I come from an NBA family. Or rather, I come from a city of NBA-fame that demands fanfare from all it’s inhabitants. So much so that as a young girl I used to hoist 6’ foot cardboard cutouts of Horace Grant, Scotty Pippen and BJ Armstrong on the balcony of my aunt’s suburban condo with my sister in tow holding signs that read, “Honk for a 3-Peat!”. We did this gleefully for every playoff game.
But my sports fanaticism ended there. Save watching some golf or tennis when I want to nap I don’t really dedicate my time to any one sport or team. And I especially don’t make any attempt to watch football.
What’s so wrong with football you ask? Well, nothing and everything. Football has always seemed evasive to me. Because I never feigned to understand the rules, the rules appear foolishly complex when I try to make sense of them. The basics I get, but it seems there’s always some reason to stop the game, yet never stop the clock. It’s maddening!
All told, however, people LOVE it. My Northeast kinsmen especially so. And considering my current city of residence’s team, the Boston Patriots, were Superbowl contenders, I thought I’d study up. (More …)