Wednesday, August 23, 2006

Play Ball!

I watched ESPN tonight with the husband. I'm trying to be more involved in sports, since he likes them.

Snort. Okay, that was a lie. I had some free time and didn't feel like getting up from the couch. Plus, one of my friends has a blog about sports (find her at and she's very good and getting noticed and probably seriously going to be writing for ESPN one day herself. My blog, on the other hand, has already lost the attention of all my college friends. So here's my sports entry, dammit.

ESPN was actually interesting. There was a segment on Terrell Owens, who everybody knows whether they follow sports or not, because he's a raging asshole (so I hear. He's never actually done anything to me). Terrell has a broken hamstring. Or torn. Or sprained. Not really remembering what a hamstring is, exactly, I am not sure what the appropriate injury would be. Suffice it to say his hamstring was hurting so he doesn't want to practice or play one of those preseason games which exist for precisely zero reason.

His coach, Bill Parcells (one L?) is apparently upset about this. Something about not wanting to start a player in the season opener who he hadn't sufficiently evaluated during the preseason. He said he would do no such thing, and Terrell suggested that he Netflix the ten prior years of football highlights he'd provided for other teams if witnessing the glory was so damn important. Not in those words, exactly, but the 'fuck you, I've got this' was clearly resonating during the interview. See? Asshole.

I was really pleased with myself for paying attention, and making intelligent comments. According to me, anyway. While various ESPN talking heads batted the issue back and forth, I educated my husband on my take.

Me: Did Bill Parcells play football before coaching?
Him: Not pro, I don't think. I don't remember. Why?
Me: He's a little thick. Don't they have any bigger coaching clothes for him? He's like, spilling out of his.
Me: How can he run up and down the sidelines with all that going on?
Me: I mean, I'm a little thick too. But I'm not asking a bunch of guys to go on protein diets and be pummeled for sixteen more games.

I threw that little tidbit in. I know there are sixteen games. I waited for my husband to be impressed. He was. I quickly destroyed it.

Me: So what did he do before? Bill.
Him: He's from New Jersey.
Me: He coached the Giants?

Let's take a break here, and acknowledge what every self respecting person from New Jersey will tell you: the Giants belong to Jersey. So do the Jets (although I am only half self respecting, since I didn't know until tonight that they also played in Jersey. Hey! I was eight when we left! Bridge and tunnel, baby! But I digress).

Him: I meant he was born in New Jersey.
Me: So? What's that got to do with anything? So was I, and nobody's asked me to coach the Dallas Cowboys.

I think he tuned me out at that point. He really prefers not to explain football stuff to me. You would think he would embrace it, but I understand it would be opening a can of worms, because then I'd be asking all sorts of questions at very critical game moments because when watching sports, I am actually paying more attention to talking than watching. Shocking.

So I never did find out where the hell Bill Parcells came from, or if I'm even spelling his name right. I did find out that my husband agrees with Terrell, and frowned upon my asking if he was just being a fourth grade brownie troop pansy ass. But again, I digress.

So there you have it. My sports column. I think I did pretty good, though I won't be holding my breath that ESPN is going to read it.

Or for that matter, my college friends.

1 comment:

DCSportsChick said...

"Me: Did Bill Parcells play football before coaching?
Him: Not pro, I don't think. I don't remember. Why?
Me: He's a little thick"