It takes a Roethlisberger to make me a Cheesehead.

We usually have friends over for the Super Bowl, and I usually, at some point, find myself torn between football and entertaining. Since our Vikings never go to the Super Bowl, I like to take the part of the underdog, and always hope for an exciting game. I don’t know why I bother, though, because I end up chatting it up in the kitchen while I cut more celery sticks anyway.

This year, the Super Bowl is turning into a real drain on my sportsmanship. Instead of rooting for one team or the other, I’m tempted to root for injuries and wardrobe malfunctions. It may be the first time ever that I can spend the whole game refreshing the bean dip and playing Spoons without feeling like I’ve missed a thing. If there were a possible outcome where neither team won – I’d root for that.

Although I think Wisconsin is an exceptionally beautiful state, I can’t imagine living among Packer fans. There were actual tears from Cheeseheads at our 1998 Super Bowl party, when their presumed championship over the Broncos didn’t come to fruition. People who are so crazy for a team scare me. And irritate me. Between the ticket prices and the weather, I just don’t get it. One fan will spend enough on game day to feed a starving African village for a year. And who loves a football team with such earnest as to spend four hours out of doors in below zero weather – occasionally dropping the parka to show off their bikinis and body paint? Aside from the insanity of actual Packer fans, I find it most irritating that people who know as much about football as they do about nuclear physics, almost universally, claim a deep and abiding loyalty to the Packers. If they really don’t care, why not go out on a limb and be more original? Cheer for the Lions. No one around here ever jumps on the Lions’ bandwagon. Green Bay Packer fans lead me to seriously question whether the Midwest is really the center of common sense and down to earth good judgment that I’ve always believed it to be.

I could have probably, easily, taken the Steelers for Sunday’s game and rooted with fervor for them to pound the Pack. Could have – if only they weren’t quarterbacked by Ben Roethlisberger. In fairness, I did not presume to remember the details of the allegations against Big Ben, so I did a double-fact-check and remembered, once again, that if the guy is not a rapist, he is an attempted-rapist. These guys have ample opportunities to woo consenting women, who want their advances. Why drag a college girl into the bathroom of a club and force yourself on her?

If it is up to me, I’m rooting for Roethlisberger to get sidelined by a nasty groin injury. Then I can root for the Steelers. Otherwise, I will, reluctantly, suck it up and cheer for the Pack. Please understand, however, that is only if a team actually has to win this year. How many OT’s do they have to blow through to tie? I know. I’m a terrible sport; I need to leave the judging to God.

But Christ has no favorites! He will punish evil people, just as they deserve. Colossians 3:25

I Wish I Could Play Football

Insight 2009 - we won!

Understand me, I am pleased as pleased can be to be a woman. I've never had a moment's envy for men in their manliness. But I just love the idea of pouncing on someone as hard as I can and savagely dragging them to the ground. Where, in a woman's life, does she find such an outlet?

We weren't really into sports growing up. My dad was a gymnast and my mom was in the marching band. Most bandies I know are die-hard football fanatics that know every chant and song; my mom was not that kind of bandie. I could bet she hasn't been to a live football game since 8^th grade. I lettered in swimming, just for fun, and took a whole season on the JV Tennis team to figure out how to serve into the box. Watching ice skating and gymnastics, while very enjoyable, hardly awakened my competitive drive.

My husband, however, changed everything. Before I could name more than three NFL teams, his family had me picking winners each week in the family league. Bewildered by the flurry of energy around me during games, I listened to his patient explanations about 3^rd downs, pass interference, sacks, and late hits, and found myself slowly getting sucked into the complex strategy of this brutal game. The next thing I knew, we were buying season tickets to cheer on the Iowa State Cyclones, I was nursing my first baby under a Cardinal & Gold blanket during half time, and we were planning our holidays around kick off in Shreveport, Houston, or Phoenix.

Our First Bowl Game: Independence Bowl 2001

The NFL can be fun, but it's really college ball that won me over. The electricity, the way the fans get into the game, those guys down there who are still playing for their team and their love of game, not giant paychecks. So sometimes I can get a little carried away. Sometimes I yell louder than the other fans around me and it embarrasses my family. Sometimes I keep my brother on the phone an extra 20 minutes savoring the strategic brilliance of a 4^th and 1 call. I should probably cool it a little, but, hey, I think it's a blast and it's the closest I can get to what I really want. Someday, somehow, someone's going to have a spare set of football pads around the house and I'm going to get my chance to put them on and take someone down. No broken bones, no blood; all perfectly safe. I'll most likely be humbled by a dirt meal, but I will finally know what it's like to feel the crashing impact of all-out human passion.

The man said, "Your name will no longer be Jacob. You have wrestled with God and with men, and you have won. That's why your name will be Israel." Genesis 32:28