Fall is my favorite time of year. The weather cools, crops are harvested, frozen and canned, and everyone busily begins their preparations for Winter hibernation. Oh yes - and FOOTBALL. We cannot forget the football season begins anew!
I like football. I don't know much about how the game is played - in fact, damn little. It fascinates me in the same way that Mixed Martial Arts fighting captivates me. I'm transfixed by the primal aspect of it.
At it's core, football is a great battle. A primitive urge to protect your own and conquer others a resounding theme. Coliseums, filled with roaring and bloodthirsty fans, are built and filled to capacity. The owners of the teams are the emperors of battle - reassigning and sacrificing their players as chess pieces here and there, in order to produce the best army with which to beat all others. Head coaches are generals in battle - providing direction and recourse throughout the epic event. And the players! The good players are the savage and bloodthirsty ones - the ones who give everything on the battlefield. They are the ones who make the game exciting, the ones who demand blood if you expect to get past them. They look forward to the surety of violation and the resonance of self-sacrifice, these gladiators.
And we watch. Oh boy, do we ever! We argue, and wage, and drink and eat, and watch some more. We celebrate their victories. We mourn their losses. We are the epitome of Roman spectators, seated by class and stature, cheering and jeering, getting intoxicated, with an occasional throwing of something (or someone) or youthfully exuberant streakers. I couldn't even begin to comprehend the amount of time and money spent on the pursuit of football dreams and passions! We even have 'pretend' leagues - the "Dungeons and Dragons" of the grown-up, jock world. I wonder what the Romans would think of today's version of coliseum battles?
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