1999 february 01

daddy's girl

last night, while the superbowl was playing out its final minutes, my father called.

dad: terrible, wasn't it?

me: no doubt. but at least shannon sharpe got broken. if they couldn't break mr ed, at least they broke the loud mouth.

dad: maybe he'll retire.

me: god, i hope so. i don't think i could bear another year of his big butted, funny running, horse faced self.

i started watching football with my dad almost as soon as i was born and whenever we are together in the vicinity of a game, you'll find the two if us right in front of the television, yelling and screaming and bemoaning the existence of john elway.

when i was a child, we would watch regular season games at home, and usually the playoffs as well. the superbowl, however, was watched at my grandparent's house [at least for those years we lived in the same city as they] and was a serious, adult oriented day; no children were invited as all concentration and attention was to be on the big game. when i was nine years old i watched my father gather up some ham for sandwiches, the giant bag of potato chips and a six pack. as usual i asked very politely, "can i come with you, daddy?" fully expecting to hear to hear "no." i was overjoyed when he said instead, "okay, tell your mother you'll be with me, grab your coat and remember you'll have to keep quiet."

i put the proverbial quietness of mice to shame. i watched the game in utter silence, not even raising my voice to yell at a touchdown or undeserved penalty; i didn't even ask for a sandwich when my grandmother was taking orders. it was the last time i ever managed to keep my mouth shut during a game.

gene: well, at least elway'll retire now.

me: you think?

gene: god, i hope so. i don't think i can take another season of you yelling at him through the screen.

me: pthththththththth

all grown up, or is she, claire