See, the thing is, I’m not a football fan. I let entire seasons pass unobserved and couldn’t possibly care less about who is or isn’t headed for the Super Bowl.
Why? Well, probably because it’s a cold weather sport. Or used to be. Remember the days when players huffed and steamed like locomotives, in frosty, white clouds of breath? Remember when playing fields were snow-covered and fans huddled under blankets? Ha, not anymore.
These days, of course, nearly every stadium is a covered, indoor, climate-controlled facility. The poor dears need to be sheltered from snowflakes and raindrops and sudden breezes, anything, in fact, harsher than 68º. As an extra, added precaution, the football season now starts in the balmy days of August.
What? They’re afraid of catching a chill?
Give me a break. Football was meant for cold, dreary afternoons — the kind of afternoons when there’s nothing better to do than watch grown men lumber around trying to knock each other to the ground. I just don’t get why that’s interesting. But then I’ve never understood NASCAR, either — watching cars drive in circles is entertaining? Seriously?
Football was never meant to be played on soft, warm August evenings, was it? Someone could wind up with a heat rash and then what? Chafing and perspiring? Why take that chance? Let’s all take a seat on the porch, instead, and watch the sun set.
So go ahead and call it the preseason or exhibition games or whatever you want, it’s still just a fancy way of saying ‘practice’ or ‘this doesn’t count’. And, if that’s the case, what’s it doing on television? Hmm? Preempting perfectly good reruns, that’s what. Gah!
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