Oh, what a busy time. Hustling and bustling, moving to and fro. The food has to be right, the attire must properly coordinate and traditions considered.
Someone has to fluff the couch cushions, others are to hang the banners, and let’s face it, sports fans, the dip simply isn’t going to mix itself.
Even though the holly is looking wilted and the Christmas tree has saggy branches, spirits are high in the Clinch house for it’s none other than College Bowl Week.
Little Charlie is perched in his new and oversized bean bag chair; Lawrence has his much-coveted mini-fridge stocked with juice, as our very own Huey runs through the abode asking, “What snacks did you make for the big game, Ma?”
Seriously, how many big games can there be?
Lately, the entryway has taken on the appearance of a revolving door in a busy lounge, and the pile of shoes and coats makes the foyer look as though the rapture has taken place and I can’t help wondering if I’ve been “left behind.”
“We’re here!” football fans call out as they make their way to the TV room. “I hope she made poppers for The Manitobah Mukluk Bowl,” some comment as they meander through the abode.
They don’t seem to notice my absence or suspect that I may be in a far-off room and nestled into faux sheepskin comforter.
I’ve all but lost the football enthusiasm that I had last fall. Instead of inquiring, “What team are we for?” as I wave my foam number one finger, I’ve taken to falling into the cushions and wondering if, perhaps, I’ve seen one first down too many.
Formany a day now, the Clinch men have lived and breathed their football games and talked about them tirelessly. They converse about bulking-up front lines and putting pressure on opposing quarterbacks. Then they rehash running schemes, special teams and whether defenses can take it to another level.
Being one to think late December and early January are more of a holiday season than a sports extravaganza, I’ve been trying to steer the conversations toward something more rewarding, like how festive the kitchen table looks. But then I say bowl and their minds go to game and the conversation goes right back to football.
Although I realize what a first down consists of, can visualize a pass play and am able to make colorful commentary about a shotgun formation, I confuse my words, misuse my terminology and have been known to call a kicker a punt returner.
It’s a wonder that I didn’t get nuttin’ for Christmas.
As if the life I endure with my footballpossessed family weren’t enough, my brother called yesterday and said, “Hey sis, did you catch the Kettle Corn Bowl game?”
“Well, no,” I replied as I desperately looked around for a Clinch boy to hand the phone to.
Alas, it was too late as he was already popping out comments. “That team had no defense, no pass rush whatsoever and the secondary was totally bogus.” “You don’t say?” I said as I leaned into the hall and hoped to snag a football fan of any sort .
“Yes,” he continued, “they needed to make plays, cover the pass rush and for the love of linemen, could nobody stop the run?”
On and on he went as I succumbed to the conversation and passed the time by peeling off my fingernail polish and examining my hands for age spots. I could have stopped him short, but I thought it would be cruel to tell him that he’d lost me at kettle.
Imagine my dismay when little Charlie came through a while later, tossing his football into the air, as he said, “Mom! You should come and watch the Binaca Bowl! They’ve got a great quarterback who can throw the ball but can’t run it and their offensive line is just not cutting it.”
“Oh,” I said as if I knew what I was talking about, “do you think they could breathe fresh air into the game if the defense could bolt.”
“Don’t youmean blitz?” he asked with an emphatic eye roll.
“Whatever.”
I believe I can see a light coming through the uprights, however, for word has it that the college bowl season is coming to a conclusion with the BCS Championship game. I don’t know what a BCS is but when that fateful night arrives, I fully intend to pull out my foam number-one finger to mark the occasion.
Lori Clinch is the mother of four sons and the author of the book “Are We There Yet?” You can reach her at [email protected].