What Was It?

 I watched most of the Chiefs-Texans game on Thursday night. Mostly out of curiosity. Partly because I am a football fan. And there was a dollop of stubbornness on top. No one was going to tell me I couldn't watch the NFL. Not Eric Trump. Not Colin Kapernick. I was anxious to have something appear in my life that I confess that I had begun to take for granted. Watching live sports was something that I used to do as a matter of course. I have been nominally following the local baseball franchise's flirtation with first place, and I am obliquely aware of basketball and hockey playoffs going on somewhere out there, but the start of the football season has always been a time stamp for my year. 

My wife likes to say that it is when I go into hibernation. It used to be a lot worse. I was a part of multiple fantasy leagues and I tracked players and their statistics even when "my team" wasn't on. It probably has something to do with the brief period during which Peyton Manning was winding up his Hall of Fame career with "my team." It was an exciting time to be on the bandwagon. It was exciting football. I confess that lately my football fan rays have become dulled and less effective due to a creeping lack of interest. But it's a habit, this football-watching thing. 

There was a time when I would watch a high school game where I sat in the stands with the band on Friday night. Saturday afternoon I would often tag along with my parents to go up the hill and watch the big boys at the university play. On Sunday I watched the pros. And everyone watched Monday Night Football so they could know what to talk about on Tuesday. 

There was some question, right up until Thursday night, if there would be a football season at all. There were so very many other things that took precedence. Racial strife. Global pandemic. The west coast on fire. College football started a couple weeks ago, not that everyone noticed. High school football isn't happening 'round these parts. 

That started to make me wonder about all those kids who had in their minds a future that might involve scholarships and maybe even a trip to the big time: playing on Sunday. Or Monday. Or Thursday. You know, professional football. I became a little concerned that the steady stream of talent for the big leagues might dry up along with the hopes and dreams of all those kids who imagined themselves becoming millionaires for playing a game and advertising for sneakers. 

But I don't want to sound too jaundiced about the whole sports entertainment experience. I know that it only takes a whiff of that highlight reel or a few consecutive wins to stir me out of my apathy. I'll pay attention for the same reason a man climbs a mountain: Because there's this thing in my way. 

What it was, was football.