Thanks Brian

New Years day and pretty much the following week is the pits on TV if you don't like football. If someone had not stepped into my life to broadened my interests, I would probably shop this week each year.

In high school, my conception of football was a social event that concentrated on the friends in the stands and ignored the field. Interest only surfaced when the game was over and the girl friends were allowed to swarm the field to welcome their particular warrior home. That was when I learned that boys do cry (we didn't win a lot) and that in those days there was hardly an athlete with a full set of natural teeth.

Until I spent New Years day with Brian in the late 60's, football, wasn't part of my vocabulary. Brian was a sometimes boyfriend who worked at NASA and invited a bunch of us to his house in Coco Beach for a New Years Eve party.
Bad Patti just put too much of herself into the celebration. I came to New Years day on the couch with my head on a pillow on Brian's lap. Bodies were strung out all over the floor. It was a carnage. There was not a cell in my body that didn't hurt.

Unable to move, I let Brian tend to me. He was remarkably cheerful and full of energy. It would have been easy to hate him if he hadn't been so solicitious. He draped cold cloths on my burning forehead and eyes. He massaged my temples, plied asprin, orange juice, coffee, toast and talked softly.

"Do you mind if I watch the Bowl game?" he asked.
"How long does it last?" I squeeked.
"Only about an hour more."
"OK" I replied for I sure wasn't able to go anywhere else .

Men in colorful uniforms ran, fell, got up in a group and ran again only to fall again. Only thing I understood was that the colors were pretty and the guys had cute butts. Occasionally Brian would softly yell and fist pump the air bringing on waves of pain. He would immediately apologize but soon would repeat the action or growl his disapproval of a play.
Gratefully, I dozed off for a while. When I awoke, it was still football only the uniforms were a different color.
"Gotta watch this" he said." This is Air force and Utah." Air force Academy was his alma mater.

I was feeling a bit better but was still a captive audience. He continued to stroke my head and brow absently like I was a favorite hound.

For many hours, we watched one game after another. I asked questions and he patiently answered. People came alive around us, food was eaten and soon all the guys were watching the games while most of the girls generally slept. When the day ended, I knew a punt from a kick off, what downs were and could pick out the quarterback with no problem.

The seed was planted and in the following years, I grew into an addict.

So this week of football TV is for me a wonderful week.

Thanks Brian, where ever you are.