There are many among us rending their garments that there may well be no professional football come the close of summer. One would think they were talking about the cessation of electrical service the way they carry on.
What will we do with our Sundays, the die-hard cry? Well, I suppose we will find something else to do. Life has this magnificent habit of forging on whether we lack football, electricity or anything else. It’s going to necessitate a lot more than just a game to throw sand into that engine.
Things are percolating quite nicely in our house. My wife, Carol, is off this weekend in Philadelphia participating in her first triathlon. She’s been training for months and at the same time raising money to find a cure for leukemia and other blood cancers.
Daughter Amelia is working in Alaska for the summer at a resort. She has seen glaciers and moose. She’s waded across icy rivers and been witness to God’s handiwork by plane. Her blog posts get better with every entry. And son Zach is planning his 2012 wedding. I doubt anyone will be making a movie called “Father of the Groom” but I’m scribbling notes. Just in case.
So speaking for our family, we’re not exactly on the edge of our seats over this football rhubarb. But it’s not just us.
As any of my fellow Sandy Springsteens can attest, there is a lot of road work being done around town this summer, making the daily ride to work not just a commute but an adventure. No one is thinking about quarterback ratings at those moments.
A few weeks ago another class of seniors graduated from the high schools around our little slice of heaven. Most are spending more time thinking about packing off to a university than first downs and labor negotiations.
By the way, it may just be me but has anyone else noticed it’s been mighty hot of late? Anyone else getting used to the sound of the old A/C running more than normal? Anyone else planning yard chores at sunrise? Anyone else waiting to get the mail until after sundown when it cools to a tolerable 89 degrees?
Speaking of football, the head coach of the program at our state university is using some of his time off to make his third visit to Honduras. He’s not sipping rum drinks and diagramming play. Instead, he is touring impoverished areas served by a faith-based organization.
I used to be one of those die-hard fans. When my team won all was scrupulous in my world. When my team lost — and my team lost a lot of games — I was in a dour mood for the rest of the day. Over time I came to embrace this axiom: “There is a fine line between a hobby and mental illness.”
And perhaps the latter is indicative of the kind of thinking that gets one’s pantaloons in a twist over the loss of a Sunday afternoon’s football when there’s so much more out there.
Jim Osterman lives in Sandy Springs. Reach him at jimosterman@rocketmail.com
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