv. Not to be a part of the excitement, the thrill that is in the air when your team is playing.

But make no mistake, it is a diversion.

It does not pick you bouquets. It does not make you book marks or art projects. It does not give you hugs or scream with delight when you walk through the door. It does not beg you to read Peasant Pig, or want you to take it to the Dinosaur Museum.

It does not love you back. It is merely a diversion.