The Skeeter Daddle Diaries

I’m not what you would call a sports fan. I don’t frequent bars with 10 TV sets the size of drive-in theater screens surrounding their patrons who would be willing to watch everything from high school ping pong tournaments to cage kickboxing. I’m not interested in my old alma mater games and I cringe when I see people wearing a jersey or ballcap for some sports team they pledge allegiance to. If you offered me free subscriptions to ESPN I’d turn you down. The fact that our cities will build mega-stadiums to put on these Roman tournaments and then make the excuse they don’t have money for the arts tells me all I need to know about the American Civilization.

But … a few years back the Seattle Seahawks won the Super Bowl with a bunch of misfits who didn’t mind one bit mouthing off about politics or whatever else was on their mind. They were let loose by their coach, no Vince Lombardi Nazi drill instructor, just a guy who let them play the way they wanted. They were a hoot to watch. They were irreverent, they were liberal, they supported Kaepernick when he took a knee every National Anthem, some wouldn’t talk to the press, some couldn’t shut up.

So this year I watched every damn game and yesterday when they played the Green Bay Packers, a team owned not by some rich guy but a team owned by the people of Wisconsin, I was stoked for some playoff action between two teams I actually like, let the best one win. Now, I admit, I don’t actually know the names of half the people playing, but hey, I told you, I’m not what you would call a sports fan. A fair weather fan is what I am.

What I didn’t know was that the mizzus — who is decidedly and adamantly NOT a sports fan — had invited A guest over for dinner. Also not a sports enthusiast, just a fellow artist. And dinner was when the Big Game was going to be played. Sure, I could have taken my plate into the other room and watched by myself while those two ate their meal without me. But I am not that kind of man. I wish sometimes I were that kind of man, but my mama didn’t raise me to be rude without real cause.

So I missed the final game of the season. I’m sure it was an exciting game. I’m sure it went down, like always for the Seahawks, to the final two minutes, and yeah, I’m real sure after reading about it in the newspaper a day later, the Seahawks lost and the Packers won. Here’s what I learned, and no, it has nothing to do with hiring a divorce attorney. It is, after all, just a ball game. No, what I learned is next year I’m going to find something else to do on Sunday afternoons besides watch football. Macrame or croquet or lonely walks in the woods or who the hell really cares. Because if you can’t watch the LAST game of the season, WHAT WAS THE POINT OF WATCHING THE OTHER 15 ??????

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