Are You Ready for Some Football? NO!!!

The smell of chili is wafting throughout my house. The testosterone is running high. This can mean only one thing: football season.

I enjoy football. I have been known to cheer enthusiastically for "our team," and I have been known to make a great spread of football food. I dutifully dress Robby in his Ohio State football shirt every Saturday, and I am cognisant of the Buckeye's schedule when making weekend plans.

Scott is a steadfast Ohio State Buckeye fan. I have adopted this team because, to be honest, I really don't care. It is obviously more fun when "our team" wins, and I learned early in our relationship that the upcoming week is lousy when the Buckeye's lose.

I was raised by Penn State fans, and I experience a modicum of inner turmoil when the Buckeyes play the Nittany Lions. I try to make the rivalry an event. We usually host a great party for that game. This is the only occasion I root against Ohio State, but I usually spend most of my time in the kitchen cooking so I don't watch most of the game.

The last few years Penn State beat Ohio State. One would think the victory would make me happy, but Scott is NOT a good sport when he loses. I am bombarded with a torrent of "Congratulations to you... I bet your happy... all hail the Lions..." for the upcoming weeks and sometimes months after a Penn State victory over OSU. It is both annoying and borders on obnoxious.

Although I enjoy football, I never forget that it is a game. Men seem to blur the line between "the game" and "life." I don't understand how a loss on Saturday or Sunday translates so strongly into a horrible weekend and week.

I admit that I am spirited when I watch a game, but nothing comes close to the animation demonstrated by my husband. He usually doesn't sit but opts to stand and pace. When the yards are close, he crouches down, as if willing the ball to move.

When Robby was an infant Scott was banned from holding him during football games. I quickly discovered that a swaddled newborn resembles the size and feel of a football. I was afraid that Robby was going to be spiked when the Buckeye's scored against their arch nemesis, University of Michigan!

Robby is much bigger now, and I am no longer worried for his physical safety during games. He loves munching on chips and dip, and cheering on Daddy's team. When I try to divert his attention, or encourage him to use the potty, he protests saying, "I watch football with Daddy."

Robby loves spending time with his Daddy, and wants to do everything just like him. This includes repeating the cheers, and jeers, that he hears. I came back into room when the game was on. Ohio State obviously made a big play, because Scott was cheering. I saw the pillow from the bed get spiked onto the ground, indicating a touchdown. The "victory dance" was then performed on top of the pillow (for good luck of course).

To my shock, I then heard my sweet little boy scream out, "Take that you son of a bi$#@." Not having a pillow handy, he spiked the only thing he had in his hand, his ice cream cone, covered with rainbow sprinkles. And then, just like his Daddy, Robby started doing the dance on top of the splattered ice cream.

Ohio State won this week, which means that Scott will be in a good mood. I will be in a better mood as soon as I can get my carpet cleaner working properly so I can get the sticky and rainbow colored "victory dance" cleaned off of our white carpet. When I hear the familiar anthem, "Are you ready for some football" I can't help but think, "Uh, not really."