THANKS BRIAN

The days surrounding  New Years  is the pits on TV if you don't like college football. College bowl games dominate the tube. If someone had not stepped into my life to broadened my interests, I would probably shop or travel this week each year.

In high school, my perception of football was as a social event. I concentrated on chatting with  my friends in the stands and ignored the field except when my current beau's name was called over the loud speaker. I would check to see if he got up after that last fall down or was getting congratulatory pats on the bum by his teammates.

Interest mainly surfaced when the game was over and the girl friends were allowed to swarm the end zone 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 a high school athlete with a full set of natural teeth. They removed their bridges to play.

Until I spent New Years day with Brian in the late 60's, watching football, wasn't on my to-do list. Brian was an off and on boyfriend who worked at NASA and had invited a bunch of us to his house in Coco Beach for a New Years Eve party.

This was during my party hearty days and Patti just put too much of herself into the celebration. I regained consciousness 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 darn sweet. He draped cold cloths over my burning forehead and eyes. He massaged my temples, neck, plied aspirin, orange juice, coffee, toast and talked very softly.

"Do you mind if I watch the Bowl game?" he asked.

"How long does it last?" I squeaked.

"Only about an hour more."

"OK" I replied thinking I could do an hour.  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. Just like high school. Yawn. 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 and nausea. He would immediately apologize but soon would repeat the action or growl his disapproval of a play.

In spite of my sometimes wobbly pillow, 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." It's Air force and Utah." Air force Academy was his alma mater.

I was feeling a bit better but was still  puny enough to be unwilling to move. He continued to stroke my head and brow absently like I was a favorite hound dog.

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. I finally understood the intent of the game.  Wish I had known all this in high school.

The seed was planted and in the following years, I grew into a serious football fan. The zeal has waned a bit since I moved to Arkansas which has no professional team but this final week still draws me in for the college bowl games. I do love my Hogs (Razorbacks).

Thanks Brian, where ever you are.  I always think about you around New Years. You might have been the one that got away.


Are you a fan or have you better things to do during this time?