If you’ve come for my Monday trivia contest it has been cancelled due to lack of interest.
Let’s talk Super Bowl — I didn’t watch it. When I was a kid all sporting events were sacred in Uncle Norm’s home, and all children had to be absolutely quiet while they were on. So, I learned to loathe football not for the game itself, but for what it meant to my life.
The family would gather — men in the living-room, women in the kitchen, children in the basement family room — and “the game” would begin. In the living room the men would yell and scream and cuss. In the kitchen the women would huddle and whisper and wait for bellows from the living room, “Food! We’re starving in here!” (No alcohol, a definite saving grace.) We children would huddle in the basement trying to whisper our way through board games. Blinking your eyes too loud brought thunder from above.
Seriously, they’d put a half-dozen or so young cousins together once or twice a year and demand we be quiet. I don’t think they were ever kids. We just couldn’t do it. Pretty soon somebody would giggle and we’d all get tossed outside no matter how cold the weather. I remember one year we all sat in the garage shivering under a canvas.
My ex used to watch the Super Bowl. I didn’t mind that so much. The kids would be there. Talking and laughter would accompany the game. Usually a good deal of popcorn throwing and name calling (at the TV set), and — unfortunately — alcohol drinking. The kids often left at half-time — it depended on how much beer had disappeared from the fridge, and whether or not my ex’s chosen team was winning.
On second thought — let’s not talk Super Bowl. I have no fond memories of football.
(If you absolutely, positively must laugh today, go visit Mike at, A Twist of Humor, and tell him Quilly sent you. Oh, and take a Kleenex to wipe your eyes, you’re going to want to keep reading but you won’t be able to see for tears of laughter.)